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CHAPTER THREE
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07.10.2021 12:59:25My parents cautioned me about witches and warlocks as I grew up. They claimed they were manipulative and coercive, that they were dangerous, and that their only motivation was to get control of all the Four Courts had.
I used to be terrified of them as a kid. They were scary, according to Mother's account of the conflict between the courts and the witches. As a result, expressing their type's name is outlawed, and publications regarding their race are burned and buried. They'd been forgotten for a long time. Anyone who speaks the name will be punished by the kingdom. Their kind's name is thought to be associated with death and misery.
Witches, particularly the heads of the courts, are said to despise royalty. That's why my father was forced to conceal my identity by telling his people that I died in the fire with my mother because he believed witches were responsible. Only ashes remained after my corpse was completely incinerated. The palace had been keeping it hidden from the citizens of the Kingdom of Ruby. A secret worth a hope for individuals who aren't quite up to par.
The reason I'm perplexed right now is how these witch books ended up in the attic when I discovered it the other day. Who was there? Is there someone staying with us in secret, digging up information on the witches? Is it possible that these books originated from the library?
I sigh and shake my head. It isn't possible. If these books were there before, father would have known about it, unless—
I gasp.
Unless, he knew about it all along.
But why? Why would my father keep anything like this hidden from me?
When I discovered these books in the attic, I sneaked them out and placed them in my room. I can't possibly risk returning them to the library. I'm not sure how I'd hide it well enough in the library so Tremaine or the servants cleaning it wouldn't notice.
The only place I know these books are safe is in my room, which Tremaine and her girls are unlikely to visit.
After cleaning the basement, I go through the books one by one. I use a damp rug to wipe away the dust that has clung to it.
Book of Prophecy: The Witches’ Oracle
Something tugs my curiosity. Is prophecy even real anyway?
And Oracle? What’s that?
I take out the book and open it. The first page is blank, while the second is ripped. I keep flicking through the pages. Nothing makes sense to me. The letters function as symbols. I have no idea what those symbols mean, so I am unconcerned.
When a small piece of paper falls from between the pages, I stop turning the pages. I open it and see words that, thankfully, I recognize.
Twin draco from obsidian stone
For who will prevail may sit thy throne,
The forgotten one will rise awake
Balls of magic, so little to take.
Crystal fortress of missing stone,
Find by the stealer of the sacred bone,
Once you leave, consider it the last,
For no one sees her more than once.
I sigh deeply as I close the book. Those words have a strange effect on me. Even though I know how to read it, I have no idea what it means. To me, it appears to be pointless. Perhaps only witches are capable of comprehending their own writings.
I reopen it and see that those are the only words on the page. The following pages are empty. I shake my head in dismay and slam the book shut before putting it on the table.
I don't think the books are dangerous. Maybe that's why Father let them sit in our library for so long. They don't do anything other than collect dust and become worn out. I suppose witches aren't really gifted writers. Those two phrases I just read appear to be a mishmash of words.
I emerge from the cellar and swagger my way to the yard to divert myself. On the threshold, I pass Tremaine and her daughters.
I approach her because I remember something I want to ask her about.
“Mother, may I speak with you?”
She looks at me in a displeasing manner. Anastasia and Drizella make a face.
“What is it, Sol? Hurry and we are not done talking yet with my daughters.”
Drizella nods. “We’re talking about the ball. And you are, as always, interrupting our discussion.”
“A ball? Where? Here?”
“No. At the Cromwell’s. Why?”
Cromwell? The neighboring kingdom of Larimar? And since when did she able to persuade the Cromwell to participate in her schemes? The last thing I know, Father and the King of Larimar Kingdom aren’t friends.
“What of the ball? Why are you having a ball, Mother?”
“It is none of your business, Solstice.”
“It is certainly my business, Mother since this is also my kingdom. I also heard about you inviting one of the families of Winter Court over here. You know what my father feels about them—
She snaps. “Your father, Solstice, is dead. My decisions no longer concern him or you. I am to be the queen of this Kingdom and not you. My affiliation to the Winter Court is for alliance. You know nothing about it.”
“Why would you need an alliance? The Four Courts are peaceful on their own!”
She smirks, menacingly. “You know nothing of how the world works, sweetheart. You’re better hiding on your basement.”
“Father will never approve of this.”
She smiles. “I need no one’s approval to make my own move. Now if you must, leave us be. We need to get ready for the ball tomorrow. One of the royal families of Winter Court is coming, my daughters are not going to miss it.”
Alongside her, Anastasia and Drizella are giggling. Before stomping my feet out of the threshold, I give them a cold stare. I try to calm down, enraged. Something has to be done. Otherwise, I won't know what will happen unless I attend the ball tomorrow.
What does Tremaine have up her sleeve this time? It takes more than an armistice to form an alliance with a neighboring kingdom and another court. She appears to be preparing for something more.
