For ten years, Princess Esme had shared the castle with only her father. She wanted what her mother once had before the throne turned cold: someone who loved her without a crown's reason. So when King Cedric announced he had grown lonely and sent for a bride, Esme dared to hope the woman might feel like family. Esme had just turned twenty one a few weeks prior and she was excited to share her home with another mother figure. The carriage arrived a week later. Esme stood at the top of the entryway steps, her raven hair half pinned, her slate blue gown catching the morning light. King Cedric touched her shoulder. His beard had more gray in it now, and his eyes looked tired. "Esme," he said. "She may not be your mother but I hope you’ll love her." Countess Elaine stepped from the carriage. Her golden hair sat in a neat knot. A fur cloak framed her regal gown. She crossed the courtyard and sank into a graceful curtsy before the king, then turned to Esme and curtsied again, lower still. "Princess Esme," she said, her voice warm as honey. "I have heard how you brighten this castle. I hope you will let me love you as my own daughter." Esme's chest loosened. She had braced for a cold stranger. Instead this woman smiled and reached for her hands. Elaine's fingers were cool, her rings pressing against Esme's skin. "You are welcome here, Countess," Esme said bowing her head. She meant it. The king beamed. The castle staff lined the steps to watch. The servants of the castle looked at the countess and back as the princess and smiled. The servants and guards all seemed to cheer for Esme, the smiled at her name, pressed close to greet Princess. But for the Countess, they gave only stiff bows and quiet nods. Esme saw Elaine's smile hold, but her eyes moved over the crowd. She marked how the staff loved the princess. She marked how no one reached for her. "They adore you," Elaine said softly, still smiling. "How fortunate you are, to be so beloved." "They will love you too," Esme promised. Elaine's grip tightened for half a breath, then released. "Of course," she said. That evening, the king wed the Countess in the great hall. Esme stood at the front and watched her father slide a ring onto Elaine's finger. He looked happier than he had in years. Elaine kissed his cheek and glanced past him, at Esme. When the vows ended, the new queen leaned close to the king and murmured in his ear. Esme could not hear the words. She only saw King Cedric nod, his face turning thoughtful, then troubled. He looked at his daughter differently after that. Not unkind. Just distant, as if a decision had already begun forming behind his eyes. Esme had wanted a mother. She had gotten a queen who smiled at her and studied the room like a map. The wedding was over. Something in her home had changed, and she did not yet know its shape.

For a month, Esme lived in the north tower. Queen Elaine had told the king his daughter wished to study alone. It was a lie. The door stayed locked from the outside. Esme watched the gardens below her window and counted the days. She learned to hate the sound of the key turning. On the thirtieth morning, a guard led her to the throne room. Her father waited on his seat, crown catching the light through the tall windows. Queen Elaine stood beside him, one ringed hand resting on his shoulder. She smiled at Esme the way a cat smiles at a trapped bird. "Daughter," King Cedric said. His beard had more gray than she remembered. "The queen has found you a match. A duke I met years ago on the road. The marriage will strengthen the kingdom." Esme's stomach turned. "A duke? Father, I have never met him. I never asked to marry." "You will grow to care for him," Elaine said gently. "As I have grown to care for your father." The softness in the queen's voice snapped something in Esme. She stepped forward. "You locked me in that tower," Esme said. "You told him I wanted to be alone. You want me gone so no one sees how the staff love me and not you." The throne room went silent. King Cedric's brow drew down. Elaine's face crumpled. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Esme," she whispered, tears spilling fast. "I only tried to help you. I only wanted a family." She turned into the king's shoulder and wept. "Enough!" King Cedric rose. His voice filled the hall. "You accuse your queen with no proof? She has done nothing but care for this house. And you spit at her." "Father, listen to me—" "No." He raised a hand, and it shook. "You will marry the duke. He arrives within the fortnight. Until then you remain in your chambers. That is my word." Esme stared at him. The father who once carried her on his shoulders now looked at her like a stranger. Elaine lifted her wet face just enough for Esme to see it. There, hidden from the king, the queen's mouth curved into a small, cold smile. Two guards took Esme's arms. She did not fight them. She walked out with her chin high, but her hands trembled. Back in her chamber the lock clicked. Esme pressed her back to the door and slid to the floor. Her defense had failed. Worse, it had proven the queen right in her father's eyes. In two weeks a stranger would come to claim her. She wiped her cheeks. If her father would not save her, she would save herself. Somewhere beyond these walls was a life the queen could not choose for her. She would find it before the duke's carriage reached the gates.

