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Discovery

SALLIE ROSE

As representatives of the royal family, Aralyssean palace servants are given exactly two sets of livery: beige gowns for women whose palace jobs don’t involve cooking or cleaning, and beige coats and tails for the men.

It is strictly forbidden for attendants to the royal family to wear any kind of jewelry, lest we be mistaken for royals ourselves—a scandal of the highest order.

But the morning after I “confess” to being Princess Seraphyne, I wake to find my first piece of jewelry has been placed upon my wrist while I slept.

A shackle. Made of obsidian and attached by a chain to a wall.

Oh, look. My first bracelet ever. My severely short life as the Stone Bride Princess of Aralysse Eryx Oblation Tribute thingie is off to a great start.

I sit up and groan under the effort. After a cross-country carriage ride, a sky flight, and matless sleep, I’m sore everywhere. Also stiff, thanks to the castle’s extreme cold.

Lunaterra might enjoy temperate weather with no winter, but in here, it’s so cold I can see my breath.

Wait—I can see my breath!

The realization that I’m no longer sitting in pitch darkness lifts my eyes. I take in the room I couldn’t see last night.

The Stone Fae King called it his sleeping quarters, but there’s no bed that I can see.

The room is large and empty, save for a throne sitting directly across from where I lie.

It appears to be carved entirely from red crystal, jagged and gleaming like a crown of spears.

Spikes rise at odd angles behind it, catching what little light there is and scattering it in crimson shards across the stone floor.

It doesn’t look like a seat so much as a threat—something made to intimidate rather than comfort. The surface pulses faintly, as if the throne was forged from magma and magic and cold-blooded rule. A sword nearly as tall as the throne rests beside it, plunged into a matching crystal base.

The entire thing radiates menace.

And, apparently, this is where the Stone Fae King sleeps. Though I can’t see any sign of him.

The only thing in the room other than my pee bucket is a statue with its back to me, standing before a gigantic arched window along the castle’s exterior wall.

Large stone wings block me from seeing anything but the back of its head and—okay—an extremely impressive pair of buttocks perched atop some seriously well-muscled legs.

The artist must be a huge fan of anatomy. Their detail work is beyond amazing. There’s even a tail with a pointed tip curled around one calf.

Wait, do the Stone Fae have tails?

Either way, in your bedroom window feels like a strange place to put a naked statue. But maybe it’s like the wooden figures they put in the shop windows in Pridehaven, the nearby capital city of Solmane. Just, you know… without the clothes.

Too bad my new jewelry won’t let me go take a closer look.

But wait. I don’t necessarily have to stay here.

Remembering the secret weapon I managed to score yesterday before we left Elephim, I reach into the dress’s pocket (thank goodness I decided to include one!) and bring out the plant I pulled from the ground—technically a weed, but hey, a plant is a plant when you’re working with heavily human-blood-diluted earth and light magic.

Speaking of which, just enough of the suns’ light from the window drifts far enough into the shadowy chamber for me to pull it for an intention spell.

I insert the tip of the weed into the lock and close my eyes, letting the plant feel my will while my magicking hand moves on to a binding spell.

The weed twists and slithers into the obsidian mechanism, and in the next moment, the jeweled shackle loosens with a soft click .

I’m so proud of myself for using magic to get free, it almost makes up for the pain that flares through my muscles as I climb to my feet. Moist, I’m sore.

Also, my bladder is now loudly registering its complaints. I knew I shouldn’t have drunk every drop of that large jug of water Doorrinthiah brought me, along with a tasty dinner of roast meat and bread, last night.

My eyes fall back on the pail. So the statue has to wait until after a bit of negotiation with my long dress and another shake and wait.

Even with only two more nights left to live, I desperately want a bath, but since there’s nothing other than the pail that I can see, I settle for going to check out the window statue.

“Well, hello again, King Super Villain.”

I let out a small laugh when I reach the front of the statue and realize it’s a rendering of the Stone Fae King.

Though not exactly. There are no cracks running over his skin, and the glowing red orbs that haunt my dreams have been replaced by blank, gray, lidless ovals.

Which probably means the Stone Fae can narrow their glowing eyes but not blink.

Just as I suspected.

This statue is turning into a bit of an anatomy lesson thanks to its complete nudity, save for the metal crest embedded in its chest. It gleams in the suns’ light.

I have to admit, the front is even more impressive than the back. This version of the Stone Fae King sports a well-carved, two-slab chest, with rows of finely etched abs underneath. Also…

My eyes drift lower, and I jolt at the sight.

Wow , as we say in the old language.

While I’ve never seen a male’s private parts in person, these strike me as… unusually large. A thick trunk framed by a heavy sack. The artist even went so far as to carve veins along its long shaft.

I have so many questions about the creation process behind this feat of art. Did the Stone Fae King pose for this? Or was the rendering a mix of the sculptor’s imagination and their desire to please the royal who commissioned their services?

My curious mind turns into curious hands. I run my fingers lightly over the statue’s chest. Despite the suns shining through the window, the stone remains cool to the touch.

“Is this really what you look like underneath?” I ask the Statue King aloud. “Or is this like when the king and queen ask the portrait artist to trim their waists and smooth out the wrinkles around their eyes and mouths?”

