Page 2 of Twisted Souls (Twisted Souls #1)

Zara

Queen Winifred Davinshire sat before me, her shimmering blonde hair intricately braided. It cascaded down her back, complementing the golden crown resting atop her head. The crown had multicolored jewels that crested each peak and reflected the light with the slightest movement. Her pale yellow gown made her stand out from the row of dusty leather books behind her, but it was her garnet amulet around her neck that had drawn my gaze. Its deep red hue was stark against her porcelain skin, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

Her piercing yellow eyes snapped to mine suddenly, and I winced. “Is there something you wish to discuss, Zara? Or can I get back to reading without your eyes burning holes into my head?”

I cursed under my breath. “Sorry, Winnie. No, it's nothing.” I shook my head, looking back down at my book. I was the only person who could call her by that nickname; well, besides the King. She preferred to be called Winnie rather than mother.

We sat in the royal library having our tea, as we did every Sunday morning, before being escorted to the gardens for our walk. My hand nervously pulled at a loose blue thread on my dress as I pretended to continue reading.

Winnie continued to eye me suspiciously. Her eyebrow arched in a way that always made me feel like she could see right through me. With a decisive motion, she slammed her book shut. The sound made me jump so high that I nearly toppled out of my seat.

“I'm done reading,” she said, standing and placing her book on the small wooden table between us.

Guards in red and gold uniformsscattered throughout the room stepped forward and surrounded us. I set the book I had been holding down and followed my mother out of the large glass library doors.

We stepped out onto the terrace, moving toward the stairs that led down to the garden path, but before we could descend, she turned to face me. “Leave us,” she ordered, waving her hand. I knew she wasn’t speaking to me, though her eyes were on me. The surrounding guards obeyed but didn’t go far.

Winnie stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Is this about the ball?” she quipped, raising an eyebrow.

I sighed; of course, her mind went right to that. The start-of-season ball was always the grandest event we held at the castle. The ball rang in the new courting season, welcoming the new-of-age girls and men of Velra to court. It was essentially a mating ball with men and women masquerading in their finest clothes, using honeyed words, and trying to impress someone enough to marry.

I hated it.

“You show every emotion on your face,” Winnie scowled. “You’re twenty, Zara. It's time you took a courtship more seriously. It's not like you are getting any younger,” she said with pursed lips.

I rolled my eyes. I wish I had just the ball to worry about, but I couldn’t tell her what was happening to me, at least not yet.

“It's nothing. I just haven't been getting much sleep. I’m not worried about the ball,” I reassured her, giving a soft smile, though it felt forced.

She narrowed her eyes at me, clearly unconvinced. “You’ve always been a horrible liar, but I won't press if it's nothing serious,” she said, straightening as she held my stare, waiting for my response.

“It's nothing serious, really. I would tell you if it was,” I said, shifting uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

She stared at me for a moment longer before relenting. “Fine. Let us walk.” She turned sharply, her yellow gown flowing out around her as she stepped off the terrace and onto the stairs. The guards followed, still keeping their distance. “Speaking of the ball. Have you any thoughts on who you want to escort you?”

I nearly tripped down the stairs at the question. “Do I have a choice?”

“Yes, you have a choice,” she said, looking at me sidelong. “But if you don’t decide soon, the decision will be made for you. Again.”

She sounded annoyed, but honestly, I was surprised she hadn't chosen someone already. At the last ball, she had Duke Wellington’s son, Geoff, escort me. His pimply face had made me nauseous all night, and I shivered at the memory. “I’ll find someone,” I breathed, forcing a smile.

We stepped onto the lush grass, following the gravel pathway as it wound into the garden. Silence lingered between us, broken only by the hum of bees and the chirping of birds. It was spring, and the air was thick with blooming floral scents carried on a light breeze. Beneath our feet, the gravel crunched with each step, drawing us deeper into a maze of vibrant flowers, meticulously trimmed hedges, and elegant sculptures.

An enormous mosaic fountain stood at the heart of the garden. Benches circled around the open space, nestled amid the shrubs and flowering blooms.

We reached the fountain, and Winnie moved to our usual bench beneath the shade of the old orange tree—the one I had climbed countless times as a child. She sat with poised ease, but I didn’t follow. Instead, I walked to the fountain’s edge and gazed into the reflective water. Colorful fish darted beneath the surface, their tiny mouths puckering up expectantly, but I had nothing to offer them.

My thoughts drifted to last night, a sigh slipping from my lips as I lowered myself onto the cool stone rim. “Do you believe in magic?” The question slipped out before I could stop myself.

She didn’t respond, and when I glanced back at the bench, she was gone—now standing beside me, so close I hadn’t even heard her approach. I nearly toppled into the fountain but managed to steady myself.

“Why do you ask?” Her voice was soft, but her gaze was unexpectedly intense, making me look away.

