Chapter 1: The beginning

Annalise never imagined she’d miss the feeling of wind across her skin. 

The sun filtered through the autumn leaves overhead, creating a dappled pattern of light and shadow on the ground. As the tree branches swayed with the light breeze in the garden, the earthy scent of fallen leaves and fresh earth surrounded her. She was tempted to remove her mask, if just for a moment, to better inhale the intoxicating mix of fading summer and robust fall scents. 

The temptation was as fleeting as the breeze, here one minute and gone the next. Her mask, the ivory face that lay over her own, stayed in place, secured by a silver silk ribbon. It was better that way, for her and everyone else. 

Thanks to her curse, the last time she went without a mask in public the king lost an heir. 

“How many more days of autumn do you think we’ll have before winter sets in for good?” Priscilla, her lady’s maid, asked as she hoisted the basket overflowing with herbs on her arm. 

“Another couple of weeks, if we’re lucky. Is the basket heavy? If you’d like, I can carry it for a little bit,” Annalise volunteered. 

“And have the other servants see? No, Your Highness. This basket isn’t so heavy for me to complain about; I was simply making an observation about the weather.” Priscilla paused and looked down, pursing her lips. “Although I do wonder about what we’re carrying. It’s such a great amount of dandelions, and such a small number of chrysanthemums compared to what we normally take. Do you think the healers will really appreciate it?” 

“I’m positive.” 

Despite the relatively warm autumn day and the sweat beading on her brow, Annalise didn’t bother to wipe her forehead; the guards walking behind them would no doubt tell her father if she lifted her mask and the last thing she wanted was to garner more of the king’s attention. 

She glanced at the herbs piled high in Priscilla’s basket. 

Her maid loved the delicate chrysanthemum flowers and had taken great care not to bruise the petals as she harvested them from the main plant, but Annalise always preferred the dandelions. They weren’t the nicest flower in the garden, but they were hardy, and the Healer’s Guild was always grateful when she brought a bundle of greens and roots in. Dandelions grew no matter where they were located, and their zest for life and perseverance, even in the face of the hardest adversity, spoke deeply to her soul. Many in her father’s court considered the dandelions a weed, a noxious species that ruined their perfectly planned gardens and walkways. To Annalise, they were a reminder that even the poorest soil could sometimes yield fruit. 

They passed a group of courtiers as they made their way to the castle gate. She gave each person the courtesy of a nod. They didn’t even acknowledge her presence except for darting glances and the faintest of snide whispers once they thought she was too far away to hear them.

Nevertheless, her posture was perfect, her head held high, and her footsteps so soft that she doubted even a Master Hunter could hear her. Her hands, hidden beneath white silk gloves that extended under the long sleeves of her forest green dress to her elbows, were clasped demurely in front of her. Everything about her mannerisms was carefully calculated to give the appearance of gentility, softness, and weakness, but it changed nothing.

Everyone knew who she was: the most dangerous person in all of Dovea. 

As soon as they’d exited the gate and turned a corner in the road, out of sight of those within the castle walls, Annalise sighed and allowed the tension in her shoulders to relax just slightly. She should be happy to take a rare afternoon outside the castle walls. Instead, the sight of the courtiers lurking around the gate set her on edge. To distract herself from the courtiers’ whispers, she turned to Priscilla.  

“Did you hear anything newsworthy in the kitchens today?” 

“Oh, yes. Everyone was talking about it—apparently a contingent of Rhinneans are on their way to seek an audience with your father. They’re expected to arrive by tomorrow morning.” 

“That is quite surprising.” The kingdom of Rhinnea had been at odds with Dovea for generations, although there had been peace between the two for as long as Annalise could remember. The original origin of the feud had long been lost to time–some scholars said it was over a trade dispute as Dovea had the better ports while Rhinnea controlled the only trade routes to the larger continent, while others said it stemmed from a broken alliance hundreds of years before. Either way, the two kingdoms were constantly testing each other like two wolves vying for a choice piece of meat. 

The most recent tenuous peace had lasted over twenty years, nearly as long as she’d been alive. Annalise hoped that perhaps the new delegation could be a signal of something more stable. Certain members of her fathers court always jumped at the chance to suggest a renewal of the war, but through her walks in the city and dealings with the various guilds she saw how the peasants lived and couldn’t imagine taking men away from their families to fight. Glory and honor was all well and good in theory, but she couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t better to focus on putting food in empty stomachs than finance wars that would soak the ground with blood. 

A small group of women saw the royal entourage and crossed over to the other side of the street. Priscilla waited until they were once again alone on the sidewalk before dropping her voice. “There are also rumors that your father had turned his attention to a new lady, the daughter of Lord Adrilla.” 

Annalise perked up at the tidbit of news. Ever since her mother, Queen Elvira, passed away in childbirth nearly ten years before when Annalise was still a young girl of fifteen, her father had kept a steady rotation of women. He was desperate for another heir, and when his infatuations didn’t fall pregnant in a timely manner, he tossed them to the side and moved on to the next lady who caught his eye. “So soon? Larken became his latest favorite just a few months ago.” 

