Chapter Text
“How many times are you going to read that?” Funneh asked, wiping down the old shelves with an equally old cloth. She wrinkled her nose at the dust that accumulated.
“I cannot help it, it is so exciting!” Gold squealed, crumpling the newspaper in her hands. She was leaning over the counter re-reading last week's paper as she had been for the past hour.
The entire first page was taken up by the announcement. In bold letters it read, ‘PRINCESS VALERIE APPOINTS A NEW ROYAL GUARD, SIR KAI HAYASHI.’ underneath was a description of Sir Kai’s achievements within the Royal Guard along with a photo of him kneeling before the princess in his new armour. To be part of the Royal Guard, let alone becoming the Princess’s personal Guard was a great honour, Funnhe wondered how the King and Queen had allowed someone as young as their daughter to be held responsible for her safety.
The event had been the talk of the town for weeks, surely the same could be said about the neighboring Kingdoms. While the Kingdom Funneh lived in wasn't the most influential or powerful, the Princess was beautiful, smart, and beyond talented in many fronts, desired by many. To hear she had chosen Sir Kai herself had people stirring.
“Princess Valerie has spoken of him before, but I never would have thought he’d become her personal guard! This is beyond wonderful, look at them!” Gold shoved the wrinkled newspaper in Funneh's face, wafting the scent of ink and cigar smoke into her face, Gold had paid a pretty penny for her own copy. Gold’s finger pointed to the photo, and she was correct, in the photograph it was clear the affection they held for each other, even through the page. Sir Kai was looking up at the princess with nothing but adoration in his eyes, Princess Valerie proud to finally have him stand beside her.
“Yes, yes, very heartwarming. But, mustn't you get back to work?” Funneh said, tossing the soiled rag beneath the counter, leaning forward on her elbows. Gold huffed, crossing her arms over her stained dress and flour covered apron. Gold worked for her mother in a bakery just down the road from Funneh’s family’s own shop. While the two girls had become fast friends at a young age, as they grew they couldn't be more different. Gold was the town's beauty, the pretty girl who worked in a bakery making pastries and bread all day long, customers frequently were convinced to purchase more than they had come seeking, the tip jar was usually filled whenever Funneh came by. Funneh on the other hand enjoyed wandering the woodlands nearby, picking weeds and herbs instead of flowers and bringing them back to her mother who would create simple elixirs to then sell. Their shop was one that could not be defined by one name, they would sell books and knives, cleaning supplies and food ingredients, they would take anything anyone deemed worthless enough to toss away and re-sell it.
“Why must you remind me? Mother has been pestering me all day. Are you finished for the day? We must do something to fill the time before nightfall.” Gold gently folded the newspaper and stuck it into her aprons pocket.
Funneh hummed in thought, “well, we could gather a few drinks here then pick some food and go to the clearing for supper?” at Gold’s nod, Funneh turned and grabbed two bottles of herb infused water. As she and Gold made their way to the front door after leaving a note for Funneh’s mother, they were just about to step out when a loud ‘bang!’ and several screams erupted from outside. Funneh startled, dropping the two bottles, glass shattering on the concrete below, water reaching their shoes.
The girls watched as people ran past the shop windows towards where the castle was. Funeh and Gold glanced at each other for a fleeting moment before both rushing out the door, following the panicked crowd down the stone path until they reached the palace gates. They were unusually wide open, but no one dared to enter. Funneh grasped Gold's hand and pushed her way to the front of the crowd, looking up at the castle, they both gasped.
Neither of them had ever seen magic at work before, at least, not to this extent. Brandishing the palace walls were words scrawled in black, the edges smoldering into the wall itself, leaving a permanent mark.
‘THE PRINCESS WILL DIE AT MY HANDS.’
Royal guards rushed about the luscious grass, smothering flower beds without care. The doors remained shut tightly. Whispers echoed around them, ‘did anyone see who is responsible?’
‘The poor princess must be so scared!’
‘This is dark magic, I am sure of that.’
‘Who could have done such a thing?’
‘Think about it, it could only be her.’
‘Will the message go away?’
‘Who?’
‘What kind of monster is capable of producing such magic power?’
‘The Witch of Many Terrors.’