I wasn’t sure why I had asked the question. Standing, I took a subtly step backward, and redirected my gaze to the water.

“I guess I’m just having some strange dreams lately—of places I don’t remember seeing before. They feel a bit too real sometimes.” I glanced at Winnie, but her expression was unreadable.

“What happens in these dreams?” she prompted, her delicate hands resting lightly on the fountain's edge.

“Nothing, really. I’m just standing, always in a different place. It scares me sometimes, not knowing where I am.” It was more honesty than I intended, but there it was.

I swallowed nervously as Winnie reached out, tucking a strand of my brown chestnut hair behind my ear and gently lifting my chin to meet her gaze. “Is this all that happens? Just dreams of strange places?” Her gaze remained as intense as before, and a lump formed in my throat.

Despite the cool air, my pale blue dress began to cling to my skin as my anxiety rose. Why had I brought this up?

“Yes,” I said heavily.

She contemplated a moment longer and released my chin. “Now that you mention it, you do look rather run down.” She took a measured step back, a soft smile now on her lips. “If they are bothering your sleep this much, I can have Spencer make you a night tonic. They used to help you when you had nightmares as a child.”

A memory surfaced. It was blurry, but I remembered Winnie and the head healer, Spencer, in my room as a child. I had woken up screaming, and I remember them fighting about something before Spencer pulled a vial from his pocket.

My brows knitted in thought. “I vaguely remember Spencer giving me something once. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try if you think it might help.” Our eyes met, and I returned her soft smile.

She took my arm with hers and led us away from the fountain and back onto the gravel path. “The tonics allow the person who drinks them to have a dreamless sleep. I think it should do the trick.”

We walked back to the castle in silence, but my mind was racing with our conversation. I shouldn’t have said anything. Do you believe in magic ? Gods, why did I have to open my stupid mouth? Of course, she doesn’t. Magic is something you read about in fairytales as a kid or something lunatics or drunks talk about in taverns. She must think I’m going insane.

Once inside, Winnie said her goodbyes and headed toward her room.

I waited until she was out of sight before slipping into the servant stairway. I descended the narrow, winding stairs to the bottom floor and emerged into the kitchen.

As soon as I set foot on the stone floor, a tall, bearded man greeted me with a sneer, brandishing a ladle. “No, no, no, get back upstairs, girl.”

“Good morning to you, too, Bubbles,” I said with a smirk. “Having a bad day already?”

“I told you to stop calling me that. It’s Bubba.” His warm brown eyes crinkled at the edges as he fixed me with a narrowed gaze. “Now, go on back upstairs, girl.” He waved me off dismissively and turned to the far wall, where a pot of simmering tomatoes bubbled gently.

Bubba was a burly, bald man with a weathered face and a thick, grizzled white beard. He was tan from years of working outdoors and was tall with broad shoulders.

I followed him with a smile, taking in the vast kitchen space around us. The kitchens were busier than usual, probably in preparation for the upcoming ball. Workers in stained aprons shouted and pushed their way around the bustling room. Some rolled dough or gutted fish, while others chopped vegetables and fruits with practiced efficiency. The smell of bread and smoked meat filled the room, making my mouth water.

“As you can see, we are busy, and I don’t need you distracting Cynthia from her work,” he said with his back to me, flinging tomato sauce off his ladle with a flick of his wrist.

“Who said I was here to see Cynthia? Why couldn’t I be here to see you?” I sat on a nearby stool and almost fell off when a plump kid carrying heavy bags of what looked like potatoes bumped into me. I managed to swing my legs out of the way just in time.

The boy turned to me angrily, cursing, before going white as a sheet as he realized who I was.

“What are you just standing there for, boy? Those potatoes won’t peel themselves. Go, go,” Bubba turned and shouted sternly. The boy looked as if he might faint, but began to apologize frantically before running across the kitchen.

Bubba turned his attention back to me, placing his hands on his hips. “You’ve only ever been here to see her,” he said, giving me a pointed look. “My daughter is busy with preparations for the ball. She doesn’t need you distracting her.”

I gave him a devilish grin and laughed lightly. “Come on, Bubbles, where is she? Pleasseeeeeeee.” I batted my lashes at him, and he rolled his eyes. He grumbled about something to do with the chickens, and that was all I needed. I hopped off the stool and ran toward the back door.

“Tell Cynthia if she doesn’t return in one hour, there will be a dock in her pay!” Bubba shouted after me, and I chuckled.

“Aye, aye, Bubba!” I saluted as I made my way out of the kitchen, and I could have sworn I saw him smile before returning to his pot.

I stepped onto the gravel path outside the kitchens and followed it around the bend of trees toward the barn. Even from a distance, I could see Cynthia's fiery red hair darting up and down across the field ahead.

