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Wrens Reach of the Glass Kingdom, August the tenth, 593 A.G. Seven days prior to the Summer Solstice

The castle’s stained-glass windows let in a waterfall of light that melted over the oakwood floorboards, swirling like a pot of brewing tea leaves.

The Glass Princess’ steps echoed softly in the quiet morning as she stealthily moved down one of the many halls of Venmore Castle, windows flanking her, the morning glow illuminating her path. She slid up to a familiar steel door, shadowing it in darkness, the warm light wafting behind, not treading this far down the corridor. She placed her fingers against the cool metal surface and slid the key she had stolen from her father’s chambers out of her skirt pocket.

She did a quick sweep over her shoulder, paranoid someone might be tempted to follow her, before unlocking the door. The room was swathed in bright light, the curtains ajar and tangled with dust. Everything was tangled with dust. It had been years since her parents’ room was filled with life, the space confined to those last sparks of time before it was abandoned, everything left how it was the day she died.

The last time the princess saw her mother flooded her mind just as it did most mornings. It was something she couldn’t scrub from the dark side of her eyelids. The image of her mother—prone on the floor, her body torn in unnatural ways, blood pooling around her—scarred her memory. Her father’s haunting scream as he cried out her name, “Meredith!”

She blinked back tears as she appraised her mother’s old rooms. Her bed was still ruffled as if she had been sleeping in it just moments ago, the velvet fabric a sage green—her mother’s favorite color—and embroidered with golden flowers and insects. When she stepped on the matching sage carpet, her foot left a ghostly print in the dust.

She’d been expecting this horror, but it still unsettled her when she saw the vast array of scattered mirrors in her mother’s chambers. Once such a common instrument that seemed to fuel Wrens Reach, now an outlawed relic, most shattered and left to rust in one of the adjacent woodland valleys. The few that remained, like the one in the princess’ room, were covered in drapes at all times.

She knew that her mother’s room would still have its mirrors, but she couldn’t stop the disquietude from settling within her. While Wrens Reach had been one of the last kingdoms to lose their abilities gifted by the now absent gods—the other being Solstrale—their power had finally completely drained. And her mother paid the price. As she stepped through that mirror fourteen years ago, knowing her abilities had weakened, her connection shattered, and she was split in two. Her father banished all mirrors, the Glass Court pretending to have never possessed any magick abilities at all.

She held back her panic, shoving it down deep within her, and darted out of her mother’s chambers, locking the door behind her. She collapsed against the door and sucked in wild breaths of air in an attempt to compose herself. She shouldn’t have done this today, of all days. Determined that this would work, that visiting here would grant her the reprieve she craved, dark retribution filled her.

She ran her fingers along her nightdress, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles, forcing herself to appear presentable before making the trek back to the living side of the castle. When she entered the west hall, thinking she had managed to elude her handmaidens, a feminine voice called out to her. “Mara!”

The princess scrunched her face in annoyance before spinning to face the gilded young woman who scurried to her side.

“There you are,” her handmaiden said, relieved. “I’ve been searching the halls for you. You know we only have so long to prepare you.”

She cringed at the idea of having to be primed for hours solely for the ogling gazes that saw her as nothing but decor. Mara rolled her eyes and shifted paths, now trailing back to her apartments. “Apologies, Jessamine. But you can imagine my lack of enthusiasm.”

Jessamine gave her a sidelong look, their shoes clinking off the floorboards in sync. “Such a cynic. A well of hope would do you some good.”

“Oh, like you?”

“Yes. Exactly like me. You could learn a thing or two from following in my footsteps, don’t you think?”

Mara stifled her laugh and nudged her handmaiden on the shoulder.

When the two women made it back to the princess’ chambers, Jessamine began smoothing out the furs of Mara’s daisy and silkworm comforter. Mara’s friend was all gold: golden locks that spun out of her head, golden skin that had been kissed by the ever-chilling sun in the south, and golden eyes that glittered whenever the light refracted off them.

When Jessamine had finished fussing over her unkempt bed, she made her way to the windows, ignoring Mara’s dramatic faces. She tore open the drapes, letting the icy morning light spill into the room completely, reducing Mara’s vision to a squint.

