Page 2 of Reign

As a child, I often wondered what secrets were hidden behind the great stone wall protecting the Lord’s fortress. Only as I grew older did I understand its true purpose—to keep magic out.

I heard another crunch—then several more—making my heart rattle in my chest. It sounded like footsteps on fallen sticks. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw light flickering through the trees. Something darted between them.

An overwhelming sense of foreboding gripped me as I wiped rainwater from my face.

“Who goes there?” I yelled back toward where I’d just been, but only the gentle hum of the wind replied to my call.

As I squinted, a cloaked stranger stepped into a beam of light piercing the fog, lingering in the ethereal glow. From this distance, I couldn’t tell if the silhouette was friend or foe. The wind coiled my hair around my neck like a noose as I hurriedly wiped raindrops from my eyelashes. When I looked again, the figure was racing toward me, their cloak billowing in the strong winds like a ghostly apparition.

I dashed toward the safety of Green Vale, cutting through a cornfield without caring whose crops I damaged. A fuming farmer didn’t frighten me, but the person chasing me did—their desperation as wild as a starving man spotting a rabbit after months of famine.

Running was difficult. My thick cloak weighed me down. My damp linen undergarments chafed against my skin. But I forced one foot in front of the other—until my boot caught on the hem of my overdress, hurling me forward. The basket flew from my hands, throwing herbs up into the rain like confetti as I tumbled onto the crop. I lay on the dirt, staring up at the dense, gray clouds. The drizzle pattered against my face, momentarily distracting me from the burning in my scraped knees and palms.

For a fleeting instant, I mistook the shadow overhead for a storm cloud—but as my eyes adjusted, I realized it was a black cloak. A hand appeared on either side of my face and, before I could react, a stranger grappled my shoulders, pinning me down. The figure pressed their full weight into my chest, stealing my breath. Desperate to break free, I clawed through the fabric, searching for a weak point to bite—until my gaze caught on the cloak’s lining: rich ermine fur, a pelt reserved solely for noble households.

A faint laugh echoed from inside the hood.

“What’s a helpless maiden like yourself doing so far from the safety of the village?” my hunter mused.

The instant I heard her familiar, soft voice, I knew who was hiding in the dark folds. At last, she released me, and I reached upward, yanking down the hood.

Her auburn hair wildly rode the wind, blowing across her devilish grin.

“Avice,” I said, catching my nervous breath. “My soul nearly leapt out of my skin!”

My heart still thudded, but I was relieved—my stalker was my closest friend.

Avice laughed as she extended her hand, helping me back to my feet.

“Why are you creeping around the outskirts of the village like a vagrant?” she asked, her rosy lips slipping into a coy smile.

I grabbed the empty basket and carefully picked out the damp sticks from the foxglove and wildflowers.

“Herbs,” I replied, silently noting that my brother wouldn’t be pleased about the wet wood.

I inspected each sprig before placing it back in the basket, worried I might accidentally grab foxglove instead of the yarrow and poison my family.

Avice plucked a black hair from my cloak. “I didn’t know heather grew fur.”

I chuckled at her naivete for herbs. “Don’t confuse heather and foxglove—one’s delicious, and the other’s deadly.”

“Just like me and you then,” she teased. “Tell me honestly—did you go visit the dog?”

My words snagged in my throat, like wool on a splinter, as I contemplated how best to answer. When I’d confided in Avice about my wild companion, I’d foolishly hoped she’d be as intrigued by the unknown as me.

But she wasn’t—she was unnerved.

I shook my head. “I went to collect sticks, and she crossed my path,” I said, stretching the truth. “She followed me. I told her to go away, but she wouldn’t listen. She likes me.”

Mother often warned that sharing secrets was dangerous. She said hearsay was like little sparks beneath kindling—it didn’t take much for one to catch and burn into great, untamable flames. But Avice and I had once sworn to tell each other everything—and I almost always kept that promise.

Avice tutted, clearly disappointed in my nurturing nature. “If my father knew you’d befriended a beast, he’d have you hanged,” she said with no sentiment for our lifelong friendship—just plainspoken.

For a moment, I faltered, imagining the unyielding rope being strung around my throat before the deadly drop. I dwelled upon how suffocation might feel, how the pressure might pulsate behind my bulging eyes. Would Avice bear witness to my execution? Would she try to save me before my candle was blown out? Or would she watch on with burning certainty in her emerald irises that this was necessary—that because I cared for a creature, I deserved to die.

“Niamh, do you understand?” Avice’s voice cut through my dark daydream. “My father treats his duty like a sacred obligation.”

Her father, Lord of the Wetlands, valued his role in the King’s Order above all else. Even his own daughter, I thought.