Page 2 of The Starlit Ring (The Chronicles of Liridin #1)

“You are the most interesting person here,” I reminded her.

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “I don’t do anything interesting. Certainly nothing that warrants all this.” She gestured around the room.

I shrugged. “You’ve plenty of hobbies. You’re very pretty. The right person will find you.”

But Ria shook her head. “Gambling and swordplay,” she scoffed. “No one will be interested.”

“Well, you like to read, too,” I reminded her.

Ria groaned and slouched over the tabletop, delicate chin cupped in her pale hands. “Dull hobbies. Besides, I’ve no magic. I wasn’t lucky like you. ”

A little surge of pride ran through me. “Well, I’m sure someone will find you fascinating.”

“ Some one,” she groaned. “Nobody wants me for me .”

This was the problem with royalty. Everyone felt this way. Especially when the marriages were arranged. Even couples who were now happily married went through a period where they felt as if their spouse would never like them. Or worse, that they’d never like their spouse back.

I dreaded the notion.

“We’ll see,” I said.

Before I could add anything else, a disgruntled Timin burst through the door, skirts flying, braid trailing behind her. The streak of grey hair at her temple looked somehow more robust, as if empowered by our absence. “There you are! How dare you?—”

“We’re very sorry,” I interrupted, before Ria could say something that would only make the situation worse. “We won’t do it again.”

“Oh,” said Timin, staggering to a halt before us. “I… Alright. See that this is the last time. There are too many strangers in the castle for me to feel comfortable with you roaming the halls alone.” There was something in her expression that suggested she wasn’t comfortable alone, either.

Guilt flashed through me. Maybe we shouldn’t have left her behind.

We sat in the banquet hall eating the sliced bread, preserves, and hard cheese that Belinda brought us.

We were done with lessons for the day. With two hours left before dinner, there wasn’t much to do.

Ordinarily, we might’ve gone on a short ride, or practiced fencing, but with the castle so full, it would be too much of a hassle.

The training grounds were surely packed with sweaty, stinking knights and bravado bloated nobles.

As badly as I might want to show off, I had no desire to listen to men coo at me like I was a tiny kitten flashing talons.

More importantly, Father forbade me from so much as lifting a sword while guests were about.

The last time I practiced during banquet season, I nearly ruined our alliance with the kingdom of Marriwer, which would’ve stunted our textile industry.

Marriwer provided most of the dyes and fabrics we used for our clothes and bedding, and probably lots of other things I hadn’t considered.

The duke’s hand had healed, but rumor had it that his pride was still raw where I’d pierced it.

Oh well. Perhaps he’d learned not to touch bosoms that didn’t belong to him. Especially not when the owner of said bosom happened to be holding a blade.

Ria sulked, taking tiny bites of bread and sighing loudly every few minutes.

I was afraid to say anything that might frustrate her further, and so grew bored quickly.

Just as I thought to plead for a quick visit to the forge, where I spent my afternoons under the tutelage of the artificer, Cranz, Timin perked up, and said, “Let’s review tomorrow’s schedule, shall we? ”

Ria and I groaned in unison.

“Oh, come now, it’s important!”

“But we know the schedule,” Ria complained. “We wake up, go to lessons, spend two hours getting ready, and then we go to the banquet.”

“Yes, but you’re missing the minutia,” said Timin, with an enthusiasm that couldn’t be faked.

“Wake, dress, then breakfast, then lessons, then luncheon, then the baths, then dress for the banquet, then report to the king’s side—Well, only Princess Ria,” she stammered, remembering that I wasn’t going to be spending the banquet at the king’s side.

Since I wasn’t actively searching for a suitor, I’d be seated near the end of the table with my brothers, lost among the advisors and loyal barons, unclaimed as a seashell spat out by the sea.

I shouldn’t complain. King Amonrew took care of me. I’d never felt like anything less than his daughter, even if many of his advisors argued that I couldn’t possibly be. I had tutors, clothes, jewelry, my own rooms, my own horse. Even now, at the age of twenty-two, I was well-cared for.

“The minutia,” Ria repeated dully. “Just what I wanted to hear.”

“I want to go to the forge,” I said, brushing crumbs from my skirts, and looking hopefully at Timin.

“You meant to say, ‘ May I go to the forge?’” she reminded me. “It is unbecoming to forget your manners.”

It did not escape my notice that Ria was never corrected or chastised, no matter what she said. As the eldest, she commanded more respect.