“Does it please you to torture me?”

“The king wants you ready so you can greet the guests,” she said, her voice a decibel too loud for someone as irritable as Mara in the mornings.

Both women knew Mara wasn’t about to waste the first half of her day politely greeting strangers who pretended to care about her natal day. Jessamine bit her lip. “I’m not forcing you to do it, but just let me do what the king requested of me, at least.”

Mara huffed, moving closer to Jessamine, and lifted her hands so she could begin to remove her night attire. “I just don’t see how you’re not more upset by this.”

Her friend gave her a sympathetic look, tying a clean chemise around Mara’s waist, the weather warm and calling for a light undergarment.

It was early August by the time Mara’s first and twentieth birthday rolled around. Ladies were usually married off by sixteen, especially ones of such nobility. Mara eluded marrying for a time; King Bjorn Faintree so engrossed with his firstborn’s affairs, Azor, that he didn’t press his daughter. But now she was turning twenty and one, and she still wasn’t wed. She was a scandal waiting to unfold.

She was aware it was seen as something shameful to have an unwed princess left to wander the kingdom at her leisure, but what she didn’t see was why it mattered so much to others. And while the desire to conform bothered her, the more pressing issue was how she could be used like a piece of property— which she technically was under the law —bartered off to unite powerful alliances and prevent wars.

Thus, today’s birthday ceremony was also a life sentence. Don’t be so dramatic , her father had chided her, which swiftly became Enough! I’ve had it with the theatrics, Maralena. You are to be married and that’s final!

Mara sank into her vanity chair as Jessamine brushed through her hair. The drape that usually covered the single skinny mirror clung to a hook on the side of the frame, revealing Mara’s drowsiness in the reflection. Her chestnut-blonde hair hung along her back in loose waves, its length reaching close to her lower back. Her underdress slid off her shoulder, revealing sun-splotched freckles. She sighed.

“Just think about all the young princes you’ll get to choose from. One of them ought to catch your eye.”

Mara didn’t comment on the fact that Jessamine referred to them as young when most of her options were likely to be middle-aged men—and that was if she was lucky. “You’re just happy because if I get married, that means you get to leave this place, too.” Mara winced at her own words, recalling the fact that Jessamine would be free of her debt when Mara married, able to return back to Throneskeep to be with her family, while Mara would be on a journey to some other kingdom to marry a stranger…alone.

“Is that so wrong?”

She had to remind herself that at least Jessamine, her closest friend, would get something worth celebrating out of this political congregation, even if it meant the separation of the two women. Mara mirthlessly laughed. “It is when it means your closest friend has to suffer for it!”

Three other handmaidens entered Mara’s room and began to do their duty, cleaning up the mess Mara left behind. She knew it was part of their designation, but she still hated how little privacy she was often granted.

“Such hysterics,” Jessamine said, playfully rolling her eyes. “It’s all young ladies' duty to marry. You’re not the first to go through this, you know?”

“And just because other ladies endure the same misfortune, that means mine will bear any less pain?” Mara’s voice cracked as she spoke, the facetiousness gone, her anxiety finally building up enough to explode out the seams of her teeth like a rag doll. She had done her best to stow her fears deep within her gut, but today it seemed to all be coming undone. She glanced in the corroded mirror at her shocked friend with an apologetic look. “Sorry. It’s just…”

“I’m only trying to help.” Jessamine’s hands paused where they were buried in Mara’s nest of hair. “Would you rather me let you wallow in self-pity? Pointing out all the dreadful details you’ve been complaining about for months?”

“I only wish I could be free like my brother.”

Jessamine’s eyes dropped; the silver brush that stroked through Mara’s hair faltered for a moment. It wasn’t her place to agree—she would be speaking out of turn if she validated all of Mara’s concerns. The world was a terrible place, and Mara managed to avoid the brunt of it all being born into such a powerful family. But, at the end of the day, she was still a woman. And women had one duty: to serve the men around them—marry them, make them happy, bear their children, and act as pretty decorations at social gatherings.

