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“Run, princess!” Francilia said, pulling at my wrist. At that moment, I knew that it was my turn to obey.
“This is not the end of it, princess! Witch! Bitch!” he shouted, part in anger and part in agony.
It was the day I lost my freedom. It was the day I revealed to everyone that my own simmered under the surface even as magic dwindled in Mogochislenia. It could flare in a split second. It could burn a grown man to ashes in minutes. I was still dangerous.
And yet, what would have been the opposite end of it? The man thought I had lost my powers and thought he could molest me in public. I was either dangerous or a damsel in distress. Who would I rather be?
When I arrived home that morning, I knew I had been again a source of my family’s shame. Oh, of course, they never said anything to that effect. However, I still felt the burning humiliation of failing to be who I was supposed to be: controlled, reasonable, and sweet.
They never had it with Samuel. He had a few lovers at a young age, all part of how young men seemed to prove their masculinity. With him, it was more than that, too. He was wrestling with some demons. When he won, he was one of the noblest men I had ever known, next to my father, of course. My sister Carolina was out of sync with our world, boyish as a child and friends with young men. However, she was one of the most harmless people I had ever known until I lent her my fire.
For either of my siblings, my father and my mother did not have to pay people to hush. I knew it pained my mother to be part of any sort of bribery.
I was the only one who managed to get them to do that.
We were panting when we entered the castle. Francilia was half-crying, but I was numb. It was not something to cry about but something to fight about. How dare that man touch me? How dare I be out of control?
“What happened?” asked Martha, who just walked out of the maze, holding some fresh peonies, some of the few remaining blooms in the queendom. She also had sage and other herbs. No doubt she had some brewing to do. She had to learn her spells as an herb witch, much like my sister Carolina. Martha’s magic was not as affected as that of the elementals. For once, the lowly herb witch had a few points over royal witches.
Well, except for me – an aberration.
“The princess was being harassed by a filthy man in the market. I meant, I meant… no, he is filthy because he was drunk and he touched her!”
It turned out Francilia could not be of any use when she was in a panic.
“I burned a man’s hand, Martha,” I said, not contrite – just uneasy about the possible repercussions.
“You what?”
“I did not mean to. He was touching me all over, and I was angry! I was furious!”
“I can see that you are angry. But do you know what this means? Well, other than the fact we will have some mad villagers coming here soon. But – it means your powers are intact!”
Trust Martha to think about these things, but she was right. My powers were still ready to kill anyone who came for me.
“Yes, I supposed they are. Still, Mother and Father may end up sending me to a convent soon. Maybe somewhere underwater.”
Of course, nobody laughed.
“It will be a problem, but we can solve this. That man should not have done what he did. It was not your fault,” Martha said calmly, reaching for my hand and squeezing it.
“But Martha, the man was calling Princess Luella “witch” and other things. Some people were helping him out as if taking his side,” whimpered Francilia.
Francilia had a point. The drought that had fallen on Queenspell used to be attributed to the witch’s loss of powers. After what happened at the market, people would point fingers at me. I was the reason for the burns on that man’s arm. I was dangerous, they said. I could be the cause of everyone’s misfortunes. I was the devil in a silk dress.
My mother took everything in stride as we waited for the first surge of complaints. The castle had become a prison. Even the courtyard showed some effects of the spreading drought: cracked Earth, yellowing bushes, and sweaty guards. It was Martha’s incantations alone that were keeping the maze alive. She sometimes lodged into my father’s former cabin, where she kept her herbs, lizards, snakes, and other mysterious ingredients.
I used to love walking outside, but now I would be met with a hot blast of air. It was almost like we lived in Arrowspear. Wasn’t that how it was like there? Some of my father’s distant relatives had fled to the neighboring continent during the persecution of witches.
Would Queenspell feel like that arid continent? My brother had once sent a letter, saying it was no longer the case.
How?
As I continued walking through the courtyard alone, my mind wandered elsewhere. The few suitors who had started showing interest in me after the weakening of witches had made a quick turnaround.
Cowards.
Who could blame them? I did not even consider myself great company at that moment. I was so distraught I had even covered all the mirrors in my room since then. It was no use. Soon, I would be an old hag and still be in my gilded prison. At that time, I did not expect that I would soon be getting a marriage proposal from no less than a prince.
