Chapter 1
Stonemere Village, Kingdom of Ebonvale, Gefglimmer Realm
TheWellofWisheshad long since run dry.Its stones crumbled beneath moss and ivy, and its magic, if it ever had any, faded with the last of the old kings.Yet, when Serena knelt beside it, her hands shaking and her breath curling in the cold twilight, she offered her wish anyway.
A foolish hope, perhaps.But foolish hopes were all she had left.
The taxman would arrive at dawn.The greedy king had already taken so much.How much more would he take?Her family and the village were starving.Her father was sick, possibly dying.They had nothing left to give.No heirlooms.No livestock.No harvest.Just hunger, and hope fraying at the edges.
The mountain village on the edge of the kingdom was on the brink of ruin.It wasn’t just her and her family.It was all of them.
The old tales spoke of a magical wishing well with the ability to grant one’s heart’s desire.Anything the wisher wanted.So, Serena sought the well, searching through dense forest until she found it hidden beneath overgrown ivy and weeds, concealed to all but the most keen.
Or the most desperate.
It had taken her all afternoon to clear the overgrowth.Her gown was soiled and sweat-stained, her hands raw.Every muscle ached from the effort.Hunger pangs plagued her.She had a desperate thirst.But peering down into the well, she saw nothing.No glisten of dark water.Only stones and sprouts of weeds pushing through the mortar.
Now, with the cold wind biting through her and the frigid ground seeping into her knees, she took a deep breath, ready to make her wish.
“I wish…” Her breath plumed in the air around her.
She paused, her mind frozen.Whatwasher wish?Money for the taxman?Food for the table?To cure her sick father?
There were so many needs and only one wish.At least, according to the legend.
She closed her eyes against the night, shivering in the cold breeze, and placed her hands on the edge of the crumbling stone well.
“I’d give anything to save them,” she whispered.
A desperate plea in desperate times.The wind stilled.Silence descended.And for a long, quiet moment, there was nothing.No response.
It was worth a try, even though she failed.She rose on shaking legs, her hands ice cold.
“I tried,” she said and turned away.It was a long trek back to the village, and night was upon her.
“What will you pay?”
The man’s voice curled like thread spun from the night.Cold.Mysterious.
She turned back to see him standing there, cloaked in shadows.He wore black.His face was hidden in the night.
A shiver danced up her spine.She took a step back, clutching her elbows, her worn boots crunching on the bracken.
“Who are you?”
“You called me, did you not?”
“I called no one.I-I made a wish.”
“All wishes are calls.The Well remembers them all.”He smiled.Not a warm smile.Not a smile that reached his eyes.
She looked past him toward the empty stone overgrown with brush.
“The well is dry,” she said.
“That doesn’t mean it’s dead.”
He moved closer, stepping into the fading light of day streaming through the treetops.His alabaster skin, glistening with an otherworldly glow, looked as though it had been carved from marble.Perfect.Flawless.With high cheekbones, a wide forehead, and curved pink lips.Beneath the hood of his cloak, his startling green-blue eyes peered back at her with curiosity.He was dressed all in black with a black cloak wrapping around him, the tail fluttering in the faint breeze.