“Which is more than enough time for her to show signs of missing her monthly cycle, and the last I heard of it is that she’s as regular as ever.” 

“Pity.” Annalise couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Of the many concubines her father had, Larken was her second-least favorite. The woman was only a handful of years older than Annalise and as beautiful as the dawn, but she constantly wore a sneer when Annalise was near, as if she smelled something terribly unpleasant. It was a strategic play on Larken’s part—King Evert, Annalise’s father, was ambivalent towards his only daughter and heir on his best days, and cruel on his worst, and he had no compunctions showing his distaste for her in front of the entire court. Many of his past concubines had done the same in order to curry favor, as if the cruelty that helped them catch the eye of the king would also give them a child to supplant Annalise, but Larken had taken it to an entirely new level, even having her maids make life difficult for Priscilla, whose only crime was working for Annalise. 

It was no matter. For all her plotting and scheming and the rumors of the myriad potions she drank, Larken was no more pregnant than an old withered grandmother, and it sounded like not even her great beauty could keep the capricious king faithful. 

They walked past a stationery store, and Annalise thought of the two letters sitting on her desk back in her chambers. The first one was from Soren Kierson, a dear friend who she hadn’t seen in over a decade. They’d been childhood playmates; there were so few children her age who regularly visited the castle, and as the son of Dovea’s High General, he was one of her frequent companions. His mother had died when he was very young, and often his father would allow him to play with Annalise under the watchful eye of Queen Elvira. It had been years since she’d seen the laughing boy with the brown hair that couldn’t be tamed; when Soren was sixteen his father had sent him away to apprentice to a ship’s captain. 

Soren had promised to write, and write he had, but almost a year after he left, Queen Elvira died and Annalise’s curse came into being. Ever since that fateful day, Annalise hadn’t been able to bring herself to respond to his infrequent letters, although she treasured each one. In his most recent letter, received a few days before but written several weeks prior, he told her that he was considering returning to Dovelan, Dovea’s capital city. She still wasn’t sure if she was excited to see him again, or worried about what he would think of her curse. 

Annalise shook her head and forced her thoughts to the other, more practical letter on her desk, from the Guildmaster of the Weaving guild.  

“I think we’ll stop by the market after paying a visit to the Guild of Healing. I want to remind the wool sellers that just because I have a deal with the Guild of Weavers doesn’t mean they can upcharge Master Fenris. If they’re going to insist on adding an exorbitant sum just because I’m involved with the guild, I’ll send someone directly to the farms to shear the sheep and cut out the middle man.” 

“Of course, Your Highness,” Priscilla said. 

They crossed from the Upper district of Dovelan, Dovea’s capital city, into the Middle district, where the guilds and wealthy merchants lived. Annalise looked back and reassured herself that the usual two guards accompanied her and Priscilla. 

Sometimes new people to town heard of the cursed princess and wanted to get a closer look. Rarely, a foolhardy soul would try to touch her to see if the curse was real.

It always ended terribly for them. Ever since the passing of her mother, anyone who touched Annalise’s skin suffered immense pain. If they didn’t move away immediately, they died a terrible death. 

When she was first cursed, her father had declared a noble’s title and land as reward for whoever could break it, but his one condition was that whoever wished to make an attempt would need to put their own life on the line and test the cure for themself. At first, the promise of riches and power drew scholars, healers, and mages from all over. After two years, no one had succeeded. After seven, no one came to examine her anymore.

That didn’t mean she could relax entirely—there was still the rare person of little intelligence who believed her curse was made up and wanted to prove their courage and intellect to the world by touching her, only to find that her curse was indeed real, and that they’d made an awful mistake. The first several times it happened, guilt and shame had plagued Annalise so terribly that she’d not been able to leave her bed for a week. Eventually, the king decreed that whenever she left the castle, guards must go with her to protect both herself and the foolhardy citizens who put themselves in danger.

Still, she took precautions. At first she’d only worn gloves—her mother had popularized dresses with long sleeves and a high neckline, so the addition of the gloves prevented her from even the most accidental of touches. However, after a tragedy that occurred when Annalise was eighteen, she’d worn her ivory mask every time she stepped outside of her chambers, effectively covering herself from head to toe with only her ears and hair free. 

They reached the Guild of Healers, where Guildmaster Trenk received their offerings with much thankfulness. Annalise declined Guildmaster Trenk’s offer of a tour to see what the novices were learning, but agreed to visit another day, and she and Priscilla continued on their way to the Dovelan marketplace. 

“Do you think those smarmy wool merchants will give you any trouble today?” Priscilla asked. 

Annalise shook her head. “They may protest and squirm a little, but trouble? No, I don’t think so. The favor of the Crown carries enough weight that I doubt they want to risk its displeasure on something so trivial.” 

“Perhaps we should leave the castle more, Your Highness,” Priscilla said with the slightest of chuckles. 