Esme did not sleep. She sat by the cold hearth in her slate blue gown and watched the door. Nine nights had passed since her father sentenced her to marry the duke. Five remained. She had counted them like stones dropped into a well. At midnight the lock turned. Esme rose, ready to fight. But two guards stepped aside instead of seizing her. Between them came a servant woman in a black gown and white apron, white gloves on her folded hands. Esme knew her face from the kitchens, one of the many who had smiled at her all her life. "Quiet, child," the woman whispered. "We love you. We will not watch her sell you." She glanced back at the guards, who nodded. "There is a witch. Morganna Blackthorn. She lives in a tower, four days' ride east. She helps girls the crown throws away. She can help you." Esme's heart pounded. "Why would you risk this? The queen will punish you." "Let her." The woman pressed a folded map into Esme's gloved hand. "Go now, while the queen sleeps. Take the warm cloak from the chest. Your horse waits in the yard." Esme pulled a heavy wool cloak over her shoulders. Her hands shook as she tied the cord. She squeezed the woman's arm once, unable to speak. Then she slipped past the guards and down the dark tower stairs. The halls stood empty. She kept to the walls, her ballet slippers silent on the stone. Every torch seemed too bright. At a turn near the great doors she heard voices and froze against a pillar until they faded. Then she ran for the yard. Her horse stood ready in the moonlight, a great black shire with a silver saddle. Someone had cinched the straps and left the gate unbarred. Esme climbed up, her gown bunching under the cloak. The horse shifted, strong and steady beneath her. She looked up one last time. Behind her rose the castle she had known all her life, its red-roofed turrets black against the stars, its golden banners hanging still. Somewhere inside, the queen slept easy, certain of her win. Esme's father slept too. He would not come for her. She turned the horse toward the open gate. "Go," she whispered. The shire broke into a canter, then a gallop. The castle shrank behind her. Cold air stung her cheeks and pulled her hair loose from its half-pinned knot. For the first time in a month, no locked door stood between her and the sky. By dawn the castle was gone from sight. Esme reined the horse to a walk and unfolded the map. Four days east, past the dark trees, to a witch's tower. She did not know if Morganna Blackthorn would help her or harm her. She only knew she could not go back. Ahead lay a stranger who traded in magic. Esme rode toward her.

For four days Esme rode east. She ate the last bread and apples the servants had packed on the first morning. After that she chewed nothing but her own worry. Her lips cracked. Her legs ached from the saddle. On the fourth evening the black shire slowed on its own, and she lifted her head. A slender stone tower rose from the trees ahead. Ivy climbed its walls. Clusters of purple flowers glowed in the last light. She had found the witch. Esme slid down and led the tired horse to the door. A raven-shaped knocker stared at her from the dark wood. She raised her hand, then stopped. The servant had said this woman helped girls the crown threw away. She had also said she did not know if the witch would help or harm. Esme knocked twice. The door opened before the sound faded. An old woman stood there, leaning on a walking stick. White threaded her dark hair. A black cloak hung to her feet. Her eyes moved over Esme's torn gown, her loose hair, her hollow face. "You've ridden a long way, child," the woman said. Her voice was low and calm. "Come in before you fall down." Esme's throat tightened. She had braced for a cackle, a trick, a locked door. Not this. "Are you Morganna Blackthorn?" she asked. "I am." Morganna stepped back and waved her stick toward the stairs. "Tie your horse. He can rest and eat." Esme climbed the winding steps behind her. The room at the top was wide and warm. A fire burned. Herbs hung drying from the beams. Morganna set a bowl of stew on the table and poured a cup of milk beside it. "Sit. Eat." Esme sat and ate. The stew was thick with meat and carrots. She had not tasted anything so good in weeks. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back. Morganna lowered herself into the chair across from her and folded both hands on her stick. "Now," the witch said. "Girls do not ride days to my door for nothing. Tell me what you desire most." Esme set down the cup. The question stopped her. She had run from the duke, from the queen, from the tower. She had not once said aloud what she wanted. "My stepmother arranged a marriage," she said. "To a man I have never met. She poisoned my father against me. I do not want a husband bought like a horse." Her voice shook. "I want to love someone who is truly mine. A love no one can force or take." Morganna studied her for a long moment. Then she nodded slowly. "That is a dangerous thing to want. Rarer than gold." She rose and crossed to a shelf of jars. "But I can set you on the road to it. If you have the courage to walk it." Esme stood. "I do."

