1. A Dark Miracle

"Hold him steady," I tell Gerald.

The amount of swelling over Firenze's cannon bone indicates that it's fractured. A complete break like that is deadly for a horse.

The old farmer tightens his hold on the shiny bridle and strokes the white stallion's neck. "Easy, boy. The princess is here to help you."

Firenze settles down a bit, long enough for me to lay my hands over the shattered bone and let the magic flow, my powers easier to access by the day. The squishy, inflamed flesh slowly rearranges.

Gerald holds his breath, his grip wavering. He follows my movements closely, like he hopes to figure out the inner workings of my magic as if it was the motor of his mechanical plow.

Tingles heat my palms as the wound shrinks down to a gash. My core muscles cramp, but I soldier on to finish the job.

"Crops. The damage is too extensive." My arms shake. Ice prickles my fingertips, my companions oblivious to the sudden change in temperature.

It's a warning.

If I push past the discomfort, my lips will turn blue, and I might pass out. I let the magic fizzle out instead and eye the leftover swelling with a resentful pout. "It'll take a few days to heal properly, but he'll live."

Gerald's wife, Mathilda, clutches her goddess talisman. "Thank you, Your Highness. We're so grateful to you and your miracle."

I force a breath down my lungs to relax my jaw, annoyed by the mention of my miracle. The villagers always call it that, even though I know better.

"It's only right for me to help you. Besides, Firenze here is an old friend." I run my fingers over the stallion's pristine mane and pat his neck. Warmth radiates through his soft fur. "Now, you've got to be more careful, Firenze. I won't always be around."

The old horse neighs, a promise to keep out of trouble. To the villagers' eyes, it's only a coincidence, but I know he understood me. Horses have better instincts than people, and I've known Firenze for as long as I've been alive. When it comes to horses, there isn't one better in all the worlds.

I climb to my feet, my skirts peppered with blood. "I'll be back tomorrow to see if I can do more."

Mathilda hands me a bucket of water and a fresh rag. "You saved his life, Your Grace. It's enough."

"Still, I'll try to come before church." I scrub as much blood from my hands and clothes as I can, knowing Esme will throw a fit if I come home in a bloody dress.

The couple bows their heads in reverence, and Gerald escorts me outside. "I can take you home in the hay cart, princess. It's almost dark."

"No need. I love to walk."

Autumn leaves crunch under my boots. Maple trees tower on each side of the main road, almost completely barren. It's one of those perfect autumn evenings, when the crisp air of the night chases away the warm summer day and signals the switch in seasons.

Gerald rests an arm on the wooden fence separating his crops from the well-traveled path. "Your father wouldn't want you to wander alone at night."

I cough to stifle a nervous giggle. "Stay with your family."

He tips his hat. "Alright, princess. May the Mother protect you."

"By her grace."

The familiar goodbye is sour on my tongue.

Gerald spins around, and I hurry along the path. It's only a short walk to the royal summer house, but the orange sun slips under the horizon like it's scared to be caught hanging on.

The corn fields' golden shine dims in its absence, and shadows encumber the road. My brisk pace drowns out the ambient sounds, the carpet of fallen leaves loud in my wake.

The scent of pine needles, overturned earth, and wood smoke wafts through the air, the summer house fireplaces already lit for the night. I cover my white-blond hair with my hood and tuck my shoulders in to blend with the shadows. My affinity for darkness has blossomed in the last few weeks. My thoughts seem sharper in obscurity, my muscles feel stronger, and my movements are more fluid.

I'm terrified by what it means.

The iron gate creaks behind me as I slip inside the limits of the estate. The dull crunch of the leaves subsides, replaced by a buzzing cricket's choir. I run to the back door without alerting the guards—another clue that my magic has grown—and enter the house.

The servant's hall is empty but for Esme, my tutor, who sits at the kitchen table with her crochet hooks.

The warm glow of the fire prevents me from sneaking past her, and she jerks to her feet. "Penny. Thank the Mother!" The thick shawl wrapped around her slender silhouette moves along with her as she hurries over to me. "Where have you been? Your father is in a mood."

I untie my hooded cape and hand it to her. "I was at Gerald's farm."

