Prologue
There was no particular reason why she found the uneven and scattered wildflowers of the dense meadow so much more intriguing than the perfect rows of roses and precisely sculptured bushes throughout the palace gardens. Or maybe there was; a vision that even imperfect is beautiful.
She’d feel a sense of guilt to say her days were draining, perhaps most of the population would find it offensive. They had to work many hours all day only being able to gain a few Ors to feed their family, maybe just bread and butter; while she had the privilege to sit in a lavish palace, with meals whenever she pleased and never having to lift a finger. And although the daily tedious and dull courses of etiquette and diplomacy would exhaust her, she’d never utter a word of complaint.
So, slipping past the castle maids and royal guards had become almost routine to her. The dense little meadow near the woods had become a common spot she’d come to religiously to explore and find a peace of mind.
Emerging her toes under the running water of the stream was refreshing, the thought of deviance to it only made it more exciting.
Noelle smiled once she noticed a heron across the stream, drinking delicately. It wasn’t long before it had flown off, leaving a white feather near her. She studied it, keeping it in the same hand that held the buttercups and lilies, unaware of a lurking presence within the woods.
Snap.
A gray blur came bolting straight toward her in a second. Before she had time to react, another figure ran T way across her, slamming right into the animal. The wolf hit a tree trunk, and the dark-haired girl hit the ground.
Noelle’s breath remained caught in her chest, her mind struggling to process what had just happened. The girl lay still for a moment, her dark hair splayed across the grass, chest rising and falling with exertion. The wolf, dazed from the impact, staggered to its feet with a low snarl, its amber eyes flickering between the two of them.
Then it lunged again.
Noelle barely had time to flinch before the girl moved, rolling to the side and snatching up a fallen branch. She forced herself upright, gripping the makeshift weapon with a steadiness that contradicted her thin frame.
The wolf circled her now, ears flat against its skull, its steps slow and predatory. Noelle’s feet felt rooted in place. The flowers in her grasp were forgotten, their delicate stems wilting between her fingers. She wanted to run—to move—but something held her still.
The girl did not hesitate.
With a sharp, calculated motion, she struck. The branch connected with the wolf’s shoulder, forcing it back with a sharp yelp. But it did not flee. It was hungry. Desperate. The wild glint in its eyes did not waver.
The girl adjusted her stance, shifting her weight. A bruise was forming along her arm where she had hit the ground, but she paid it no mind. Noelle watched, entranced by the way she held herself—firm, unwavering, like the knights she had only ever seen from a distance.
A snap of a twig. A shift in the wind. The wolf lunged.
Noelle gasped.
But the girl was quicker.
She stepped aside at the last moment, twisting her body with practiced ease. The branch came down again—harder this time—connecting with the wolf’s ribs. The impact sent the beast sprawling into the grass, panting, disoriented. It lingered only a moment longer before retreating, slipping back into the dense cover of the woods.
The woods had returned still, no birds dared to chirp; yet the wind rustled against the trees leaves and branches, and the water still ran.
Noelle remained frozen. Her pulse hammered against her ribs. The girl, now standing tall despite the dirt on her tunic and the scuffs on her knees, exhaled slowly.
It was only then, as Noelle’s senses slowly returned, that she realized the distant sound of voices—men shouting, armor shifting, hooves crunching through the underbrush.
The search party.
The girl stiffened, shoulders drawing inward, eyes flickering toward the direction of the sound. Noelle recognized the tension in her stance—not the relief of rescue, but the wariness of being seen.
The branches beyond the clearing rustled. The armored figures would emerge soon. And still, Noelle could not look away from the girl who had just saved her life. The girl had turned her heels to leave, yet a man shouted, and she froze.
“Halt!” He shouted, making a stop once they’d reached the Princess. Among the knights and guards, King Aldric Durnhal dismounted his stallion, his steps firm as he approached. His gaze flicked to the dark-haired girl—sharp, assessing—before turning to his daughter, laced with concern. “What are you doing with the princess?” His voice was low, commanding. The girl stiffened, shoulders squared, but before she could respond, Noelle stepped in.
“Father,” she said, her tone steady. “She saved me. A wolf came at me, and before it could reach me, she fought it off. I wasn’t even touched.”
The girl’s eyes widened slightly, surprised by the princess’s defense.
King Aldric studied her once more, taking in the dirt on her knees, the bruises on her arms, the fresh cut along her forearm. His expression remained unreadable.
The king’s sharp eyes narrowed, scanning the girl with renewed scrutiny. The tension in her stance did not waver, but there was something in the way she held herself—rigid, prepared, as though she were bracing for a blow rather than awaiting praise.
A hush fell over the gathered knights and guards. The wind stirred through the trees, rustling the leaves like whispers of judgment.
King Aldric took another step closer, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the girl’s face.
“You fought off a wolf?” His tone was not one of awe, nor immediate belief—only calculation, as if trying to measure the truth in the princess’s words.
The girl did not answer right away. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, dirt still caked beneath her nails, and her breathing remained even despite the scrutiny.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she finally spoke, her voice steady despite the slight rasp of exertion.
A flicker of something unreadable passed through the king’s expression. His gaze swept over the clearing—the disturbed grass, the faint paw prints leading back into the forest, the scattered petals of crushed wildflowers near Noelle’s feet.
Then, with a slow nod, he turned his head toward one of his knights. “Find the beast’s trail. If it lingers near the castle grounds, I want it dealt with.” A few men immediately broke off to carry out the order, disappearing into the brush. The king’s attention returned to the girl. He considered her once more, before finally asking, “What is your name?”
The girl hesitated, her fingers tightening into small fists before she loosened them again. “…Marie, Your Majesty.”
Noelle watched the way her father studied Marie’s face, expression unreadable. She knew that look—calculating, measuring worth, assessing potential.
A long silence passed before he spoke again.
“A girl with the skill to take down a wolf,” he mused, tone heavy with thought. “And yet, you do not wear a sigil of any knightly house.”
Marie shook her head once. “I have no house, Your Majesty.”
Noelle’s brow furrowed. She felt a strange pull in her chest at those words, though she could not place why.
The king hummed, glancing at the bruises blooming on Marie’s arm. His lips pressed into a thin line before he finally turned away. “Come,” he said, not to Marie, but to Noelle. “We return to the castle.” Noelle hesitated, her gaze flickering between Marie and her father. A strange, unspoken feeling stirred within her—an unwillingness to simply leave. Marie did not move, her stance unreadable. She had saved the princess, yet it was clear she did not expect anything in return.
But then, the king paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
“You,” he said, voice even, directed at Marie. “Come with us.”
Noelle saw it then—the brief flicker of shock in Marie’s dark eyes. The moment lingered, heavy with something unspoken, before the world moved on around them.