The sun hadn’t yet peeked over the horizon when a piercing, anguished scream echoed through the walls of Bellator Palace. In the corridor, right outside the door to her own bedroom, the queen lay slumped against the wall. Her pale blue nightgown was soaked with blood, a silver dagger protruding from her abdomen. So young—she was no longer breathing. The blood in her veins hadn’t even had time to cool, which meant the killer had to be close by.
The culprit, dressed in military garb, stepped past the lifeless queen and continued down the hall, searching for his accomplice. If they failed their mission, Wilhelm would have their heads—or, more likely, Damian would. Almost as pressing was the question of where the hell his cursed brother had disappeared to. Suddenly, the rustle of paper came from an open guest room door. The man gripped his rifle, moving silently as he crept closer. Holding his breath, he brushed a finger against the cold metal of the trigger and burst inside—only to find his partner there. Instead of a weapon, the man held a child wrapped in a white sheet.
“Did you find the boy?” the intruder exhaled, slinging the rifle over his shoulder.
His partner turned to face him and shook his head.
“Nah, he wasn’t there. Got the girl instead.” He gestured to the toddler in his arms, about a year and a half old.
Still half-asleep, she had no idea what was happening. The sight made the intruder’s blood boil.
“What do we need the princess for?” he barked, though he kept his voice down to avoid alerting the guards. “The heir is the prince. We were supposed to snatch the prince! You killed the queen for this?”
“I’m telling you, he’s gone! I checked everywhere. Only found these two, and there’s no trace of the little guy or his daddy. At least we’ve got the girl. What’s her name… Anabelle?” He blinked, waiting for approval, but the other man stayed silent. “Roderick, did you even do anything?”
Yes and no.
“The vault’s locked tight,” Roderick said in a more measured tone. “Fine, hand over the girl, and let’s get out of here before the guards tear us apart. Wilhelm can deal with the rest himself.”
His partner passed the child to him. So light. Roderick held her the way he’d held his own son just a few days ago. When this was over, he’d finally return to his family. With money, with a title—he’d never have to do this damned job again. All he needed was to put the right person on the throne.
Leaving the room, Roderick followed his partner toward the stairs. Just a little further. But then, armed guards rushed toward them. Shots rang out, and they retreated to the nearest room.
“Where’s your brother, damn it?! He was supposed to cover our escape,” his partner yelled, holding the door and slamming the bolt shut.
They were trapped. Roderick had no answer, so he only muttered, “We’ll have to find another way out.”
More shots fired outside. The child, startled, began to cry, and the guards immediately stopped. Muffled whispers could be heard from the other side. Meanwhile, his partner grimaced and slid down the door to the floor.
“I’m hit!” he shouted. “They’ve got us cornered.”
He’d been shot in the legs in three places—he wouldn’t be walking anytime soon. Once again, Roderick would have to handle everything himself.
“Not us. Just you.”
The guards started pounding on the door. Genuine fear flashed across his partner’s face. There was no time to think.
“I’m taking the princess,” Roderick whispered, shifting the child to one arm for a better grip. “I’ll climb out the window—it’s only the second floor.” The door rattled louder. “Hold them off. Buy as much time as you can.”
“You’re leaving me? I’m not staying here alone. They’ll kill me for the queen.”
“Don’t worry, they won’t do a thing—their code won’t let them. Trust me. Worst case, they’ll throw you in the dungeon, and you’ll be out soon enough once Wilhelm secures power. Right now, all the guards will be chasing me and the princess. Just buy me as much time as possible. Got it?”
The royal guard had no such code. Roderick knew his partner was as good as dead, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t even remember the man’s name.
The banging on the door didn’t let up. It wouldn’t hold much longer. The wounded man, leaning a hand against the wall, slowly stood. Blood continued to spread across his pants as he nodded. Roderick nodded back, checked his ammo, and headed for the window. Taking a deep breath, he jumped down onto the smooth stone path below. Guards outside rushed toward him but didn’t dare shoot. Unlike the intruder. With the child in one arm and his rifle in the other, he sprinted for the gates while the guards scattered like frightened rabbits. If their commander had been there, they might’ve acted with more coordination. But as it was, their own lives mattered more than duty.
He didn’t know how long it took, but before Roderick realized it, he’d reached the market. On the city streets, he’d be an easy target, but in the dense crowd among the stalls, it was much easier to disappear. Little Anabelle, cradled in his arms, was surprisingly quiet. It seemed the frantic escape from the guards had lulled her to sleep. She didn’t make a sound, just looked around with curious eyes.
Roderick kept running, weaving skillfully between shoppers. The guards seemed to have fallen behind a bit, but the sense of safety was deceptive. They’d already entered the market, and he was moving way too slowly. Where was his brother? This was all his fault. The situation was growing more hopeless by the second. To hell with Wilhelm and his plan. Roderick just wanted to survive.
As he dashed past another stall, Roderick spotted a cart. It was loaded with a few crates and plenty of empty sacks, and an idea struck him. Without hesitation, he grabbed the side of the cart, placed the child inside, and covered her with a sack.
“Good luck, Your Highness,” he said, running a hand over her short hair. “I won’t trouble you anymore.”
He jumped down, glanced around, and took off running again, faster now, disappearing into the crowd.
***
Closer to noon, the cart was being loaded up. A young boy climbed inside while his father handed him crates from the ground. After stacking a few, the boy noticed an odd bundle under a sack. He lifted it slowly and froze in shock.
“Dad, look! There’s a kid here.”
The man furrowed his brow, not taking his son’s words seriously. He didn’t even look before responding, “What kid? What’s it doing here?”
“Sleeping.”
The man paused, caught off guard. Dropping the crate he was holding, he peered into the cart with a skeptical expression. There, on a pile of folded sacks, lay a little girl wrapped in expensive fabric, a strange ring hanging from a string around her neck. The merchant picked her up and looked around, wondering if someone had lost a child. The surrounding clamor was just the usual market noise.
An hour passed. Unable to find the parents of the abandoned girl, the man had no choice but to take her home. She grew up, and over time, it became clear she was a sorceress—and not an ordinary one. Her abilities didn’t so much amaze people as they unnerved them. Raising a magical child wasn’t easy in this world, especially when most common townsfolk knew nothing about magic. Within three months, the girl was passed to another family, then another, and yet another. Through countless hands, she eventually ended up in the Duchy of Sycora, under the care of an unusual pair of performers, Alfred and Greta.