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Jordy cups a hand on my shoulder, then bolts toward the bell tower as fast as his legs will carry him. Sir Victor tugs me away from Philip.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” he says, “but we still have an objective. I need to find Malek. Once we take him, it’s over—”
“He’s there,” I say, just above a whisper. I point towards the castle and the giant of a man I recognize immediately. He wears no armor, holds nothing but his sword and a look of confusion on his ruddy face. “Sir Malek is standing just in front of the castle doors.”
“Sir Malek!” Victor calls when he sees him. “The reign of King Urich is over. The last of your men are dying before your eyes, but it doesn’t have to be this way. Timberness will never be yours when the king dies.” Sir Victor points his sword in my direction. “The young woman you behold is Princess Milla, daughter of Queen Millicent and Sir Waylen. She is the last surviving heir of House Starling, and we have come to reclaim her birthright. King Urich is evil, and his reign is over from this day forth. We are here to arrest him for treason, and anyone else who stands in our way. Swear your allegiance to Princess Milla and we will spare your life and the life of your men—what’s left of them. Refuse, and die.”
One of the enemy guards drops his weapon and raises his arms in surrender. He walks closer to me, his eyes never leaving my face. “By the gods,” he cries out. “She is the spitting image of the queen.” He turns to the other guards. “Look at her. It is as though the queen has been reborn.”
The fighting pauses as the men look at me, weighing Victor’s words and their loyalty.
“Your king is dying,” Sir Victor directs at the remaining guards. “And when he is no more…” He points his sword in Malek’s direction. “He will be your king. At one time, you were all my brothers. I know how most of you truly feel about Sir Malek and his cruelty. Is he the ruler you will swear your allegiance to? The king you will die for if necessary? Or do you feel your life would be better served under Queen Milla’s reign, the last surviving member of House Starling? The choice is yours.”
An enraged Sir Malek is red-faced and nearly panting, a sheen of sweat on his bald head despite the chill in the air. “Traitors, each of you who believes the rantings of one of our own who was convicted of treason.” Malek practically spits the words through his black moustache and goatee. “Anyone can find a girl who resembles our deceased queen and play her the part of a princess. This is all an elaborate ruse. Pick up your swords and fight, you fools, or you will swing when the castle is once again secured.”
The soldiers look around at one another and begin laying down their swords one by one, merely raindrops in an ocean of troops all pledging loyalty to House Starling.
My house. Gooseflesh tingles my arms.
Sir Victor looks to me and then back at Malek. “He’s mine,” he mutters through clenched teeth. “Time to surrender, Malek,” he calls out. “You’re outnumbered. You can’t win.”
Victor draws his sword and starts toward the castle and Malek. Sir Malek’s lips curve up into a twisted smile as he lifts a fist in the air. A trumpet sounds from atop the castle on his command. A small line of soldiers on each side of the castle run toward our men.
“Damn it all,” Victor yells as Sir Malek sprints back toward the castle. Victor tugs me behind him. “These men are the last of his regiment. Our soldiers can handle them. Stay close, no matter what happens. We have to stop Malek. When we best him, it’s over.”
A slew of our soldiers fend off the guards in our path, allowing us to pursue Malek. The castle is nearly empty as we rush inside behind him. I steady my pace to keep up with Victor, finding it hard to breathe from a throat that has swallowed a stone. I am consumed with emotion that threatens to stall me. Of all the times I have wished to see the inside of the castle, to be a part of a world so unreachable for a simple match girl, all I feel in this moment is an overwhelming sense of dread.
“He is fleeing to the king’s quarters,” Victor says, pulling me from my thoughts. He draws his sword and quickens his pace. “We must hurry, Princess Milla. There are no limits to his treachery.”
We reach King Urich’s sleeping quarters in mere seconds. Sir Victor kicks the door open as Malek attempts to barricade it, but to no avail. Malek draws his sword and points it at Victor, then sprints to the other side of the room, very near a window facing the courtyard. Malek glances out the window and pounds his chest, releasing gutteral shouts.
“Your men are nearly bested,” Sir Victor observes, “as I said they would be. It’s over, Malek. Lay down your sword and your life will be spared. No more bloodshed need occur.”
Malek grips his sword tighter, pointing it in Victor’s direction. “I will never surrender to a traitor. You will die by my blade today, you fool.”
Sir Victor readies his own sword, the two men in a standoff at the foot of the ailing king’s bed.
“What…? What is the meaning of this?” King Urich pushes out the words with what seems like his last breath. He is as feeble as a newborn colt, his once brown hair shot through with streaks of prominent gray. He sets the bluest eyes I have ever seen directly on me—eyes that mimic the soft froth of the ocean, but still somehow manage to be foreboding. Then, they widen like saucers.
“By the gods,” King Urich cries out. “Willow? Is that you? It can’t be. Am I seeing a ghost, come to carry my soul to eternal damnation?”
Malek and Sir Victor are still facing each other, swords drawn and readied to strike. I step closer to the old king’s bed and Victor angles his body, ready to protect me if need be.
As I close the gap between the bed and the center of the room, I barely recognize the sweet smell of the pinon wood still glowing in the hearth, and the musty fragrance of the decades-old tapestries lining the walls behind me. I grasp a fistful of the fabric of my mother’s dress hanging on my trembling body, attempting to calm my raging nerves. The soft silk slides through my shaky fingers as I pull in a long, slow breath for courage. I stare back into his icy orbs, searching them for a single shred of decency, but there is none to be found.
This man was the death of my mother.
The ruination of my family.
He sentenced me and Gram to a life of hardship.
He silenced House Starling for twenty-one winters.
But now, he will hear me.
“I am no ghost, nor am I Willow. My name is Milla. The queen was my mother, and you destroyed her. You stole my lineage and my throne, and I am here to reclaim them both.”
The back of his hand does little to stifle the chuckles I wasn’t expecting. He manages to push himself up on his elbows.
