Prologue

A Chapter by MightyMouse

Reymir is a vast and beautiful country. Melonie had the pleasure of visiting a majority of it throughout her life. Places like the Crowded Peninsula, where the first city of Sinaq still flourished, to the drab Gabian desert, to Old Lyar, now split into Nyar and Myar, and even further still to the mysterious Tenzu Jungle. She had stood at the edge of Hothe volcano and peered down into its dormant depths; explored the edges of Nero, the graveyard of a thousand ships, with a bored and reluctant tour guide. Once she had even camped on the very edge of the Waste, the Shadowland’s ominous mountain border visible on the horizon, sun blazing as it set behind them. Nevertheless, Melonie Forrester had never been in more danger than she was right now.

He was hunting for her. Tobias had assured her that Viridian was following a false trail to Cygnus Pointe. A trail he carefully staged himself so Viridian ‘shouldn’t suspect a thing.’ Melonie heard the old advisor’s voice clear as a bell as the memory of it rattled around her aching head. Despite the reassurance, she was frantic. Frantic for Tobias. Viridian was no fool. Hiding here, quite literally under his nose, was risky and she hoped when Viridian discovered the ruse, Tobias would be spared suspicion. When he found out, not if, because she had no doubt he would discover it before he ever got to Cygnus Pointe. As for her circumstances when the inevitable came, she gave no second thought. After all, she was already dead.

Reymir castle had not had a party in 31 years. Not since the young princess had been kidnapped from her bed on her fifth birthday night. The distraught king and queen were slain only days later leaving their adopted son to shoulder the burden of the kingdom on his young shoulders. The new and untried king exhausted his resources in search of the responsible party, but to no avail. No person was ever brought to justice, and the young princess, having never been found, was assumed dead. The mourning castle closed its heavy iron doors. Servants were let go to find work in the city leaving behind a skeleton crew to care for the castle. Before long, it fell into disrepair. It was a miracle, or perhaps the will of the gods that the old servant’s quarters far below ground had not caved in completely.

Mildew hung heavily in the stale air clogging her nose. The taste of it was so strong, she felt as if she had licked the crumbling stone walls. Dust coated her tongue and filled her lungs bringing a fit of coughs between each labored breath Melonie took. Mildred had brought a torch into the room, but it did little to warm the space and steam formed around her face as her panting became heavier. Sweat beaded on her brow and dripped down her temples leaving little trails in the dirt coating her face. Melonie lurched sideways and heaved onto the broken floor tiles. The acid from her stomach burned her already raw throat.

Melonie struggled to right herself on the moldy, lumpy mattress she sat atop. The heap of rotted wood beneath the mattress, that she could only assume had been the bed’s frame, shifted and rolled beneath her feeble attempts to sit up. Her arms felt as sturdy as wet noodles and gave out as soon as she had pulled herself into a sitting position. She slammed her head into the wall when a fresh wave of contractions seized her. Another ear splitting scream bubbled out of her chest. Melonie held a shaking hand to her head and felt dampness spreading between her fingers. Another dampness was spreading between her legs, soaking the thin rag she was using as a blanket. Her water had finally broken. Vision swimming from the blow to her head, Melonie examined herself. Her bulging belly wiggled beneath her thin dress, the white fabric quickly turning deep red. Alarmed, she thrust the blanket to the floor. Where is Mildred?

Melonie’s desperate eyes searched the room. There, on a side table across the room, was a carelessly discarded butcher knife. The handle of the knife had decayed away. The reflected flame from the torch distorting on the rusted blade was the only thing distinguishing it from the equally dilapidated table. She scrambled towards it, slipping in her vomit and careening face first into the table. The knife clattered to the floor. Melonie stretched out her hand and grasped the tang of the knife in her slippery and clumsy fingers. She raised the knife and readied to plunge it into her own abdomen. If Viridian was going to find her, at least he wouldn’t find her alive.