Page 4

“ D on’t go far, Elizabeth,” Harold warned.

“I won’t, Papa,” Elizabeth called.

The sound of her father’s knowing chuckle, a sound full of mischief and warmth, made her grin.

Gathering the sides of her long, woolen dark blue dress between her fingers, she practically danced along the worn road, the scent of earth and ocean filling her nostrils.

With a light skip, she danced around the puddles, the cool, sea air swirling against her ankles as she dodged each muddy pool.

The cool breeze rustled through her hair as she lifted her face, savoring the warmth of the sun.

The air was crisp and clear, the sky a vibrant blue, and the sun shone brightly, making this one of those magical days before winter set in.

The fading blooms were a flurry of activity, as birds and insects, their wings a blur, collected seeds in preparation for the long, cold winter.

The wind whipped through Elizabeth's hair as she paused on the rise, taking a deep breath to catch her breath. The mythical kingdom of Or’Ang stood perched high on a ledge near the ocean, its white towers piercing the sky, a striking sight against the deep blue of the sea.

The castle's gleaming white walls were a beacon in the sun and unlike anything she had ever seen before. Since she was a toddler, her father, a traveling bard and trader, had filled her head with enchanting stories about Or’Ang and his kingdom, sparking a longing to see them within her.

“The walls are made of polished stones that gleam as a beacon to the weary travelers.”

“Papa was right, it does gleam,” she murmured, her voice laced with excitement.

She looked over her shoulder at the human village, its buildings a jumble of stone and wood against the distant hills.

The village had a strange, almost enchanted atmosphere, and the people who lived there seemed to be touched by a special magic.

The village was a vibrant hub of activity, the sounds of bartering and laughter drifting from the bustling shops.

The villagers greeted her father and her with welcoming smiles, their eyes devoid of any suspicion, and filled with genuine warmth.

The small dagger at her waist felt heavy, reassuring, but completely unnecessary in this place. She always donned three pieces of armor—for protection against the dangers that lurked along their travels.

A sigh of regret and sadness slipped from her. The absence of her mother was a heavy weight on her heart. The peaceful solitude of this village would have been a welcome comfort for her mother.

The illness, a cruel plague that had ravaged their village a year ago, took the lives of countless souls.

Those that survived fled, leaving behind only the faint scent of smoke and the silence of loss.

Her father, returning from his travels, found her battling to keep their tiny hut standing, the wind howling around its rickety walls.

The survivors had ransacked the winter stores of supplies, leaving behind empty shelves and a lingering sense of desperation.

The floor of their hut had provided a meager shelter for the supplies she had hidden there, allowing her to live but with few other comforts.

The sight of her father’s return had warmed her heart, chasing away some of the sorrow that still lingered like a cold mist in the air.

The past year, though marked by challenges, had also brought moments of self-discovery and profound healing.

There had been danger, the kind that made her heart pound and her breath catch in her throat, but her father, with his steely gaze and calm demeanor, was a master at handling such threats.

The excitement and wonder she felt far outweighed any negative feelings she might have had.

This kingdom, a majestic sight with towering spires and bustling marketplaces, marked the end of their long journey.

They would retrace their path back to their own small glen, the familiar sights and smells guiding their way.

Her father believed others from the small glen would have returned by the time they arrived, but Elizabeth wasn’t as hopeful. After all, what was there to return to?

The castle loomed ahead, but she couldn't resist stopping to collect the vibrant seeds scattered like jewels across the path.

As she walked, she gathered late fall flowers, their stems still slightly damp from the morning dew, and crafted a crown.

The heavy oak gates held open by thick ropes creaked as she crossed under them, their aged wood whispering stories of time, and her heart swelled with delight.

The guards, with their piercing eyes and royal navy blue uniforms, stood out amidst the throngs of people, their presence a stark contrast to the cacophony of the bustling marketplace.

She dipped into a swift curtsy, her smile flashing brightly as she passed the stern-faced guards.