The usually soft angles of her jaw stiffen, and she runs a hand down the slope of her narrow nose. "At this hour?"

The firelight brings her big, youthful hazelnut eyes to life. Esme could pass as my older sister, but she's actually much older. Her plain, brown dress finishes right below her chin with a collar of white lace—more fitting of an elderly governess than the twenty-something lady-in-waiting she pretends to be.

"Firenze broke his leg…" I trail off.

"By the Mother!" She bites her bottom lip, and her sharp gaze travels down the length of my body. "You didn't?—"

Blood still taints my linen skirts, so there's no use in denying it. "I healed him."

Esme grips the end of her long black braid like she means to choke me with it. "Penny, how many times do I have to tell you not to use your powers in front of the villagers?"

"I don't know. Maybe one more time will do?" With a sheepish smile, I rush past her and climb the stairs two at a time.

She runs after me, one hand holding her crinoline. "You turn eighteen in two days."

My little sister Cecelia ambushes me at the top of the staircase, hands braced on each side of her, blocking my path. Dark brown strands stick out of her hairnet. "Cheater. You went out without me."

Esme catches up to my rear and swats my sister away. "Miss Cece, please leave us. I have to speak with your sister alone."

Cece sticks out her tongue before skipping to her bedroom at the end of the corridor, her long skirt flowing behind her. I grin and head the other way, eager to change out of my bloody clothes.

Esme shuts my bedroom door behind us with an exhausted sigh and leans her entire body against it, probably afraid that Cece will trample it down. After catching her breath, she focuses her attention back on me. "The shadow seed grows within you," she hisses quietly, her voice thick with fear.

"Don't act so surprised, you told me it would!"

She's the only one who can tell that my magic is growing, and I resent her for it.

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady. You have to be more careful about using your powers in front of others, and especially so close to your birthday, or they will quickly realize the truth. You are about to discover the full flavor and extent of your magic. It could act up if you're not careful."

"Who knows…maybe the magic will die down after my birthday." I pull my dirty dress over my head and strip out of my skirts and long socks.

Esme rubs the shell of her pointy ear, a nervous tick she gets whenever she feels ambivalent about something. "It's one thing to have magic. It's another thing entirely to use it."

Esme is Fae, but she spent most of her life in Demeter, the biggest country in the old world. She's been hiding in my father's court ever since she was a child because she's a drought—a non-magic Fae. Being a drought is a big no-no in Faerie. Esme would have been slaughtered. The very existence of a drought is perceived as a threat to the land's magic, which is total horsecrap.

And just as she has no control over not having magic, I have no control over the way my powers grow.

She tightens my corset with a scold. "Have you had any unusual dreams lately?"

"No."

Yes.I've dreamt of a beautiful Hawthorn tree, thick with red fruits. Its branches were adorned with teal and silver moss. I should probably mention it to Esme, but every time I dream of the tree, I feel…happy. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the deal my father made with the Shadow King.

Esme fixes my hair, tucking a few loose strands back inside the hairnet. "Your father asked for you two to dine alone tonight."

My fingers twitch in response, and I hide my hands behind my back. "Alone?"

Pressing her lips together, she wrenches a formal dress over my head. "Yes."

The intricate buttons of the collar graze the hollow of my neck, and the navy chiffon skirt weighs me down after a wonderful day outside in my no-frills cotton dress and hooded cape. But the itchy fabric is the least of my worries.

"He wants to check in. He needs to know you're ready for what's coming," Esme says.

Ready? Ha!

Ever since I found out about my magic, I've been told it was evil. Sullied.

My powers originated in Faerie, a dark heritage from a forsaken land ruled by the most dangerous Fae of all, the Shadow King. My bedtime stories as a child were filled with elusive Fae creatures that slip through mirrors to feast on our nightmares and dreams, luring even the most valorous knights to their doom and coaxing beautiful maidens into their beds.

The Shadow King crafts living sins out of thin air and corrupts everything he touches, and I have to meet him in two days. All because my father made a deal to spare my mother from an incurable disease, back when she was pregnant with me.

"Here. Take this." Esme reaches into the inside pocket of her skirts and retrieves a tiny wooden box engraved with an ancient scripture.