I hesitate.

But I can’t help letting my hand slip lower, down to the swell of flesh carved between the statue’s powerful thighs. “Surely this is an exaggeration.”

The statue just stares back, cold and impervious to my accusations. Its head is tilted down at an angle, much like the massive statues of the king and queen that loom over the kingdom’s gates, giving the illusion of judgment as you pass beneath the Welcome to Aralysse sign.

Only this statue is on the ground. All I have to do is rise up onto the tips of my slippered feet, using my hand against his chest to balance. And then I’m close enough to…

I press my lips onto his black mouth. It, too, is cold.

I lick along the seam. Just to see how deep the crevice goes.

And though it’s only a statue—little different from the pillow I used to practice on back when I dreamed of being kissed by someone who saw the real me behind the beige dress—a bolt of lightning shoots through me.

My stomach flutters, and my nipples harden beneath the too-tight fabric.

“Wow,” I whisper, lowering myself back to my feet. I give the statue a wry smile. “Not bad for a first and last kiss.”

Feeling slightly ridiculous, I step away. “But now it’s time for me to go. See ya later, Your Stone-Cold Majesty.”

With a mocking bow I never would’ve gotten away with back in Aralysse, I throw in a middle-finger salute (also not included in the 437-page palace servant’s manual on comportment and etiquette) before making my way to the door of the strange sleeping chamber.

I expect the hall to be bustling with Stone Fae servants and soldiers, like it was last night. But no…

The suns’ rays stream down through a long skylight carved into the castle ceiling, casting a beam across the corridor and revealing something I hadn’t noticed in the dark. The walls are lined with statues.

Dozens of them. All dressed in what looks like real clothing—organic fabrics, not chiseled stone. Robes, tunics, and even leather loincloths adorn what appear to be granite bodies. I must have missed them last night in all my fear.

There’s even one standing right next to the door that looks exactly like Doorinthiah, the servant who brought me food. Down to the black over-the-shoulder corset and long skirt, which seems to be part of a castle uniform, if the other statues standing next to doors are any indication.

But why make so many statues of your servants and soldiers? Is that, like, a thing here?

Okay, last night this weird statue business probably would’ve freaked me out. But only three more days until I give up my life in exchange for Aralysse’s continued well-being.

No, it’s not fair that the real Princess Seraphyne will get to enjoy the freedom I’ve dreamed about since I was five years old.

But what in my life has ever been fair?

And I must be getting used to all this surreal stuff. Because this morning, instead of freaking out again, I simply walk past the statues, weaving a path through them with the eerie calm of someone long past shock as I search for something that might be a kitchen.

I keep my steps soft and stealthy as I creep forward on my food-finding mission, but it doesn’t even feel necessary.

Where is everyone? Unlike last night, when we returned from Elephim to a front hall full of bustling servants, the castle now feels… empty. Too quiet.

Quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Or the rustle of leaves in a gust of wind.

I turn toward the sound. And that’s when I see the thing I’ve really been looking for without knowing it.

A garden. A black-and-gray garden, unlike any I’ve ever seen before.

The hall’s entire back wall is made of glass, and it showcases a view of a large garden, sitting in front of a meadow’s worth of gravel.

My feet carry me toward it, like someone under a trance.

And when I get to the other side of a heavy glass door, I find it’s not so much a garden… as some kind of plant-based nightmare.

Black evergreens tower like sentinels, dropping their dark needles onto a terrace choked with brambles vining out nearly to the edge of the mountain cliff, so thick and tangled, it’s impossible to tell where one thorned vine ends and the next begins.

Everything looks drained. Colorless. Dead, but not quite.

Like something waiting to be mourned.

Or…

Or reawakened.

My chest lights up with that strange mix of analysis and healing purpose that all gardeners get when they see ailing plants.

Three days. I only have three days left.…

In the end, it’s not even a decision.

One moment, I’m just standing there, looking over my new find.

And the next, I’m on my knees, clearing a patch of bramble with my bare hands.

The thorns bite me as I work, protesting my invasion. Doesn’t matter. I need to see what’s underneath, what kind of soil I’m working with.

And, yes!

Just as I hoped, it’s good. Damp, dark brown, and nutrient-rich, despite the cover of thorny vines.

Another feeling only gardeners understand: the certainty that this soil has been waiting for me to come and rescue it. Possibly for centuries.

“I’m here,” I whisper, working a minor introduction spell with my fingers as I sift through the dirt. “Do you have anything I can use to help you?”

As if in answer, a flash of green catches my eye. A single sprout, hidden under the nearby bramble, but somehow still clinging to life.

That’ll do it , as my father always says when he finds just enough plant life to magick up a new garden.

No, I don’t need food.

Three days…

I get to work.

No food. No rest. Working to get this garden started becomes the only sustenance I require over the next few hours.

And I’m so caught up in my mission, I don’t realize a shadow has fallen over me until a braying voice demands: “What are you doing out here before the moons rise, Eryx Bride? Why aren’t you in our sovereign’s chambers?”

I turn my head to look up.

And find the mean, triple-horned brown goat from last night glaring down at me.