Page 11

Thorne

F ading daylight darkened the grounds as I stared out the window of Reaux Mansion. In the distance, I could barely see the waves of the Avonige Ocean lapping against the shore and the towering palm trees that marked the edge of our property.

I’d lived here my whole life. Ran across those beaches a thousand times, often with Galen at my side. Took countless girls to gaze under those stars— without Galen, for once. All while being groomed to one day take over as Lord Reaux, Regent Lord of the North Territory of Mysthelm.

That title had become mine four years ago when I turned twenty-eight, after my father fled our home and was never heard from again.

The same year my wife left this world.

One by choice, one by force.

This mansion, this property, this entire territory was under my charge…and yet, I’d never felt further from home. That was what happened when a bastard of a father abandoned his family and duty without a backward glance.

“Daddy? Will you read me a story? ”

I uncrossed my arms and turned to face the sweet voice, those big brown eyes looking up at me with a plea.

How a father could leave something like this, I would never understand.

Kneeling to her eye level, I brushed a strand of dark bronze hair behind her little ear. “Of course. But then it’s bedtime, yes? I’ve already kept you up too late.” I softly tapped her nose, which crinkled with a smile, a gap between her two front teeth peeking out.

“Okay. Come on, I’ve picked it out,” Marigold said, grabbing my pinky and leading me to her bed across the room.

For her seventh birthday a few weeks ago, my mother had her entire bedchamber redecorated however Marigold desired—which meant pink, purple, and white covered every inch of the space.

An artist painted a mural of a whimsical garden on the wall facing her door, and carpenters built a new bed frame and canopy with pink translucent curtains that flowed over her bed like a veil.

Portraits of castles and Marigold’s favorite animals dotted the walls, and more toys than I could count were nestled in various corners.

I told my mother she was spoiling her rotten. I was fairly confident this bedroom was the most valuable chamber in the mansion.

But the look on Marigold’s freckled face when she saw it for the first time…

I would give her a thousand rooms to see that smile.

“This one.” She plopped onto her bed and held out a thin, leather-bound book.

I raised an eyebrow. “Again?”

“You know it’s my favorite, Daddy.”

“I think you could recite it to me by memory at this point,” I said with a chuckle, tying back my long hair with a strap of leather before climbing onto the bed with her. The Lost Princess . She’d been obsessed with this book since Galen gave it to her last year.

“Alright. The Lost Princess ,” I began, opening the book to the title page with artwork depicting a young girl and a crown at her feet.

Marigold slipped under the covers and nudged my elbow with her head so she could nestle into my side.

Her fingers came up to feel the wrinkled pages, as she always loved to do.

Kissing the top of her head, I rested the book between us.

“Once upon a time, there was a little princess who lived in a beautiful castle. She had a mother and father who loved her very much. They would let her play in the meadows and ride her pony in the fields, and tucked her into bed every night with a kiss.

“One night, there was a loud, scary storm. Thunder boomed and lightning cracked outside the little princess’s window, and she became scared.

But right before she was about to hide under her covers, a soft, pretty lullaby began playing.

The music became louder as a figure appeared from the shadows of her room.

It was a beautiful woman, with hair like gold and eyes as bright and purple as the princess’s favorite flower, a violet. ”

“Daddy, violets are my favorite flower too!” Marigold exclaimed.

I chuckled. “I know, sweetheart.” Last year it was a rose, and the year before that, a daisy.

“Keep going,” she insisted.

“You’re the boss.” I cleared my throat. “The strange woman smiled at the princess and asked, ‘Are you afraid of the storm, little one?’”

“Do the voices , Daddy,” Marigold interrupted.

“Alright, alright, if you insist.” I pitched my voice higher as I continued, “‘I can take you somewhere safe,’ the woman said, holding out her hand. ‘Somewhere the monsters and storms can’t reach you.’

“When another blast of thunder shook the room, the princess jumped up and took the woman’s hand. In the blink of an eye, she was transported to a wonderful garden, full of friendly animals and flowers and blue skies.”

“How did she get there?” Marigold asked. This was part of our nightly routine—no matter how many times we read the same book, she would always ask questions, always wanting to know more.

“Magic, I suppose. ”

“Is magic real ?”

I hesitated. There was so much about this world she didn’t understand yet. To her, magic was some fanciful, sparkly idea that granted wishes and made life better.

She didn’t know how magic could be a curse.

“Some magic is real,” I answered truthfully. “I think there’s magic in the way your grandmother and I love you. There’s magic in the world around us—the pretty flowers outside your door, how the sky lights up pink and gold when the sun goes down.”

“And my mommy?” she asked. “You say Mommy looks down on us from the stars. Is that magic too?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and smoothed out her hair. “Yes, sweetheart. That’s magic. And your mother loves you very much, even if she’s not here anymore.”