“ May I go to the forge?” I sighed, swiping a piece of hair from my face.

“Yes,” said Timin after a long pause. “We may visit the forge. You are not permitted to use it, however. We haven’t the time for that.”

“Thank you,” I said, leaping to my feet. Cranz would be less than pleased to see me, but there was nowhere else for me to go. The library would be stuffed to the brim with judgmental lords and ladies. The same applied to the baths, to the gardens, to the tea rooms, and beyond.

The forge was located on the outskirts of castle grounds, a little stone building that shot plumes of grey smoke into the air. Voices shouted over the sound of pounding metal and the whooshing of the bellows.

My heart sang as I approached, breaking into a jog that left Ria and Timin struggling to keep up. Here, surrounded by metal and stone and magic, I felt most alive. I wove wards and tricks into jewels, setting them into the hilts of blades that could slice through flesh and stone alike.

I liked to experiment, which Cranz hated.

I created blades that whispered words of encouragement, that would lead the wielder to water, or glow bright as the moon.

I didn’t want to imbue swords with the ability to wield lightning in a storm, or to burst into flame on the downstroke.

Several dozen other artificers already did that.

Besides, I wasn’t exactly good at creating weapons. I was better at enchanting hatpins to keep hair perfectly in place than I was at making weapons for war.

Worse, my creations eventually lost their power. No matter what I did, the magic faded until I was left with a useless hat pin or button.

Cranz stared at us as we pushed through the doors.

He wore an apron of heavy leather, and gloves that made his already large hands appear massive.

Broad-shouldered and burly, he might’ve been attractive if his face weren’t permanently red from the heat, and his hair plastered to his head with sweat.

Beside him, Ronnie stopped the bellows. He waved a broad hand at me.

Ronnie was more cheerful than Cranz, but he wasn’t an artificer, just a regular smith, so I didn’t spend as much time with him. Still, he was the one who made sure I knew all the safety regulations, and guided me through my first clumsy, uneven daggers.

“What are you doing here?” Cranz grit out.

“Just paying you a little visit,” I said, slipping past him to the work bench, where I’d left my notes. “I forgot something.”

“I like the flower hilt,” said Ronnie, looking over his shoulder to the stack of papers where I’d scribbled designs.

“I keep telling you, those are going to fly into the fire,” Cranz grumbled, pointing at my pages with a gauntleted hand. “At least use a paperweight.”

“He’s right,” agreed Ronnie reluctantly. “You need to remember to put those in a drawer.”

“I know,” I sighed. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“Forgetting always ends poorly, Princess.” Cranz shook his head.

Sweat flew around him. Ria leapt backwards, right into Timin’s chest. They nearly toppled right out the doors, but Ronnie lunged to steady them.

Cranz glared. He didn’t like me in his forge, and he definitely didn’t like strangers.

Even the king was only grudgingly tolerated, and that was probably because he paid the bills. “Fire hazard.”

“Whoops,” I said, watching as Ronnie led Timin and Ria out of the building. That was probably for the best. Ria had visited me here plenty of times, but she wasn’t fond of the heat and noise, and the way Cranz hounded her about not standing too close to the fire.

“That can melt steel and bones, Your Highness,” he’d snapped at her. Unaccustomed to being spoken to in such a manner, Ria would just stammer an apology and leave.

I suspected she might’ve had a crush on Cranz, but I didn’t dare confront her. I couldn’t exactly blame her for staring at him. He was too bulky and flushed for my liking, but he had a handsome face and green eyes and cleaned up nicely on the rare occasion I saw him outside the forge.

Besides, it didn’t matter if she liked Cranz. He didn’t like anybody, certainly not a skinny brunette princess who got in his way and acted as if she’d dropped her brain a few miles back without noticing every time he walked by.

More importantly, she was princess, and he was a blacksmith. A king’s blacksmith, certainly. But a blacksmith nonetheless. If ever love blossomed between them, it would have no future. Our father would see to that.

Cranz would be lucky to keep his head.

“Ready for the banquet?” said Ronnie, reappearing. Soot was smeared across his brow.

“As I ever am,” I told him.

“Ah, you love it. I’ve seen you. Will you be training with us in the morning?”

“Surely not,” Cranz protested, stoking the fire.

“As always!” I chirped, clutching my notes to my chest.

Cranz groaned, and Ronnie laughed.