The pig must have escaped again. With a chuckle, I sprinted toward the field and arrived just in time to see her tackle the tiny piglet to the ground, cursing under her breath. The piglet wriggled desperately beneath her, trying to break free.

“Damn pig,” Cynthia muttered between panted breaths. “Can't just stay in your pen, always finding a way to escape.” She managed to stand and started to walk toward the pen, the pig thrashing in her arms.

As she reached the gate, I swung it open for her. “Looks like you could use some help.”

Cynthia’s light brown eyes snapped to mine, and she nearly dropped the piglet again. She grinned at me and tossed the piglet recklessly into its pen, slamming the gate shut just in time behind it.

Cynthia stood about the same height as me, but unlike my slender frame, she boasted broader shoulders that hinted at hidden strength. Though her chest was fuller than mine, we shared the same wide hips and curvy features. Her complexion was porcelain pale, starkly contrasting with the rich hues of her red hair cascading in unruly waves around her shoulders.

“I have a surprise for you,” I announced, barely containing my excitement.

Cynthia groaned playfully, dramatically tossing her head back. “Oh no, you’re terrible at surprises.”

I swatted her arm in mock offense. “Oh, stop it. You love my surprises.”

She laughed, pushing me back lightly. “I'm just teasing; go on, tell me.” She grinned.

“Meet me in my room after my training session in the morning. I promise you will love it,” I said, a little too excitedly.

Cynthia eyed me suspiciously. “Well, now I’m scared.” She looped her arm through mine, pulling me along as we headed back toward the castle.

“You should be,” I teased back, winking at her.

She shook her head, smiling. “Are you excited for the ball?” Cynthia asked, changing the subject. “Dare I ask who your mother set you up with this year?”

“She hasn’t picked anyone yet. A bit last minute this year.” I chuckled lightly.

Cynthia turned to me, her eyes catching the worry on my face. “How about the new captain?” she suggested with a playful wiggle of her eyebrows. “I hear he's mouth-wateringly gorgeous… or at least that’s the rumor.”

“I wouldn't know. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting him yet.”

“Hmm.” Cynthia hummed thoughtfully. “I know Vincent isn’t happy about being replaced, especially by someone so young.” She snorted. “I hear he is our age.”

My brows furrowed at that. Why would my father replace Vincent with someone so inexperienced? “And what about you?” I countered, raising my eyebrows back at her. “Do you have a date for the ball?”

She gave me a sidelong glance, her expression deadpan. “What do you think?” she quipped.

We paused outside the kitchen doors, unlinking our arms and turning to each other with smiles. Cynthia had been my best friend since childhood. Though it was frowned upon at first, I was relentless in my efforts to be with her. My persistent attempts and the trouble I caused by sneaking around eventually led my parents to relent and accept our friendship. Cynthia, however, was the only exception. My mother had made that clear.

“Will I see you at dinner tonight?” I inquired hopefully, and Cynthia let out a sarcastic laugh.

“Have you met my father?” She snorted. “I probably won't have a normal schedule until well after this ball, but I'll be there tomorrow for this elusive surprise.” She grinned at me again but winced as a crash echoed in the kitchens and Bubba’s angry voice boomed through the door.

“I better get back in there before he kills someone.” She laughed, hugging me once more before disappearing into the kitchen.

I set off toward the grounds, unwilling to return to my room just yet. My feet moved on their own, each step carrying me forward as my mind replayed the events of last night over and over. With a frustrated sigh, I ran a hand over my face, turning onto the familiar path that would lead me back toward the gardens. The cool spring breeze tousled my hair, but it did little to calm the storm inside my head.

That camp. The swirling, unnatural darkness.

The red clay staining my carpet was the only thing that prevented me from dismissing it as just another dream, like so many others. I’d managed to clean most of it last night, but a stubborn spot remained.

To avoid the maids finding it, I had discreetly hidden my nightgown in the kitchen trash before my tea with my mother.

Last night had been the first time I had been fully awake through the entire ordeal, and it had shaken me to my core. It made me question everything. My dreams—had they all been real?

The week before, I had dreamt—or thought I had—of standing on a riverbank. Laughter and conversation echoed in the distance, yet I saw no one. The darkness had been thick, the only light coming from the dim reflection of the water. When I woke, I was covered in dried grass. I had chalked it up to my mind playing tricks on me, but now… now I wasn’t so sure.

There had been another time. I had found myself in a lush green forest, standing along a dirt road. I saw men on horseback in the distance, riding off down the road in front of me, and I ducked behind a fallen tree to avoid being seen. One of the riders had turned, and for a moment, I was certain he looked right at the spot I had appeared, as though he knew. I had closed my eyes, and waited, but when I finally opened them again, I was back in my bed.

A choked laugh escaped me as I sifted through my memories, struggling to piece together the fragments. After last night, I wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. But one thing was certain: these weren’t just dreams.