She was rewarded when one of the guards, unable to contain his amusement, let out a small chuckle.

A warm glow filled her as she continued on her way, content in the knowledge that she had brightened someone’s day.

The entrance into the castle led to a wide, cobbled courtyard, its surface worn smooth by centuries of footsteps, each one leaving behind a faint whisper of stories past. The castle was integrated into the cliff face so perfectly that it was hard to tell where the rock ended and the castle began, the walls mirroring the cliff's rough, imposing facade.

She turned, a gasp escaping her lips as her eyes took in the breathtaking sight, the beauty of it all leaving her speechless.

The sound of heavy hooves pounding against the cobblestones gave warning through the street, causing her to whirl around in alarm.

The carriage thundered down the street, barely missing her as she frantically leaped to safety.

A startled squeal escaped her lips as the draft from the carriage nearly knocked her off her feet.

“Watch yourself, human!” the driver yelled.

She rolled her eyes, her expression a clear sign of disapproval, but the driver was oblivious, his focus on the team of six horses.

The cadence of her pounding heart mingled with the enchanting music as she turned and followed its playful rhythm.

As she climbed, she drank in the sights of the grand arched walkways that loomed above her.

The intricate carvings chiseled into the weathered stone left her speechless.

Guards and residents walked across, traversing from one section of the castle to another with ease.

The market was a symphony of sights and sounds - bustling vendors hawking their wares, customers haggling over prices, and the unfamiliar smells of spices and exotic foods being cooked over open fires filled the air.

She traced her fingers over the delicate fabric at one booth, admiring its softness, before purchasing a piece of vibrant, sun-kissed fruit from a nearby stall.

She ventured deeper and deeper into the market, her heart pounding with excitement, her eyes drinking in the sights and smells of exotic spices and fresh produce.

The musicians played lively songs, their melodies intertwining with the joyous shrieks and laughter of dancing children.

She stopped, unable to resist the infectious laughter of the children as they tried to match her steps.

As she twirled, her eyes caught sight of a sign above a shop, its bright colors and whimsical lettering sending a thrill through her.

“A book merchant!” she exclaimed.

A young man paused and gave her a puzzled expression before making a face. “What good are books?

“They are magical,” she murmured.

She tore her attention from the dancers, the shop's beckoning aura stronger than the allure of the music.

Moments later, she pushed on the door, the sound of a small copper bell, tinkling softly above her head, caused her to pause.

She swiveled, her eyes wide with wonder as the sunlight, filtering through the thick panes of beveled glass, created a kaleidoscope of colors across the book covers lining the shelves of the small store.

As she closed her eyes, she inhaled the musty scent of aged paper, the smell of decades of stories waiting to be read.

Her fingers brushed against the soft leather of her satchel as she slid her hand inside.

An elderly shifter with a pleasant smile emerged from a narrow hallway, her face etched with age and wisdom.

A warm smile spread across her face in response to the woman’s kind expression.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked.

“Hello. I would like to browse if you don’t mind,” she replied.

“Not at all. Is there anything specific you are searching for? I have tomes from the farthest lands,” the woman explained.

Elizabeth's eyes darted around, taking in every detail, her heart brimming with hope and excitement.

The aroma of aged paper and leather filled the air as she gazed upon the bookseller's vast collection, a seemingly endless ocean of words.

Her lips parted with awe as she stepped forward and gently traced her fingers over the leather-bound covers embossed in gold.

“I see you have a true love for the stories contained within,” the woman observed.

Elizabeth nodded. “Both of my parents gifted me with their passion to read. The stories contained inside open up worlds that are both breathtaking and magical. I would get nothing done if I had so many books at my fingertips,” she confessed.

The woman chuckled and nodded in agreement. “My name is Giselle. I’ll make us a cup of tea while you look.”

Elizabeth absently nodded, already lost in trying to decide which book she should sample first. By the time Giselle returned, she had settled on a short wooden seat built halfway up a spiral staircase along one wall with a short stack of books.