Page 1

PART ONE

The child would no longer die,

but fall into an eternal slumber…

Chapter One

Lavender.

Lavender. Lavender. Lavender.

The word had been echoing around inside Thicket’s head in the days since the attack. Of course the very thing that had both haunted and grounded Thicket her entire life also happened to be her sister’s name.

It made sense in an awful, twisted kind of way. More than that, it was undeniable proof that her sister had been pulling the strings the entire time. Thicket had never been in control. Not once. Lavender had wielded her like the pieces on a chessboard, and despite all she had learned—all she had accomplished—in the end, she had fallen directly into her sister’s trap.

Now, all Thicket had was the chaos Lavender had left her with. The chaos she had no idea how to begin to fix.

Let’s see how this one turns out, little Rose.

Thicket’s fingers dug into the wooden barrel as she lifted it from the stack of supplies lining the exterior wall of a nearby storefront, trying her best to block out the words. As she turned, her shoulder collided with another. She lurched, nearly dropping the barrel as she staggered to regain her balance. Sturdy hands steadied her.

“Easy there. That was a close one.”

“I am so, so sorry,” Thicket blurted on instinct. She clutched the barrel tighter, taking a moment to refill her startled lungs. “Are you okay?” She glanced up but her hair obscured most of her vision. Through it, she glimpsed the blurred shadow of a middle-aged man.

“Just fine, darlin’,” he said as she shifted the barrel to free up one of her hands. “But with a crowd like this, you best watch where you’re going.”

With her hand now free, Thicket grabbed a fistful of her hair and tossed it over her head, finally meeting the eyes of the man who had helped her. “You’re right. I truly am sorry.”

The man’s eyes widened, recognition dawning. “Your Highness!”

Thicket suppressed a wince as the man gaped at her for a full three seconds before dropping into a hasty bow. She wasn’t surprised he hadn’t recognized her. Lotta had dressed her into a simple gown and had done her best to tame back Thicket’s unruly curls. But the hours spent lugging cargo had stained the pale fabric with a layer of dust and made her ringlets break apart into frizzy strands, undoubtedly painting her as someone who had no business being royalty.

“My deepest apologies, Your Highness,” the man said. The easy drawl from earlier was gone, replaced by stiff, hurried notes that sent electric sparks scampering down Thicket’s spine.

Thicket was used to unsettled looks, but she didn’t think she would ever get used to people going out of their way to treat her differently just because of the title attached to her name. “Please, don’t apologize. I was the one who bumped into you.”

The man hesitantly rose from his bow, but her words weren’t enough to stop his eyes from flitting about nervously, as though waiting for one of her guards to haul him away. He shouldn’t have worried. The only guard in attendance was Marcellus. She could just make him out in the corner of her eye, leaning casually against a building with his head angled towards the ground, as if willing himself to disappear. Her cheeks heated. He was probably either embarrassed for her, by her, or finding amusement in her clumsiness. Knowing him, it was all three.

Once the man determined he wouldn’t be punished, his eyes landed back on the barrel in her hands. “You don’t need to bother with that,” he said, reaching for it.

Thicket hugged the barrel closer. “It’s no trouble at all. I’m here to help, so you might as well put me to work!”

It had been Caspian’s idea to spend as much time as she could in town, helping with evacuation preparations or repairs.

We cannot allow people to stew over this revelation, he had said. We need to convince them that the absence of your memories won’t change anything. Distract them with hope.

Because Thicket, who had once been the harbinger of hope, was no longer enough. Not now that her secret had been exposed. Thicket had woken up from the sleeping curse that had left her comatose for an entire century. In return, she had lost her memories, and when she had tried to get them back, they had vanished.

The man’s gaze softened, as if able to see the emotions racing through her mind. “You have done enough for us, Your Highness.” His gaze caught on the right side of her neck, where she knew the tips of her scar jutted past the neckline of her dress. Electricity cracked in Thicket’s gut as she fought the memory of how she had gotten the scar—and what it had cost her. “It is our turn now.”

Despite her attempts to show she was still capable of being their leader and fighting alongside them, all she had gotten were pitiful looks and concerned whispers. It reminded her too much of the years she spent in the sleeping curse, plagued by dreams and forced to the outside, never able to find the one place where she could belong.

For a short blissful time, she thought she had found it. It had been foolish to believe that being their princess was enough to guarantee her place forever. Now, here she was, forced to watch from the sidelines once again as everyone else moved on without her. She might be their princess, but in name and face only.

She wasn’t the powerful warrior, the wielder of the blue flame. She was just another one of Lavender’s victims and would forever be known as the outsider trapped inside the body of their queen.

Thicket’s fingers had no strength left to resist as the man took the barrel from her. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she gripped the folds of her dress. It was then she realized that doing so would crumple the fabric. She let go and tried to play off her nerves by smoothing the wrinkles she’d created. “If there is anything else I can do to help just… just let me know.”