Jessamine gave Mara’s shoulder a light squeeze. “Just think about all the things you’ll see traveling to a new kingdom.” Jessamine looked like she was caught in a reverie. “I hope you choose someone from the Faelands.” Her eyes sparkled as she thought about the inhumanly perfect fae that resided on the other side of Junefell, off along the coast of the northern shores.

“You would enjoy this far more than I ever will,” Mara chuckled. She could already picture Jessamine pointing out all the handsome nobles to Mara, taking it upon herself to solidify Mara’s dancing itinerary.

“If you didn’t have such a stick up your ass, you could enjoy it too!”

Mara’s lips ticked upward.

“And the ball tonight,” Jessamine squealed. “You’re going to look amazing in your dress.” Jessamine’s fingers dexterously braided Mara’s hair. “And the tournament! Think about all the knights fighting in the tournament! You’ll get to choose from them, too.” Jessamine’s eyes rounded, lost in a daydream of handsome gentlemen. “It’s like they’re all fighting for your hand.”

Mara glared at her friend. “Oh, you’re going to have a wondrous time. I’ll be sure to pass the men off to you once I’m done.”

Jessamine smiled, not taking the jest. “I heard the Sun Prince will be there.” Mara’s lack of enthusiasm didn’t seem to deter Jessamine from gossiping. “At least he’s closer in age to you. I think he’s eight and twenty—oh, no wait. That can’t be right. When was the last Summer Solstice?” Jessamine didn’t notice Mara flinching as she tugged too hard at her hair while she thought. “Maybe he’s older than that. Well, never mind the specifics, he’s plenty young.”

“The Sun Prince?” Mara felt like her eyes might get stuck in the back of her skull if she kept rolling them so harshly. “He’s done nothing but caroused in his father’s shadow.”

“Less work for you that way. You have to be logical, Mara.”

“Do I really want an unambitious drunkard for a husband?”

“Nothing will satiate you.”

Jessamine was probably right. Mara was bound to find a flaw in every man she met tonight.

“I still say you should go for one of the fae,” Jessamine said, wiggling her eyebrows at Mara in the reflection of her decrepit mirror.

One hand trailing along the rough stone wall for support, Mara descended the cobbled steps with a grimace, her eyes set on the emerging lance yard. She had managed to escape her several relentless handmaidens and was making her way to the dueling grounds—granted, the tournament wasn’t until later this evening, but Mara wanted to scope out the competitors beforehand.

Mara loved the brutality and sport of fighting, predicting the victor of countless dueling competitions, her triumphs lining her purse with an effortless ease. Azor always complained that she was cheating; she would smirk with pride knowing she could outwit her brother which did nothing but drive a silver thorn under his skin, and she was happy to hammer it in further. She had often gone into town, hidden in her cloak, and watched the various brawls that unfolded in the back of seedy taverns, placing bets, and winning more times than not. She had thought about running away with her earnings on the rare occasion, but the fleeting idea would never come to fruition.

The clattering of iron swords and the smell of sweat and horse shit infiltrated the breeze that blew through Mara’s hair. She peered off the castle’s parapets, rewarded with a perfect view of the knights. With her elbows on the edge, she leaned her weight and pushed onto her toes to watch the pride-hungry men jousting down below.

She recognized a few from prior years. There was Sir Orion, whose shaggy blonde hair had grown considerably in length since the last time she saw him. He darted forward, thrusting his sword toward another knight, laughing boisterously as he went.

Beside him, facing his squire, was Sir Roe from Throneskeep, a member of the High King’s Court. As much as she didn’t want that to intimidate her, it sent a shiver down her spine. Was he here to revel in the festivities or did he hear that the Glass Princess was looking for a suitor?

Dread shrouded her mirth. There was something so unnerving about watching proper knights stripped of their armor and jousting around like boys.

“Scoping out a winner?” a voice said from behind her.

“I’m doing no such thing,” Mara replied without turning to face her brother.

Mara could hear the smile in Azor’s speech as he leaned against the stone wall. “Picking out a husband, then, perhaps?”

