Chapter 1
ROSEWYN:
"Rosie, wake up. Rosewyn, you have to leave."
My mother’s urgent whisper sliced through the stillness of the night, yanking me from the depths of sleep. My eight-year-old mind was quick to register the panic in her voice, the way it trembled like a candle flickering against the wind.
Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I sat up and rubbed my face. The room was dim, the moon casting ghostly shadows through the thin curtains. "Mama? What's wrong?"
She knelt beside my bed, her hands gripping my shoulders firmly but gently. Even in the low light, I could see the fear tightening her features, the way her deep brown eyes darted anxiously toward the door. She looked… afraid. I had never seen my mother afraid before.
"I already packed some clothes for you," she said, her voice breaking as she held up a small satchel. "Just light ones. I put some money in it too. Listen to me, Rosie. You need to go to the bus station and find your Aunt Camilla. Stay there until it's safe."
Confusion and fear twisted in my chest. "What? Why? How about you and Papa?" I asked, pushing my blanket aside and climbing down from my bed. My feet barely touched the floor before she pulled me into a tight embrace.
"Me and your Papa will follow you," she whispered into my hair. "But you need to go first. You must be strong, okay?"
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. The way she held me, the way her hands trembled against my back—it wasn’t just panic. It was desperation.
A loud crash echoed from downstairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of something shattering. My mother flinched. My breath caught in my throat.
"Rosie." Her voice was barely above a whisper now. "No matter what happens, remember this—Mama and Papa love you. We will do everything to protect you."
I wanted to ask more. I wanted to scream, to cry, to demand answers. But the fear in her eyes silenced me.
Then I heard it. Footsteps. Heavy. Unfamiliar. They were coming.
And I knew, with absolute certainty, that if I didn’t run now… I would never get the chance to.
My mother grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the window. The wooden frame creaked as she pushed it open, letting in the cool night air. Outside, the massive oak tree that stood beside our house swayed gently in the wind. Its thick branches stretched toward my window like a familiar hand, one I had climbed countless times before.
"You remember how to climb down, right?" she asked, her voice urgent yet gentle.
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
"Good. Be careful, Rosie." She cupped my cheek one last time, her touch warm despite the cold fear in her eyes. "Run. Don’t look back."
A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down and swung my legs over the windowsill. My fingers gripped the rough bark of the tree as I carefully lowered myself onto the nearest branch. The wind rustled the leaves, masking the sounds of my movements as I climbed down, branch by branch, until my bare feet touched the damp grass below.
From above, my mother whispered, "Go!"
I hesitated for half a second—just long enough to hear the front door burst open.
"Where is she?!" A deep, unfamiliar voice roared from inside.
My mother didn't answer.
Terror shot through me like lightning, and I turned on my heels, sprinting across the yard. The gravel path bit into my feet, but I didn’t slow down. I couldn’t.
The night was eerily silent aside from the pounding of my heartbeat. The streets were empty, the village asleep. The only light came from the dim glow of lanterns hanging outside a few houses. Shadows stretched long and menacing around me as I ran, my small satchel bouncing against my back with every step.
The bus station wasn’t far—just past the bakery and the old tailor shop. But with every passing second, the distance felt impossibly long. My legs ached, my breath came in short, panicked gasps, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
I turned a corner and finally saw it—a rusted metal bench under a flickering streetlamp. The bus station. Relief flooded through me, but I knew I wasn’t safe yet.
I ran the last few steps, collapsing onto the bench as I struggled to catch my breath. My lungs burned, my body shaking from exhaustion and fear. The station was deserted at this hour, the only sound the distant hoot of an owl.
I clutched my satchel tightly against my chest, rocking slightly as I tried to calm myself.
Mama said she and Papa would follow. I had to believe that. I had to believe they would come for me.
But as the minutes stretched into hours and the first light of dawn painted the sky, I remained alone.
The low hum of the engine filled the quiet morning as the bus approached, its headlights cutting through the lingering darkness. I straightened, my small hands gripping my satchel as the vehicle slowed to a stop in front of me.
The doors creaked open, and the driver, a middle-aged man with graying hair and tired eyes, gave me a once-over. His gaze lingered, likely wondering what a little girl was doing alone at this hour.
"Where to, kid?" he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.
"Ravenshire," I answered, trying to steady my voice.
He gave a slow nod. "That’ll be five dollars."
I quickly reached into my bag, my fingers brushing against the coins Mama had given me. Pulling them out, I placed them in the driver’s outstretched hand. They clinked together softly, the sound echoing in my ears.
The driver gave me another glance before jerking his head toward the seats. "Find a spot. It’s a long ride."
I climbed aboard, my legs feeling heavier with every step. The bus was mostly empty, with only a few scattered passengers. An elderly woman sat near the front, knitting with slow, steady movements. A man in a tattered coat was slumped in the back, his soft snores barely audible.
No one looked at me. No one asked questions.
I made my way to an empty seat by the window and sank down, pressing my forehead against the cold glass. My hands tightened around the strap of my satchel, holding onto it like it was the last piece of home I had left.
The bus lurched forward, the tires rolling over the uneven pavement as it pulled away from the station. My breath hitched as I turned my head, staring at the dark streets of the town I had called home for eight years.
I waited. Waited to see Mama and Papa running toward me. Waited to see their familiar faces, to hear them call my name and tell me everything would be okay.
But the streets remained empty. A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down. Mama told me to be strong. I had to survive.