We sat in silence for a moment. I thought she’d fallen asleep when she quietly whispered, “Will you keep reading?”

Pulling her closer into my side, I continued, “At first, the little princess loved the enchanted garden.

She ran through the tall grass as birds and butterflies swooped at her side.

But soon, she got lonely. She missed her friends, her bed, and her mother and father.

Spinning around, she called for the woman who had brought her there.

“‘I want to go home,’ she said when the woman with golden hair appeared.

She smiled at the princess, her teeth perfectly white and her skin glowing like the sun.

‘This is your home now, little one. I brought you here to protect you from the storms. You can have everything you ever wanted,’ the woman said.

“The little girl began to cry. ‘All I want is my mommy!’ she pleaded. ‘She must be looking for me. I’ve been gone for so long.’

“The beautiful woman’s face suddenly fell. The sky around them darkened, and shadows swirled at the grass beneath their feet. Her eyes burned red as her face twisted into an ugly snarl. ‘Ungrateful child! You belong to me now. And you will never see your mother and father again.’

“With that, she vanished, leaving the princess all alone. She didn’t know what to do.

She was hungry and scared, and didn’t want to be trapped there anymore.

Looking beyond the field of flowers, she saw a scary forest. She wanted to run away from it but remembered how frightened she’d been of the storm.

If she had only faced her fear, maybe she wouldn’t have been taken away.

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she ran toward the dark forest, telling herself to be brave.

“When she reached the first tree, a large yellow pear fell to the ground.

She picked it up, so thankful to have found food, but a strange noise made her stop.

From the thick bushes beside her staggered an old crone.

She hunched over a wooden cane as strands of gray hair fell from her wrinkled scalp.

The old woman grimaced at the princess, showing off jagged black-and-yellow teeth.

“‘Would you mind sparing me some food?’ the crone asked, her voice wobbly.

“The princess gripped the pear tighter and swallowed down her fear. Holding the fruit out, she said, ‘Here. We can share.’

“The stranger raised her eyebrows. ‘You would be kind to me, someone you have never even met?’

“The girl took a step closer, urging the woman to take the pear. ‘My mommy and daddy always taught me to give to those who have less than me.’

“With a smile, the crone took the pear. ‘Because of your kindness, little princess, I will help you get home.’ Starlight gathered at the woman’s hands, surrounding the princess in magic.

Before she disappeared, the woman said, ‘Remember that goodness is not found in beauty, child, but in the heart.’

“Waving her hand, the woman sent the princess back to her room. She landed in her soft bed with the thunder and lightning still raging outside, but it didn’t scare her this time. The little princess was home, and she would never wish to leave again.”

I gently closed the book and looked down to see my daughter’s chest rising and falling evenly, little puffs of breath against my hand indicating she’d fallen asleep .

I always wondered why she loved that story so much.

Perhaps it was the idea of a little girl wanting to get back to her mother and father that resonated with her.

Marigold had never truly known her mother.

My Iris died of a heart disease when Marigold was barely three years old.

Sometimes, I thought she remembered the idea of her mother, but she was far too young to recall the moments they spent together.

Easing my arm out from beneath her, I slowly lifted off the bed and placed the book on her bookshelf. Something about the story stuck in my mind tonight more than it did the other nights: how eager we could often be to trust anything that promised to bring us out of our fears.

It made me think of myself.

I used to throw myself at all this kingdom had to offer in an attempt to get out of my own head.

Lesson after lesson my father would force me through in the hopes that one day I’d serve in his place.

Lord Thorne Reaux. I saw my future as clear as day: in a loveless marriage, raising children the way one raises cattle, spending my days in meetings listening to others complain, and drowning my nights in a bottle.

The spitting image of my father. A man who abandoned his family just to escape the life he’d created.

And that scared me more than anything.

So Galen and I found freedom and comfort in things that made us feel .

Taverns, women, drinking, gambling, jumping off cliffs into the Avonige Ocean.

He had his responsibilities as a prince—granted, on a much greater scale than mine—and we’d bonded from a young age over trying to avoid the inevitable emptiness of our future by filling our present with life .

Now we had both stepped into those futures, earlier than either of us expected.

But I had been given a gift. A beautiful, bronze-haired, brown-eyed gift that filled me with joy and completeness every single day.

Even when her mother was taken from me, when the world turned into shades of gray and the light was sucked from my spirit, Marigold kept me whole.

Galen…he didn’t have that .

Galen had a cursed crown on his head and a legacy of pain in his heart, still searching for something beautiful to take it all away. He held this unwavering, inexplicable faith that this woman, this empress from the Veridian Empire, was the answer to his problems.

If that was the case, I only hoped she could save him before it was too late.