Marigold Bellamy's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Mari had caravanned the desert with strangers, crossed over a sea and spent weeks in a forest to reach a house she had never seen. She carried her mother's letter in the pocket of her coat, the folds worn soft. Isla, her beloved mother, had died two years ago and left her this mysterious family manor in Verdant, deep in trees Mari didn't grow up with. She had left her father and brother behind in the deserts of Solmar, to chase this one dream. She would learn the family secrets her mother didn’t have time to teach her, and turn this ancient place into an inn travelers crossed the continent to find. She just had to get there first. The trees finally broke, and the manor rose out of the ivy. It was huge and weathered, half-swallowed in green vines, with lamps already lit in the windows. Mari climbed the stone steps with her heart pounding. Before she could knock, the door opened. A tall old woman stood there in a yellow dress with brown cuffs. Her grey hair sat in a tight bun. She looked Mari up and down, then nodded once, as if ending an argument with herself. "Marigold Bellamy," the woman said. "You have your mother's eyes. Took you long enough." Mari blinked. "You knew I was coming?" "The trees told me days ago." The woman stepped aside. "I'm Olga. Your great aunt. Come, come, before you let the cold in." Mari's mother had mentioned Olga in the letter. Her grandfathers youngest sister, she kept the manor her whole life. Olga was exactly as stern as the letter promised, but she poured tea without being asked. They spent the day walking the halls. Olga showed her the library, two long rooms stacked floor to ceiling with books. She showed her the wide kitchen and the living rooms with their sagging couches. She pointed out a small bedroom downstairs. "You sleep here until you pick a proper room," Olga said. "There are many. Take your time, Marigold” By evening Mari felt lighter than she had in weeks. "Please," she said, "call me Mari. Family has never called me Marigold." Olga's mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Mari, then." They sat down to dinner. Steam rose off the stew. Mari was lifting her spoon when the kitchen door swung open hard. A man walked in. He was tall, well over six feet, with ginger hair and pale skin. His ears came to sharp points. Elvish fae, probably from the north, her parents made sure she had a good education, and she knew the clear signs of most non human species. He wore a navy and white coat with silver trim, the kind of clothes no traveler wore. His cold blue eyes landed on Mari. "Another one," he said flatly. "Wonderful. I was beginning to hope Olga was the last Bellamy woman I’d ever have to see.” Mari's spoon stopped halfway to her mouth. No one had told her anyone else lived here. Olga sighed. "Mari, this is Theodore." "Prince Theodore," he corrected. He looked at Mari like she was a stain on the floor. "Before you ask, I can't leave. Believe me, I've tried." Mari set down her spoon. Her inn, she realized, came with a resident she had never agreed to.