“You think so? Why?” Annalise asked. 

“You always act like a real crown princess when we do. It’s good to see you taking charge.” Priscilla looked back over her shoulder at the stone castle ramparts just barely visible over the nearby roofs. “When we’re behind those walls, it’s as though you hide behind your own barriers, ones that may keep others out, but that also keep you in.” 

“It would be nice to get out and see the people more…” Annalise trailed off. After a few steps, she shook her head as if to clear it. “No, it’s far too dangerous. We’ve been very fortunate so far, but that doesn’t mean that we won’t run into trouble eventually, and I won’t risk the safety of my subjects just because I wanted some fresh air.” 

Priscilla frowned but dipped her head, and they continued on in silence. 

When Annalise stepped into the town square, she breathed deeply of the smells of freshly baked bread, sheep, and mulled wine. Over the dull roar of the crowd, she heard the bleating of sheep and the cries of vendors selling their wares. On market days, vendor stalls selling nearly everything imaginable packed the large square to near bursting. Dovea was a prosperous kingdom; blessed by the Goddess with fertile rolling hills, verdant forests, and control of the only mountain pass on the peninsula, they had a reputation for the finest wools and cloth, deep support of the guilds, and plentiful opportunity to trade.

Annalise allowed one of her guards to lead the way through the crowd towards the wool merchants. The Guild of Weavers had several preferred vendors, but one had recently hiked his prices outrageously and then convinced the other merchants to follow suit. It had caused quite a commotion, as the high prices prevented regular people from purchasing wool for their personal use, and the weaver’s guild had trouble getting enough roving and fleeces for their needs. Annalise suspected that when they’d heard the Crown was involved in subsidizing the purchase of wool, the merchants had only seen the soft glint of gold coins and not thought much beyond their own profit. Granted, the guild was quite wealthy, but the Crown’s donations were to subsidize the training of new members, and the blankets they wove as part of their training went to poor Doveans around the kingdom. Princess Annalise had been extremely proud of the scheme when she’d come up with it two years prior—she firmly believed that in a prosperous kingdom no one should spend the winter shivering under inadequate blankets or worried about hypothermia because of thin cloaks. 

Fortunately, the wool vendors soon realized the error of their ways when the cursed crown princess showed up to their stalls with her lady’s maid and two guards in tow. The short, round man who seemed to act as their leader was overly obeisance and prim at first, pretending like he didn’t understand the problem. However, as Annalise ran her gloved hands over his wares, he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another, and when she took off one of her gloves as she painstakingly explained exactly why she was so disappointed with his actions and those of his peers, his eyes practically bugged out of his head. 

When Annalise finally said that she wanted to ensure that no further misunderstanding occurred, the merchant almost tripped over his own tongue in his rush to assure her that there would be no further trouble.

She smiled and pulled her hand away from where it hovered just above the fine navy cloth. While she knew he couldn’t see her expression, she’d worked to make her voice as expressive as possible to counterbalance the lack of visual cues from her mask. “Thank you, Wilhem. I’m glad to hear that we could come to an agreement.”

As they walked away from the stalls, Priscilla chuckled and shook her head. “That was well done, Your Highness. At first, I thought he was going to collapse under the weight of his own self-important pontificating. The removal of your glove was an especially nice touch.”

“Thank you, Priscilla. He surprised me; for a moment I thought he was actually going to let me touch his wares.” Annalise smiled; while her touch was deadly, the effects of her curse didn’t extend to secondary exposure, and her stroking the merchant’s wares would have had no more effect than that of a normal woman. The general populace knew the limitations of her curse—–servants liked to talk and Priscilla did her laundry with no precautions or ill effects, but it was another thing entirely to not worry when a woman whose touch meant death was running her hands all over your merchandise.  

They were halfway through the market when a commotion broke out at one end–a squealing pig had gotten loose and knocked over a crate of chickens. The entire market descended into chaos as some tried to capture the pig, others the chickens, and a majority of people tried to get away. While many still recognized what Annalise’s mask symbolized and gave her a wide berth, in the hustle and bustle others weren’t paying attention and for the first time in her life she found herself jostled and as the crowd grew more agitated, Priscilla was separated from the group.

Thankfully, Annalise’s guards recovered quickly and forced a path to the wall of the nearest building. She stepped into an alleyway and waved them on. “I’m fine now. No one will bother me here. Go, help the others regain control,” she said as calmly as she could while she tried not to think of what might have happened if her gloves or sleeves had slipped. With a nod, the guards plunged back into the crowd. 

Her relief was short-lived when a low laugh behind her forced her to turn around. A large man stood in the shadows of the alleyway. The leer on his face made the hair on the back of Annalise’s neck stand on end, and she took an unconscious step towards the main square, which was still embroiled in chaos. 

“Leaving so soon, Princess? I don’t think so.” In three swift steps, the man closed the space between them, grabbed her arm, and yanked her into the darkness of the alley.