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MEET PRINCESS GISELE

O n her fortieth birthday, Princess Gisele of Isshia realised she was going to have to save herself. Since it had taken many (i.e. forty) years of escalating magical hardship to reach this conclusion, it was somewhat disheartening that nobody noticed.

It took some time to organise her notes, calculate the optimum timing, and gather the necessary supplies, but at dawn on Summervane, she was ready to commence the first stage of her Plan.

Stepping out of her tower, Gisele took a deep breath and hoisted her pack.

The air was crisp against her cheeks, though by midday it would be stifling, and her private garden lay hushed, still deep in shadow.

The garden persisted in being a peaceful oasis as she made her way down to the gate.

It was foolish to be annoyed by this, and, yet, foolishly, she was.

An irrational part of her felt that, regardless of her working quite hard to achieve the exact opposite outcome , someone still ought to have divined that Princess Gisele, firstborn royal of Isshia, was not merely going out for her usual morning’s ride but was in fact leaving .

Were you expecting a celebratory parade as you set forth? An explosion of confetti? Town criers announcing, “Finally! The cursed princess is finally leaving on a quest to face her nemesis and save us! Well done her!”

Her imaginary parade faded under the trill of a blackbird, which hopped away to take refuge beneath her favourite Efanese rose. It hadn’t yet bloomed this year, its buds a tight, dew-touched promise. Would she be back in time to see it? Would the palace gardeners care for it if she wasn’t?

The Leafling Sisters will if no one else does , she reassured herself. Not that roses were important at this moment, but nonetheless one of the two notes in her pocket was for Sister Griselda. She’d drop it in the postbox nearest the city gates as she left.

The other note was for her mother. Well, technically, it was addressed to both her parents, but—as in all things in Isshia—Queen Bianka was the one who mattered. King Alaryk was a man committed to avoiding unpleasantness in all its forms, from kingdom management to his cursed eldest daughter.

Gisele intended to be long gone by the time they received it. That way, she could believe they would have tried to stop her if they’d but known.

The latch on the garden gate clicked loudly as she shut it behind her.

Now—which way? The Arboretum would normally be the quietest path to take down to the stables, but she could already hear the chatter of servants in that direction, erecting the Summervane decorations for the festival later today.

Even as she hesitated, a maid carrying an armful of bunting hurried past and clipped Gisele’s side in her haste. With a yelp of pain, the maid dropped her load and scrambled backwards, clutching at her arm where they’d touched. Panic made her clumsy, and she tripped over, squeaking as she landed.

Gisele hastily backed away. “I’m sorry for startling you,” she said. “Are you all right?”

The maid didn’t seem to hear her, still scuttling awkwardly backwards on her rump in animal fear, her breath coming in terrified gasps.

Gisele put a few more steps of distance between them.

“Betti, you know me. It’s Princess Gisele.

It’s all right,” she said soothingly, even though it was in fact far from all right.

Betti had been at the palace for years. Usually having known Gisele before the curse had grown quite so bad tempered people’s reactions. “Are you hurt?”

With a gulping breath, the maid’s frenzy finally eased, sense returning to her face along with a rush of colour.

“No, Highness! I’m not hurt. Forgive me, Highness,” she said hurriedly, climbing to her feet and brushing fretfully at her skirts. Her gaze flicked from the fallen bunting to Gisele, clearly wanting to retrieve it yet just as clearly not wanting to come any closer.

Gisele tried to smile in a reassuring way. Betti did not look reassured. She looked as if she were steeling herself not to shriek again at any sudden movement.

“I’ll leave you to your work, then,” Gisele said, easing in the opposite direction, away from the Arboretum. The maid’s posture un-knotted with relief.

The kitchens would be similarly lively with servants, Gisele thought. Through the East Wing, then. One could rely on the late rising of nobles. She’d just have to be careful not to touch any gold on the way, and that was easy enough if she avoided the throne room.

She let herself into the building, annoyed by how her hands shook as she got out the key from her palace set. The encounter had rattled her more than she’d realised. That had not been part of the Plan.

Betti’s frightened face kept rising in her mind’s eye.

Had the radius of her curse-aura of aversion extended again?

The maid hadn’t wanted to come within five yards of her.

But maybe her reluctance had been for perfectly understandable and not at all magical reasons.

Maybe it had been simple embarrassment. Maybe the maid had heard about what had happened in the throne room and feared a sudden recurrence.

Maybe the curse wasn’t truly five-yard distances of bad in reality yet.

Yet . Depressing, to measure her life in increments of relative badness not yet attained.

It hadn’t always been like this. As a young woman, the effects had been barely noticeable.

People had been able to touch her normally then— and more than just touch , she thought with a flicker of wistfulness for lost intimacies .

Her presence had made people subtly uneasy for a long time now, and it had been years since anyone would voluntarily make physical contact.

But this severe-antipathy-at-a-distance was far newer.

And getting worse rapidly, if Betti’s reaction was an accurate metric.

That’s why you’re doing this, even if it weren’t for the gold. How long until no one can stand to be in the same room? The same palace?

Grim determination filled her as she wound her way through the quiet hallways of the East Wing—and the gods bless the late-slumbering of the highborn.

She emerged safely from the building without terrifying any further servants or encountering either gold or any of her relatives and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The Plan was back on track.

