Chapter Text
The great gilded wooden door has a dull thud to it when you knock. You've never been here before – at least, not through the front door... You're used to sneaking in through the escape tunnels late at night, long after the Queen has retired to her bed chambers and won't catch you with her daughter.
On either side of the castle doors stands a guard dragon and you try to avoid meeting their eyes. Looking a dragon in the eye was a sign of great disrespect and even the greyhound-sized guard dragons were liable to do great damage when they felt disrespected. Afterall, even a guard dragon has teeth and claws and flames, none of which are any match for human skin.
One of the dragons blows a great tuft of smoke through its nostrils. You toss first one dragon, then the other, a piece of dried rabbit meat from your pocket. Both dragons start wagging their tails, remembering you, Bringer of Rabbit Meat.
The door finally swings open with a groan of ancient hinges (another reason you tend to choose routes other than the front door). The young pageboy peers owlishly at you for a moment as if he can't quite believe it's really you; it's a reaction you've long since gotten used to. He stands back to allow you entrance with a great sweeping bow.
When he looks up, meets your eye, you wink at him with a subtle smile and his cheeks immediately pink with shyness. You know he's a favourite of the Princess – she'd rescued him from a band of rebel warriors when she'd come across their camp while riding one day and she'd refused the Queen's demands that he be sent to the orphanage.
Wordlessly, he leads you along the long winding corridors to the Princess's bed chambers and you bite down the urge to tell him you already know the way by heart. "Thank you, Jack," you whisper to him once you arrive outside the chamber doors and hand him a peppermint stick you'd bought from the a sweet merchant you'd come across in your travels.
He grins up at you, clutching the lolly to his chest like it is a great prize, bows again before scampering off.
Shaking your head, you enter the room, lowering yourself into a curtsey, as is protocol when coming face to face with royalty, though you and the Princess had long since moved past the need for propriety. "Your Majesties," you greet.
"You may rise," the Queen decrees. She's watching you with interest, though it's not quite clear whether there's approval or distaste there as well. "I take it you received my summons?"
"Yes, Your Majesty." A great scarlet parrot had arrived with the summons yesterday and you'd ridden through the night to reach the castle as quickly as possible. "Your letter said it was a matter of great urgency."
The Queen's face turns grave then, her gaze falling on her daughter's lifeless form lain on the bed looking like a porcelain doll – the kind you could never afford in a hundred lifetimes. "She fell ill three days ago. Yesterday, her handmaiden failed to wake her. I fear she's fallen victim to the Spindle Sickness."
Your stomach sinks at those words. If it truly was the Spindle Sickness, there was little you could do for her. Victims of the Spindle Sickness – also known as Aurora's Curse – would invariably fall into an impossibly deep sleep three days after infection, never to be roused again, neither dead nor truly alive. Silently, you examine the Princess, praying to the Gods that the Queen was wrong in her fears.
Your reputation precedes you around the Four Kingdoms, both revered and shunned in turn, name spoken in whispers or not at all. Magic is a rare gift these days and often sought after, though not always with pure intent – the organs of those with magic were rumoured to have curative properties, making magic users a highly-valued target of poachers. And, to some people (the Queen being one of them), magic users were seen as little better than animals, worth only as much as the black market value of their hides.
You were one of the last surviving magic users and the only one gifted by the Gods with the healing art, which is why the Queen had summoned you, in spite of her prejudices. Had it not been for the Princess, you wouldn't have agreed to come...
"It's not the Spindle Sickness," you pronounce, finding no tell-tale mark on the Princess's finger. Your face is grim in spite of the news. "I fear, though, it's the Great Pox," you continue, watching the colour drain from the Queen's face.
"Are you absolutely certain?" the Queen asks, clutching her heart like it might leap from her chest (which almost never happened anymore).
"I cannot be certain until the pox start to form, but by then it will be too late," you say gravely. You wish it was something else, anything else.
"Is there nothing you can do?" the Queen pressed, desperate, knowing it to very likely be a death sentence. The Great Pox was often considered to be a 'peasant illness', but it could kill a Princess just as easily as a pauper.
"There is a cure..." you say cautiously, "A tiny purple flower whose nectar can vanquish the sickness, but it grows only in the middle of the Dark Forest and it must be carefully prepared to be effective."
"Is there no other way?"
You shake your head sadly. "It is the Princess's only hope."
"Then you must travel there immediately," the Queen insists, tipping up her chin imperiously.
"The Dark Forest..." you warn, "It's...impassible. Few who venture inside are ever seen again. And that's if you can make it through the surrounding rebel territory alive..." You already know you're going in search of the flower. Not because the Queen has asked it of you, but because you love the Princess and nothing in the Four Kingdoms will stand in the way of saving her life.
"You must," the Queen demands, ignoring your warning.
You nod once, knowing that if you refuse a direct command from the Queen, you'll never be welcome in the Kingdom of Laurentia again, likely upon penalty of death. "I'll set off at once," you agree, repacking your supplies in your satchel.
The Queen seems pleased by your easy agreement. She reaches into the Princess's jewelry box, pulling out a pearl embroidered handkerchief. "You'll take the Princess's favour with you," she says, handing the fine ivory linen square to you.
Reverently, you trace the letter 'E' stitched into the corner in golden thread, a ghost of a smile crossing your lips. You'd spent six months of earnings to have this handkerchief made for the Princess's birthday. The Queen obviously had no idea or she'd almost certainly have set fire to it long ago and locked Emily in the Dragon's Keep.
You curtsey deeply to the Queen, tucking the handkerchief into the pocket of your cloak. "Your Majesty. I will do my best to return with the flower with all due haste. If I should die in my quest, know that it was an honour to have done so in the name of Princess Emily."
You set off, following the Merchant Road, leading to the Kingdom of Morgana.
Go to Blue 5.