Aktuellstes Kapitel
Bewitched CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The ball had always been an obligation.He knew it even before the torches of Cromwell’s palace burned into sight, before the heralds announced the Four Courts assembled, before his father’s hard stare pressed against his skull like a weight he had long grown accustomed to carrying. The Winter Court had no place for excess or spectacle; their halls were narrow and plain, their feasts measured in silence, their festivals solemn meditations beneath a sky of unbroken darkness. For them, beauty was not a thing to be flaunted but endured—the glimmer of frost upon stone, the sound of snow cracking beneath boots, the stillness of a frozen lake.But here, in Cromwell, everything gleamed. Candles spilled their light across honey-gold walls, ribbons shimmered from the rafters, and servants scurried like well-trained doves with their trays of wine. It was unbearable in its brightness. To August’s eyes, it seemed almost mocking.His father, however, reveled in it. The King of Winter smiled when h
Bewitched CHAPTER FIFTEEN
There had been a time when hopelessness wrapped itself around me so tightly I thought I might suffocate. It was not here in this prison, not even when the wardens’ hands bruised my arms and their chains carved into my skin, but long before. It was when my father—my father who once told me stories of my mother as if they were sacred relics—stood before the court and placed Tremaine at his side. I remembered that moment as clearly as though it had just passed. The chamber had been filled with whispers, the kind of silken murmurs that rise from curiosity and hunger, and in the middle of it all, I stood still as stone, watching my father vow himself to another woman while my mother’s memory still lingered like incense. I had opposed it. I had spoken, argued, pleaded. But my voice was as dust against stone walls. And when my father’s gaze slid past me, when it favored Tremaine’s jeweled smile instead of his daughter’s trembling hands, I knew something within him had changed forever. His lo
Bewitched CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The chains bit into me like fangs. Every movement pulled against the stiff iron circling my wrists and ankles, sending jolts of spasms through my limbs until the pain forced air out of me in ragged bursts. A sound, half-snarl and half-sob, escaped from my throat. The cell was more nest than prison, an ancient stone cavern draped in webs of rust and rot, as though spiders had claimed dominion here long before wardens ever had. The floor was matted with hay, its sharp ends poking into my skin wherever I shifted. The itch it raised was unbearable, but the shackles ensured I could not scratch. I forced myself to look outward, peering through the narrow cracks in the iron bars. A faint glow shimmered at the far end of what seemed like a tunnel, too dim to promise freedom, but enough to suggest a direction. Beyond it, who knew? Another chamber, another trick of stone. For all I knew, this was not a castle at all. I had awakened here without memory of the passage—dragged, bound, half-conscio
Bewitched CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The night had been cruel to me. I had not truly slept, though I had tried. Perhaps I drifted once or twice into that shallow kind of rest that only mocks the body with its pretense of peace. Each time I closed my eyes, I saw it again—the warped reflection in the mirror, the grotesque thing that answered Tremaine in whispers. Each time I let my mind wander, I felt the beating of wings and the snap of talons from the dragon, as though it hovered still above the roof, waiting to tear us apart. No bed could protect me from that kind of remembering, and certainly not the splintered chair I had chosen to sit upon until dawn. When the first line of sun broke the forest’s edge, the air shifted. A light breeze brushed through the half-rotted shutters of the old house, and I stepped outside to meet it, hoping it might clear my thoughts. For a moment, the world seemed merciful: the leaves whispered against each other as though exchanging confidences, birds scattered notes into the still air, and
Bewitched CHAPTER TWELVE
The thing drew closer with each breath we wasted. Its shadow swelled between the trees, a living darkness that creaked the forest floor beneath its weight. Flynn and I inched backward, every step an effort not to snap twigs or draw its eyes. When the creature shifted, the faint gleam of its claws caught the moonlight, razors of ivory longer than my arm. That was all it took—my legs moved before my mind could stop them. Flynn seized my wrist, dragging me faster, and the forest came alive in our flight. Branches whipped against my skin. Roots clawed at my ankles. The leaves overhead shivered violently, as if the canopy itself were warning everything that lived beneath it. The animal’s howl split the night—a shriek that rattled bone and terrified both bird and beast. Owls scattered. Crickets fell silent. Even the air seemed to quake with the sound. It was behind us. Too close. The earth cracked as its claws tore into the soil, uprooting entire trees as though they were nothing more tha
Bewitched CHAPTER ELEVEN
As I struggle my way through the basement's tight fissure, the wind whips across my face without stopping. This voyage has been one of the worst because I had to rush back here while delivering terrifying news to my unprepared determination. My quivering hands grab on to the creaky wooden railings of the wooden staircase to support my shaky legs. Because of the sprint, my chest is churning with heat. Tremaine is probably thinking I'm the one who's intruding on her private affairs right now. Even if I had doubts that she noticed me, there's no guarantee she wouldn't take me for a trespasser. That means she'll be down here in no time to check things out. I slam the door open I'm terrified it will break. Flynn gets up from his bed and looks at me, perplexed, as it swings. I don't quite appear to have succeeded in stealing his meal. I most likely appear to have witnessed a monster. I, for one, did. It's
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