Thornhaven

Cynda

The moonlight filters through my bedroom window like silver threads, weaving patterns across the stone floor that I’ve memorized over twenty years of captivity disguised as privilege.

I stand before my mirror, studying the face that has been both my blessing and my curse; delicate features framed by long brown hair that catches the light like polished mahogany, hazel eyes that shift between green and gold depending on my mood, and skin so pale and smooth that visiting dignitaries have called it “peaches and cream perfection.” Words that make me scrunch my nose up in disgust!

I look like a doll. A pretty, breakable thing meant to sit on a shelf and smile. Tonight, however, I’m going to shatter that illusion. My fingers tremble as I reach for the shears hidden beneath my mattress. I’ve been planning this for months; ever since father announced my betrothal to Prince Caelan of the Ashenfell fire-kingdom. Ever since I met that wretched creature with his cruel smile and hands that lingered too long on my waist during our formal introduction. The memory makes my stomach turn, and I grip the shears tighter, feeling the cold metal bite into my palm.

“You’re really going through with this,” I whisper to my reflection, and the girl in the mirror nods back with more conviction than I feel. The realm of Tenebrosity sprawls beyond my window; a patchwork of kingdoms stitched together by ancient treaties and older grudges.

Our earth-kingdom sits at the heart of it all, literally rooted in the soil that gives us our power. I can feel it even now, humming beneath the castle foundations, singing through the stones. It’s a connection I’ve had since birth, this awareness of growing things, of roots and soil and the patient strength of trees. Mother says it’s particularly strong in me, that I could be a formidable earth-wielder if I ever bothered to train properly.

But princesses don’t train. Princesses sit in drawing rooms and learn to pour tea without spilling. Princesses smile and nod and agree to marry monsters because it’s “good for the kingdom.” Not anymore!

I lift the shears to my hair, and for a moment, I hesitate. My hair has never been cut. It’s tradition in our family, a symbol of our connection to the earth, to growth and natural beauty. Cutting it feels like severing something fundamental, like pruning away part of my identity. Good. That’s exactly what I need to do.

The first cut is the hardest. The shears slice through the strands with a whisper, and a lock of brown hair falls to the floor. Then another. And another. I work quickly now, my hands steadying as I commit to the transformation. The girl in the mirror changes with each cut; less princess, more soldier. Less ornament, more weapon.

When I finish, my hair barely brushes my shoulders, choppy and uneven but undeniably different. I look younger somehow, or maybe just less refined. Less like the daughter of King Aldric Morris and more like... someone else. Someone free.

“My lady?” The soft voice from beyond my door freezes me mid-motion. Jasmine. My lady-in-waiting, my closest companion, and the one person who might actually stop me if she knew what I was planning.

“I’m fine, Jasmine,” I call out, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Just preparing for bed.”

“I thought I heard something fall. May I come in?” My heart hammers against my ribs. The hair on the floor. The shears in my hand. The traveling clothes laid out on my bed; simple brown trousers and an oversized tunic I stole from the laundry, so different from the silk gowns I’m expected to wear.

“No!” The word comes out too sharp, too panicked. I soften my tone. “No, thank you. I’ve already changed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

A pause. Long enough that I wonder if she suspects something. Jasmine has been with me since we were both children, assigned to me when her own family fell out of favor at court. She knows me better than anyone, can read my moods in the set of my shoulders, the tightness around my eyes. “As you wish, my lady. Sleep well.”

Her footsteps retreat down the corridor, and I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Guilt twists in my chest like a knife. I should have told her. At the very least I should have said goodbye properly. But Jasmine is loyal to a fault; loyal to me, yes, but also to duty, to propriety, and to the way things are supposed to be. She would have tried to talk me out of this, and I can’t afford to be talked out of it.

Not when Prince Caelan arrives in three days for our formal engagement ceremony. I move quickly now, aware that time is slipping away like sand through fingers. The traveling clothes fit well enough, though they hang loose on my small frame. At five-foot-three, I’ve always been tiny; appearing to look more like a pixie than a princess, as my brother used to say before he died in the border skirmishes five years ago. The memory of Grishin stings, sharp and sudden. He would have understood and even helped me to do this! But Grishin is gone, and I’m alone...

I pull on the boots I’ve been breaking in secretly for weeks, then wrap a dark cloak around my shoulders. The final touch is the glamour; a simple spell that every Fae learns in childhood, though most use it for vanity rather than disguise. I close my eyes and reach for my power, feeling it rise from somewhere deep in my core, earthy and solid and real.

The magic responds like an old friend, eager to be used after years of suppression. I shape it carefully, altering the color of my eyes from hazel to a muddy brown, making my features slightly coarser, less memorable. I can’t change my height or build; glamours have limits, but I can make myself look common enough that no one will look twice at me.

When I open my eyes, a stranger stares back at me from the mirror. Plain. Unremarkable. Perfect. I gather the few possessions I’m taking with me: a small pouch of coins I’ve been hoarding, a knife that belonged to Grishin, and the recruitment papers I forged three weeks ago using stolen military stationery. According to these documents, I’m Cyn Morris, a common-born Fae from the outer provinces, enlisting in the military academy at Thornhaven.