Mara’s eyes darted to Azor’s and narrowed. It wasn’t completely unwarranted. These knights were amongst the pool of possible suitors she’d have a choice between, most of them having families in high rankings. It would please her father plenty for her to accept one of their hands.

Mara shook her head and Azor nudged her shoulder. She set her eyes back on the men below, wanting to forget about the agonizing events of tonight’s celebrations.

“It’s not so bad. Lots of them are handsome enough,” Azor teased, just in time for Sir Hector from the Icewoods, representing House Ceaytr, to turn into their view. His pudgy face, half frostburnt from an incident last winter, on full display. Shouldn’t the winter people know how to protect themselves from the frost by now? Mara thought, gritting her teeth.

“It’s only amusing because you don’t have to worry about any of this happening to you,” Mara whined with a hint of envy. Her voice was a whisper in the wind, her throat tensing up every time she thought about the fact that soon she'd have to spend the rest of her life with a stranger.

“You know that’s not entirely true.” Compassion dusted across Azor’s soft features. “I’ll still have to fulfill my marital duties.”

Mara turned to face her brother. The gentleness of his countenance mirrored hers, both of their noses rounding at the tip. His jaw was far sharper than hers, but other than that, no one could doubt their likeness. They both shared olive-toned skin and light-brown eyes. Mara’s complexion was kissed with freckles whereas Azor’s was smooth and silken. He stood a good six inches taller than her, always making a point to emphasize that he had to look down to meet her stare. They both had soft features and rounded faces, creating an air of warmth around them wherever they went.

Mara slouched against the flagstone. “Yes, but you don’t have a sundial tethered to you—following you around, reminding you of how rapidly time is passing, your womb still empty.”

“Do you always have to be so vulgar?” Azor asked. Mara glared at him. “I already tried speaking to Father,” Azor added after taking a deep breath. His arms rested on the stone, his eyes finally shifting to hers.

“And…?” Mara urged after too long of a pause.

Azor averted his eyes. “Just be glad you get to choose a suitor. Not many princesses have that luxury.”

“ Luxury ,” she muttered under her breath in disappointment, her eyes wandering over to the wet wood on her flank, various weaponry leaning against it. Her lips parted.

Someone was looking at her.

The stranger clutched a long sword languidly enough that it gave him an air of overconfidence. It rested on his knee as he sat and wiped it down, his armored plates lying haphazardly beside him. His inky hair was in disarray, loose pieces hanging down to frame his sweat-covered face. A bit of blood bloomed around his jawline. He grinned at her before looking back at what he was doing, his mouth moving as he responded to one of his counterparts.

“Who is that?” Mara asked Azor.

“Uh,” Azor began, his eyes squinting as he tried to get a better view of the man. “If that’s his armor on the ground etched with a sun, he must be from the Sun Court.”

“The Sun Prince? I thought him above traveling to the southern lands, I didn’t think he’d actually show.”

“Can’t be. The prince wouldn’t risk his life in a silly tourney.”

Mara settled her features. “Regardless, I think he’ll be our winner.”

Azor cracked a smile and shifted to face his sister fully, his boyish mischief somewhat of a solace to the stress Mara carted around. “You willing to wager that?”

Mara pulled a small sack that clinked with coins out of her dress pocket, giving her brother a shit-eating grin. “Always.”

The wind howled against the castle, mulberry flags flapping in the breeze. Mara and her brother shared a moment in silence as they watched the men, though Mara's mind had wandered elsewhere.

Mara thought of her mother. How much she wished she was here right now to reassure her everything would turn out how it was supposed to. As much as her brother was someone she could rely on, he’d never completely understand the torment and indignation that brewed inside her knowing the very meaning of her life was to become someone’s wife.

Her brother would be King of Wrens Reach one day. That alone was no small feat. What would become of Mara? Her marriage might help unite her house with another kingdom, but beyond that, she would be used as a placeholder at gatherings and balls. She’d be forced to mother sons who would one day become more powerful than she ever would.

Her mother’s round eyes and strawberry hair were still vivid in her memories, but her likeness had begun to fade. Mara sucked in a deep breath.

“Everything will be just fine,” her brother reminded her before pushing himself off the parapet to make his way below to speak with the guests.