I forced my eyes forward, watching as my old life disappeared into the distance. The further the bus carried me from home, the more the weight in my chest grew, pressing down like an invisible hand, squeezing tighter with each mile. But I didn’t cry.
Mama had taught me not to cry. She always said that tears wouldn’t save me, that weakness would only make me an easy target. If I wanted to survive, I had to be strong. I had to be cold.
I pressed my forehead against the window, the cool glass soothing against my burning skin. My small fingers clutched the strap of my satchel, knuckles turning white as I held onto it like a lifeline. Inside were the only things I had left—a few coins, some hastily packed clothes, and a small locket Mama had given me when I was little. It was all I had to remind me of her, of Papa, of the home I might never see again.
There are people who want you, Rosie. They want your blood. Mama’s warning echoed in my mind, sending a cold shiver down my spine. You must never let them find you.
The new royal household. Their power stretched far beyond our small town, their reach extending into every shadow, every whisper of the wind. They believed my bloodline belonged to them, that my existence was theirs to control. A descendant of the old royal witch blood—I was nothing more than a claim to power in their eyes, a key to something ancient, something dangerous.
I gritted my teeth, my fingers tightening around the locket. They would never have me. No matter how far I had to run, no matter how much I had to change, I would never let them get their hands on me.
The bus jolted as it hit a rough patch in the road, shaking me from my thoughts. I straightened in my seat, blinking away the lingering ghosts of the past. Outside, the world was still dark, the sky barely showing the first hints of dawn. The roads stretched endlessly before us, winding through forests and hills, leading me toward a future I couldn’t predict.
I had nothing now—no family, no home, no certainty of what lay ahead. But I had my will. I had my fight. And no king, no court, no monster in the dark would ever own me.
🩶🩶🩶
The bus ride to Ravenshire felt endless, stretching on through hours of unspoken thoughts and quiet anticipation. When the bus finally stopped, I stepped off into a town I didn’t know, a place I’d only heard of in passing. Ravenshire was quieter than the village I’d left behind, with cobbled streets winding between modest homes, a few shops shuttered against the morning air.
I didn’t know where to go at first. The streets seemed empty, and the town had an air of melancholy, the way the fog lingered just above the ground, reluctant to dissipate.
I finally found the address Mama had scribbled on a small piece of paper, tucked in my satchel. Aunt Camilla's house was tucked on the outskirts of the town, a two-story cottage with ivy crawling up its stone walls. It looked cozy, warm even, but I couldn’t shake the knot in my stomach as I approached the front door.
The door creaked open as I knocked softly.
Aunt Camilla, tall and striking in a way that made her seem almost otherworldly, stood in the doorway. Her silver-streaked hair framed her sharp features, and her pale green eyes studied me for a moment before a soft smile touched her lips.
"Rosie, dear," she said, stepping aside to let me in. "It’s good to see you."
Her voice was warm, but something behind her eyes made me uneasy. I followed her into the house, the warmth inside a stark contrast to the chill I’d carried with me.
"Have you eaten? You must be starving," she said, leading me to the kitchen.
I nodded, though I wasn’t hungry. My stomach felt like a stone, weighed down by the emptiness of what I had left behind. Aunt Camilla didn’t ask me to explain why I’d come or why I was alone. Her silence was both comforting and suffocating.
Days passed in the small cottage, each one slipping away like sand through my fingers. I tried to keep busy, helping with small chores around the house, cleaning, and organizing. But no matter what I did, I couldn’t escape the gnawing worry deep inside me.
Mama and Papa were supposed to follow. They promised me they would. So why hadn’t they come? Why hadn’t they sent word?
I kept telling myself it was for my safety, that they didn’t want to put me in danger by revealing their whereabouts. But every time I lay awake in the quiet, my mind couldn’t help but race. Where were they? What happened to them?
Aunt Camilla seemed to notice my growing anxiety, though she never spoke of it directly. She kept her distance, her eyes often watching me from the corners of the room, but she never asked questions, never pushed for answers. Perhaps she knew better than to ask.
On the fifth night, I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. I had to know.
"Aunt Camilla," I began, my voice barely above a whisper. She was sitting by the fire, knitting as usual, her eyes focused on the rhythmic motion of her hands.
She glanced up slowly, her expression unreadable. "Yes, Rosie?"
"I haven’t heard anything from Mama or Papa." I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "Do you think… do you think something happened to them?"
Aunt Camilla paused, setting her knitting aside. She looked at me for a long moment, her pale eyes intense. "Sometimes, Rosie," she said softly, "things happen that we cannot control. People we love may not always be able to protect us the way we wish they could."
Her words were cryptic, and they sent a shiver down my spine. She wasn’t giving me an answer. She wasn’t telling me what I needed to hear.
I wanted to demand more, to push for the truth, but something in the way she looked at me held me back. Maybe it was the fear that crept into her eyes when she spoke about Mama and Papa. It was a look I recognized, one I had seen in my mother’s eyes before, when she tried to shield me from the truth, the things she couldn’t bear to say aloud.
I nodded, though my heart was still heavy. There were too many unanswered questions, and no matter how much I tried to ignore them, they weighed on me. Why hadn’t they come for me? Why hadn’t they sent word?
That night, I cried myself to sleep, pressing the small locket Mama had given me against my chest. It was the only piece of her that remained, the only connection I had left to the world I once knew.
And as I drifted off into an uneasy slumber, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had happened. Something terrible.