The academy. Just thinking about it makes my pulse quicken with something that might be fear or might be excitement. I can’t tell the difference anymore. Thornhaven is legendary among the Fae, a sprawling campus dedicated to training the realm’s finest warriors. Half the day spent honing combat skills and magical abilities, the other half devoted to academic studies; military strategy, Fae history, political theory. It’s everything I’ve been denied, everything I’ve craved while sitting through endless etiquette lessons and needlework sessions.

And it’s the last place anyone would think to look for a runaway princess. I take one final look around my bedroom; at the four-poster bed with its silk canopy, the wardrobe full of gowns I’ll never wear again, and the writing desk where I’ve spent countless hours composing letters I was never allowed to send. This room has been my entire world for most of my life, a gilded cage that I’ve both loved and hated in equal measure. “Goodbye,” I whisper to the ghosts of who I used to be.

The castle is quiet as I slip through the servants’ passages, routes I’ve memorized over years of sneaking out to the gardens when I was supposed to be sleeping. The stone walls press close on either side, and I have to duck to avoid hitting my head on the low ceiling. My earth-senses guide me, showing me the hollow spaces in the walls, the gaps where I can move unseen.

I pass the kitchens, where the banked fires still glow with residual heat. The scent of bread and herbs lingers in the air, familiar and comforting. For a moment, homesickness threatens to overwhelm me; not for the castle itself, but for the small moments of peace I’ve found here. Morning walks in the garden. Afternoon tea with Jasmine. The way the light falls through the stained-glass windows in the great hall.

But then I remember Prince Caelan’s hand on my waist, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered what he planned to do to me once we were married. I remember my father’s dismissive wave when I tried to protest the betrothal, his casual assertion that my feelings were irrelevant compared to the political alliance with Ashenfell.

I remember the suffocating weight of a future I never chose. My feet move faster. The servants’ entrance leads to a small courtyard used for deliveries. I pause in the shadows, scanning for guards. Two of them stand at the main gate, their fire-touched torches casting dancing shadows across the cobblestones. They’re talking in low voices, relaxed and inattentive. Why wouldn’t they be? No one expects a threat from inside the castle.

I wait for a cloud to pass over the moon, then dart across the courtyard, keeping low. My boots make almost no sound on the stones; another benefit of my small size. I’m at the wall in seconds, pressing myself against the cold stone, heart pounding so loud I’m certain the guards must hear it. But they don’t turn around.

The wall is twelve feet high, topped with iron spikes that gleam dully in the torchlight. Impossible for most people to climb. But I’m not most people; I’m an earth-wielder, and stone responds to my touch like a living thing.

I place my palms against the wall and reach for my power again. It comes easier this time, flooding through me with an intensity that makes me gasp. The stone softens beneath my hands, creating handholds and footholds that weren’t there before. I climb quickly, my muscles burning with the effort, my magic singing through my veins.

At the top, I pause to catch my breath. The realm of Tenebrosity spreads out before me; dark forests and distant mountains, rivers that gleam like silver ribbons in the moonlight. Somewhere out there is Thornhaven. Somewhere out there is freedom.

I drop down the other side of the wall, landing in a crouch in the soft grass. The impact jars my knees, but I ignore the pain and start running. The forest looms ahead, ancient trees with branches that twist toward the sky like grasping fingers. I plunge into the darkness without hesitation, letting the shadows swallow me whole.

The forest is alive with night sounds; the hoot of an owl, the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush, the whisper of wind through leaves. My earth-senses extend outward, mapping the terrain, guiding me around roots and rocks. I run until my lungs burn and my legs threaten to give out, until the castle is nothing but a distant glow behind me.

Only then do I allow myself to stop, collapsing against the trunk of a massive oak tree. My breath comes in ragged gasps, and my hands shake with a combination of exhaustion and exhilaration. I did it. I actually did it! I’m free!

The thought hits me with the force of a physical blow, and suddenly I’m laughing; quiet, breathless laughter that borders on hysteria. I press my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound, but I can’t stop. All the fear and tension of the past months comes pouring out in waves of giddy relief.

But the laughter dies quickly, replaced by a creeping awareness of what I’ve just done. I’ve abandoned my family, my duty, my entire life. By morning, they’ll discover I’m gone. Father will be furious. Mother will be heartbroken. And Prince Caelan... I don’t want to think about what Prince Caelan will do.

The forest suddenly feels less like a sanctuary and more like a trap. Every shadow could hide a pursuer. Every sound could be soldiers coming to drag me back. I push away from the tree and start moving again, forcing my tired legs to carry me deeper into the woods.

I walk for hours, guided by the stars and my own stubborn determination. The recruitment papers in my pocket crinkle with each step, a reminder of the new identity I’m claiming. Cyn Morris. Common soldier. Nobody special.

The thought should frighten me, but instead, it fills me with a fierce joy. Nobody special means nobody’s pawn. Nobody special means I get to choose my own path, forge my own destiny.

As dawn begins to paint the eastern sky with streaks of pink and gold, I emerge from the forest onto a dirt road. In the distance, I can see the lights of a small village; the first stop on my journey to Thornhaven.

I pull my cloak tighter around my shoulders and start walking toward my new life, leaving Princess Cynda Morris behind with the darkness. The girl who walks this road is someone else entirely. Someone stronger. Someone free. Someone who refuses to be broken.