Thy Mother's will is to be free of vanity.

"Is that?—"

Esme nods. "A mirror, yes—but you can't open it now. Tonight, before bed, I want you to look at yourself."

A mirror… Sweat gathers on my neck as she hands me the precious, forbidden box, and I quickly slip it inside the hidden compartment of my bottom drawer.

"Now, hurry downstairs," Esme shoos me off.

I swallow hard.

If Father wants us to be alone, it means he's finally decided to speak to me about my...circumstances.

"Penelope. There you are," he calls from his seat at the dining table, looking as drunk and miserable as I'd expected.

"Father." I give him a quick curtsy before sitting at the chair to his right.

The dining room is all decked-out for the occasion. In his mind, a silver butter knife and a bigger chandelier can apparently make up for the twisted fate that awaits me, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

He lays down his cloth napkin over his knees, his gaze slippery and unfocused. "I figured we needed to have a chat. Your birthday is the day after tomorrow."

I keep my spine straight and stare down at my lap, knowing better than to argue with him, especially when he's been drinking. "I'm ready, Father. I will not disappoint you."

"You see…the Shadow Court uses tricks that might make it hard for you to keep a straight head. Don't drink their wine, and eat as little as you can. They will try to corrupt you with their manipulative ideology, delicious booze, and attractive bodies—" He screws his eyes shut and shakes his head forcefully. "I should never have agreed to that bet. That demon tricked me."

Father calls his deal with the Shadow King anything from "a dark bet between kings" to "a God-forsaken piece of horseshit." Depending on how drunk he is when he's talking about it.

"Esme has taught me well, Father." I press my lips together to mask my impertinent thoughts. I know all of this already. Father always throws a fit when I bring it up and leaves it to Esme to fill in the blanks and take care of me and Cece. Does he have to rob me of my last few precious days of peace?

If only Mother was still here…

He swipes his goblet up, and a few droplets spill over the rim, the air suddenly charged with guilt. "Don't forget. As long as you remain a maiden, he's not allowed to touch you without your consent. I made sure that part of the deal was crystal clear."

Heat gathers on my cheeks. He doesn't mean it exactly as he said it. Of course, the Shadow King can touch me, but he cannot bed me without my consent. Despite the special education I received under Esme's tutelage, my ears burn. Sexual pleasures are not discussed or encouraged in my world, but since I'm cursed to spend so much time in a land of debauchery, Esme has taught me words that my sister will probably never hear.

Lust. Orgasm. Cock.

I shake my head to banish the terms from my mind, trying not to think about the drawings she showed me.

"Can you tell me something else about the bet you made? About how I should act?" I look at him expectantly. Now that I'm almost an adult, he might be allowed to tell me the whole truth about it.

"Esmeralda has already told you all the details I could share." Father clears his throat a few times before he adds, "Your mother was right when she hired Esme to teach you the ways of the Fae. With her help, you're a bit more prepared. Fae can't lie, so be wary of their exact words, because they will twist them to fit their designs."

"Yes, Father."

He stares down at me like he longs for absolution. He wants me to say that everything will be fine, but how could it be? He passed down the burden of protecting Demeter from our most fearsome enemy to me, his daughter. And I have no idea what will be demanded of me.

He promised the devil Fae that healed my mother that I would cross to the shadow realm and live in Faerie two weeks out of four, for an entire year. By the end of that year, I will either have earned my freedom or somehow condemned my people to live under his reign. Father sold me, and gambled his crown to boot, and a part of me hates him for it. Especially since a stupid accident claimed Mother's life too soon anyway.

Now that she's gone, Father clearly regrets ever making the deal in the first place.

The way I conduct myself during the next twelve months will determine my kingdom's fate for centuries to come, but I'm precluded to know the exact terms of their contract—or how my future actions might doom my people.

All will be revealed in due time, Esme promised.

Until then, I have to keep my wits about me and suffer the king's whims. If I refuse to go, he wins. If I don't play by his rules or try to flee, he wins. The odds are rigged in the devil's favor, but what is owed to the Shadow King is owed in full.

And it's my turn to pay up.