One Dark Window

There once was a girl,” he murmured, “clever and good, who tarried in shadow in the depths of the wood. There also was a King—a shepherd by his crook, who reigned over magic and wrote the old book. The two were together, so the two were the same: “The girl, the King… and the monster they became.

To the quiet girls with stories in their heads. To their dreams—and their nightmares.

Be wary. Be clever. Be good.

He came for the girl... And got the monster instead.

I'm just the wind in the trees, the shadow, and the fright. The echo in the leaves...the nightmare in the night.

Nothing is free. Nothing is safe. Magic is love, but also, it’s hate. It comes at a cost. You’re found, and you’re lost. Magic is love, but also, it’s hate.

Are you still pretending?” I said, reveling in his gaze. Ravyn gave a surprised laugh and, in front of everyone, leaned in and kissed me. “I never was,” he whispered into my lips.

I love when they argue,” Emory said into his soup. “Keeps my weak little heart beating.

I am stronger than my doubts

I am the shepherd of shadow. The phantom of the fright. The demon in the daydream.” Her yellow eyes flickered to Ravyn. “The nightmare in the night.

The berry of rowans is red, always red. The earth at its trunk is dark with blood shed. But a Prince is a man, and a man may be bled. He came for the girl… And got the monster instead.

There once was a girl clever and good, who tarried in shadow in the depths of the wood. There also was a king - a shepard by his crook, who reigned over magic and wrote the old book. The two were together, so the two were the same...The girl, the King...and the monster they became.

Except, in this fairy tale, the maiden has blood on her hands.

My magic moves, he said. My magic bites. My magic soothes. My magic frights. You are young and not so bold. I am unflinching—five hundred years old.

You’re smiling.” Elm looked over the table. “Does no one else find that incredibly unnerving?

It is not they who bring the reckoning, Ravyn. It is you. It is us.

Had I known they’d be the last words I’d say to him aloud, I might have chosen them differently.

Practice restraint, and know it by touch. Use Cards when they’re needed, and never too much. For too much of fire, our swords would all break. Too much of wine a poison doth make. Excess is grievous, be knave, maid, or crown. Too much of water, how easy we drown.

The Black Horse made its beholder a master of combat. The Golden Egg granted great wealth. The Prophet offered glimpses of the future. The White Eagle bestowed courage. The Maiden bequeathed great beauty. The Chalice turned liquid into truth serum. The Well gave clear sight to recognize one’s enemies. The Iron Gate offered blissful serenity, no matter the struggle. The Scythe gave its beholder the power to control others. The Mirror granted invisibility. The Nightmare allowed its user to speak into the minds of others. The Twin Alders had the power to commune with Blunder’s ancient entity, the Spirit of the Wood.

Can I kiss you?” My voice shook. “A bit late to ask, isn’t it?” “Not on your mouth, Elspeth.” His eyes turned wicked as he lowered himself to his knees,

But he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against his chest in a hug so deep it blotted out Market Day entirely. He held me, resting his cheek against the crown of my head, his heart drumming against my ear. I inhaled him, leather and smoke and cedar, settling into his arms like a rabbit in its warm, safe den. I had not fit into anyone’s arms like that since childhood. And even then, no one had ever held me so tightly—as if they needed me in their arms as much as I needed to be held. As if nothing else mattered but to hold one another. As if we had all the time in the world.

When the shadows grow long, when our names turn to dust, what we loved, what we hated, will spoil to rust. All will be forgotten, save one truth, unshaken… What did we do when the children were taken?

Tell them. Tell them the truth. When your children ask, do not lie- do not hide the risk of magic. Children are strongest when their eyes are clear. Only then can they make their own choices. Only then are they truly free. Tell them. Tell them the truth.

They came in the night,” we said, “the black and red horde. They burned down my castle, put my kin to the sword. The usurper was crowned, though my blood had not dried. But he did not account for the turn of the tide. For nothing is safe, and nothing is free. Debt follows all men, no matter their plea. When the Shepherd returns, a new day shall ring. Death to the Rowans… “Long live the King.

And with every kiss, every flick of his tongue, Ravyn was... pushing me toward an inevitable, ruinous fall. He did not let me fall right away. By his sighs, the muffled, contented growls, he was taking his time with me. Laying waste to me

Everyone was watching him, brows high. When I looked up, Ravyn’s gaze was on me, his mouth upturned, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip. “Morning.” He looked stupidly handsome, smug to his boots. I hid behind my teacup. “Morning.” Next to him, Elm’s face twisted in a grimace. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Ravyn took a bite of bread and leaned back in his chair. “What do you mean?” “You’re smiling.” Elm looked over the table. “Does no one else find that incredibly unnerving?

We smiled, and when we stood, the world around us faded, time and space, Prince and King, child and spirit. All that remained was magic - black as ink. Powerful, vengeful, and full of fury. Our voice dripped oil, Hauth fixed in our gaze. We stalked him, pinning him in the corner of the room. "They came in the night," we said, "the black and red horde. They burned down my castle, put my kin to the sword. The usurper was crowned, though my blood had not dried. But he did not account for the turn of the tide. For nothing is safe, and nothing is free. Debt follows all men, no matter their plea. When the Shepherd returns, a new day shall ring. Death to the Rowans... "Long live the King.

Be safe,” I whispered to the wind as Ravyn Yew disappeared beyond the gate. Had I known they’d be the last words I’d say to him aloud, I might have chosen them differently.

There was a way to lie and tell the truth at the same time. That’s how the best lies are told—with just a sliver of truth.

Weariness was king, and I his servant.