The Plan wobbled only slightly in the stableyard, as her encounter with the young stablehand who led out Champion for her went nearly as well as the one with the maid.

She wished the older stablehands wouldn’t use her as an initiation test for new recruits!

The boy gave the impression of approaching an eldritch abomination, which provoked a self-conscious urge to check a mirror, though she knew her appearance was only that of a middle-aged woman and thus only horrifying in the same way that all middle-aged people were to the young. The curse wasn’t about how she looked .

“Leave him there,” she told the pimply youth from across the yard, taking pity. “I’ll mount myself.”

The boy flinched but led Champion to the mounting block and scrambled away with relief. More evidence to support the rapidly-expanding-radius of dread .

Thank the Lady that her curse didn’t affect animals.

Champion twisted his neck about in inquiry and snuffled at her palm.

He seemed mildly puzzled by her pack. Perhaps he smelled the strange combination of practical camping gear and folkloric ingredients it contained.

Perhaps it was the simple fact that she didn’t usually carry a pack at all.

Her horse’s curiosity subsided as she stroked his neck. Champion had a happily straightforward temperament. His warm aliveness, steady as a flame, soothed the sharp edges of her a little. It wasn’t the same as a human touch, but it wasn’t nothing.

She resisted the urge to bury her face in his mane, not because she was worried it wasn’t proper—it had been some years since she’d worried overmuch about that—but because she feared she might stay there for another hour if she did, breathing in his horsey comfort, and that was not The Plan.

Additionally, she’d disrupt the entire business of the stableyard if nobody could come into it for another hour, and that seemed a real risk now. The frightened boy had already left.

With one last pat, she got herself up on Champion’s back, her muscles protesting that it was early and she was now on the wrong side of forty.

She took the bay slowly down towards the north gate, mainly to give people time to get out of the way.

Even at this hour, it was too easy to imagine crashing carriages and riders spooking their mounts, let alone the velocipedists on their newfangled devices.

Princess Incites Multi-Vehicle Pile-Up , she imagined the headlines in the papers saying.

Champion sidled as her hands tightened on the reins.

Focus on the here and now or your dramatic quest to Fairyland will end ignominiously with you falling off your horse and breaking an ankle. Smoothing out her grip, she murmured an apology to the gelding and forced herself to think of nothing but the next direction.

She didn’t look back until she was outside the city walls and ascending the long slope up to the wilds. When she reached the last outcrop before the city fell out of sight, she turned Champion and drew him to a halt.

Her tower was barely distinguishable from the rest of the sprawling palace at this distance, one more roof among many. Almost everyone who mattered to her lived in that building. She swallowed.

Goodbye , she said to them silently, but for long, long minutes she couldn’t make herself move. The Plan was feeling rather real all of a sudden.

Just as she was about to turn Champion away, hoofbeats came galloping along the crosswise road below the outcrop.

From her elevated position, she watched a familiar horse and rider race into view.

It seemed somehow inevitable that it should be Boern, Crown Prince of Isshia, and her younger brother by all of five minutes.

They were not close, and there was no mystical twinnish connection between them, and yet…

here he was, drawn to ride out at this hour and on the very same hillside as her, in defiance of all his usual habits.

Perhaps there is a mystical twinnish connection between us after all . She ought to be alarmed at this risk to her Plan. She ought to move out of sight. She stayed where she was, her heart thumping.

Boern was followed by a second horse and rider, of course. Royalty did not ride alone. Except her, but then she didn’t count. With a start, she recognised the second rider: Seyfert, their youngest brother.

The pair were racing for the crossroads, blond hair streaming, but Boern reached the milestone first. Slowing his mount in a graceful circle, he sent his horse parade-prancing to meet his rival.

The strains of his laughter carried on the still air.

She stared, fascinated by this unfamiliar glimpse of playfulness, this sibling camaraderie.

The Boern she knew was a serious man, dutiful and thoughtful.

He did not laugh like this or make his horse dance for the fun of it.

But then, you don’t truly know him, do you?

The other royal children had been raised in a different wing to her, with separate lessons, tutors, and schedules, as a safety precaution, even before the various side effects of her curse had shown themselves, because who knew when the terrible fae sorcerer might come to claim the firstborn?

When, indeed? she thought wryly. Certainly no one had expected the sorcerer to be so tardy.

She saw the moment Boern caught sight of her on the outcrop above them. There was no question but that he recognised her, even at this distance. His horse faltered and stopped its fanciful dressage, coming to an abrupt halt as he stared up at her.

The world slowed. The only sounds were her own breathing and Champion’s hooves shifting on the dry earth.

She and her twin weren’t close, and yet sometimes she questioned whether Boern, too, wished things were otherwise, if some lingering connection remained from sharing a womb that even years of distance couldn’t quite erase.

If he ever looked at her and thought, there is my fate, but for five minutes .

The distance was too great to read Boern’s expression, and yet his posture made her wonder if he’d guessed something was amiss.

The pack , she realised with a thrill. The small clue that this wasn’t a simple morning’s ride, that today wasn’t like any other that had preceded it. He’d noticed it. He’d come up the rise to ask her about it.

But instead, he gave Gisele a strangely deliberate nod before turning to speak to Seyfert, directing his brother’s attention so that he didn’t glance up and see Gisele. The pair of them went riding back towards the city, leaving her alone.