The great gilt-framed painting that held a place of honor right by the entrance to the Great Hall caught my attention. I slowed my pace slightly to take it in, as I liked to do whenever I passed by it. It depicted the most recent event in royal history. And for me, it was the most personal.
As a little girl, I would spend hours running up and down the torchlit corridors of the castle, which held our family history in various paintings. And while I loved looking at our family portraits — the water mage who built our palace, the princess who could command air, the king and queen who raised an earthquake against an invading army — it was the painting by the Great Hall that always captivated me. Chronicling the events from twenty years ago, it depicted my brave, handsome father, back when he was the knight, Sir Hendon. In the painting, he defiantly held a shield against the flames from a massive golden dragon, whose claws clutched a beautiful maiden and held her captive.
The entire kingdom of Calia — and beyond — knew the story of how my parents met.
The people loved their love story, and we celebrated Hendon’s victory every year, along with their marriage and coronation anniversary. How an evil dragon had ravaged the kingdom of Calia, and taken my mother as a tithe. How my grandfather, the former king of Calia, had called upon the neighboring kingdoms, asking any brave princes or knights to rescue the Princess Melandria, in the hopes of winning her hand in marriage and, thus, the kingdom. How the noble knight Sir Hendon faced down the wicked beast, driven it away, and rescued the fair maiden. Sir Hendon and Princess Melandria’s wedding had been the biggest event Calia had ever seen; their marriage and their love, legendary.
Well, I knew from personal experience, living in this household: Sometimes legends lie.
Taryn and I continued on, down the grey stone corridors, up a flight of stairs and down more hallways toward the private apartments of the royal family. My room was at one end of the hallway, with my mother’s rooms at the other end. My father’s much larger suite of rooms was around the corner from my mother’s, further down the hallway. As befitted his status as king, his chambers took up nearly the entire wing.
My lady-in-waiting was still talking, recounting (again) the story about Sava’s brother. Well, I had asked. I reeled in my attention (again) and tried to follow her story.
I vaguely remembered hearing about a situation with Sava, one of the kitchen maids. Her twin brother, who was apprenticing with the blacksmith, had gone missing about a week ago. Taryn had mentioned it while doing my hair one morning; it had been a bit of scandal, apparently, since the boy was known to be a conscientious worker. Unlike his flighty twin sister. No one knew what would have caused him to run off, and the family had been worried sick over his disappearance.
“Well, that’s good that he’s back,” I said now. “But why wouldn’t he just go home? Was he afraid of being punished?”
“That’s the thing,” Taryn said. “He’s completely lost his mind. Won’t talk for days, and then he’ll start screaming out of the blue, and it’s hard to get him to stop. He didn’t recognize anyone in his family, not even his twin sister. And you know what a strong bond twins have.”
Since I was an only child, I could only guess. But I did know that certain bonds between people were stronger than others, and that twins especially had strong magical ties to each other.
“That’s a shame,” I said. “Poor Sava, she must be heartbroken.”
“It’s odd,” Taryn mused. “She’s more jumpy than anything. She said she had nightmares every night while her brother was missing, and now she’s afraid something might happen to her. Poor thing.”
I agreed, but didn’t really know how I could help. While I was skilled with magic, I didn’t have the ability to take away a young girl’s nightmares. “I guess... I could talk to Cook and definitely make sure she’s not punished for the blueberries?”
Taryn laughed and pulled open the door to my chamber. Once inside, she all but pushed me in a chair to start dressing my hair. Her hands were a blur as she combed, teased, tucked, and pinned my heavy black hair into something she muttered was “acceptable.” I watched her flitting about in the mirror as my hairstyle took shape. It was fancier than I expected.
“Taryn, what — ”
“Here, Princess,” Taryn interrupted me. She must have really been frantic to let such a breach of etiquette take place. She stepped back, indicating a dress that lay on the bed. “Your father requested you wear the red.”
Now I was nervous. The dress in question was gorgeous, the most stunning gown in my collection. But the fact that my father wanted me to wear it was suspect. Whatever his reasons were for wanting me to look extremely elegant tonight, I knew I wouldn’t like them.
“Taryn, it’s just dinner with my family. There’s no need to be so dressed up.” I reached up toward my hair, intending to pull a pin or two out.
Taryn made a motion as if to grab my hand, but