Morganna moved to her shelf of jars. She lifted three and set them on the table. "Magic like this is not free, child," she said. "The road to true love must be paid for. I take one thing. The thing you love most." Esme's stomach dropped. "I have no gold. I brought nothing." "I do not want gold." The witch tapped her walking stick once on the floor. "Gold is easy to give. I want something that costs you." Esme's hand went to her satchel. She knew before she opened it. Inside lay the charm bracelet her mother had made for her. She drew it out and held it in the firelight. Small charms hung from the chain. A book. A leaf. A tiny fox. Her mother had chosen each one for the things Esme loved. It was the last piece of her mother she owned. "This," Esme said. Her voice broke. "My mother made it before she passed." She closed her fist around it. Every part of her wanted to hide it back in the bag. But she thought of the duke riding toward the castle. She thought of the tower door locking behind her. She would not go back. She opened her hand and held the bracelet out. "Take it." Morganna's eyes softened for a moment. She lifted the bracelet from Esme's palm. The charms swung and clinked. The witch nodded slowly, as if she understood exactly what it had cost. "You have the courage after all," she said. She turned to her work. She poured dark liquid from two jars into a bowl. She crushed dried herbs between her fingers and stirred them in. Her lips moved in low words Esme could not follow. Then Morganna crossed to the wall. Three flat stones sat in the stone at eye height. She pressed her thumb to the first. Light passed through it and spread to the next, then the third. The air by the wall tore open. A ring of pale light hung there, wide as a door. Through it Esme saw green hills and a road she did not know. "Go, girl," Morganna said. "Take the horse and ride through. No one from the castle will find you here. The road on the other side will lead you to the one meant for you. Trust what you feel there." Esme stared at the light. Her mother's bracelet was gone. But the door to a life she chose stood open in front of her. She climbed down and led the black shire up the stairs by his reins. The horse's hooves rang on the stone. At the ring of light she paused and looked back. Morganna leaned on her stick and lifted one hand. Esme walked forward into the light. The tower vanished behind her. Green hills spread ahead under a strange sky. She had paid the price. Now she had to find him.

The portal spat Esme into open wilds. Green hills rolled away on every side, and the sky hung pale and strange above her. She had no map now. She turned the black shire in a slow circle, searching for a road, a house, any sign of the one Morganna promised. Nothing. "Which way?" she whispered. The horse only tossed his head. A low growl broke the quiet. Esme froze. Gray shapes slid out from the tall grass. Wolves. Five, maybe six, heads down, teeth bared. The shire stamped and snorted. She gripped the reins tight. "Easy," she begged. "Easy, please." The pack lunged. The horse screamed and bolted. Esme lurched back, then flung herself forward against his neck. He tore across the hills at a wild gallop. She could not slow him. The wolves fell behind, but the shire did not stop. He plunged into a dark stand of trees, and branches raked her face and arms. She ducked low against his mane. "Slow down," she gasped. "Please, slow down." The trees broke open. Too late, Esme saw the ground vanish. A cliff. The shire's hooves scrambled at the edge, then found nothing. Horse and rider tumbled over together. The world spun, sky and rock and roaring wind. Esme screamed. They struck water. A cold lake swallowed them whole. The silver saddle dragged the horse down, and Esme's slate gown pulled heavy around her legs. She kicked hard. Her lungs burned. Above her the surface shimmered pale. She reached for it. Her fingers broke into air, then her face, and she sucked in a ragged breath. The shire thrashed beside her, nose high. Esme seized a fistful of his mane. "Swim," she choked. "Swim, boy." He churned toward the far bank. She kicked with him, her arms shaking. The shore crept closer, closer, until his hooves struck mud. He heaved up onto land, dragging Esme with him. She crawled from the shallows and collapsed on the grass. For a long moment she only breathed. Water ran from her hair and gown. The horse stood over her, sides heaving, his silver saddle streaming. She had lived. So had he. Esme pushed up on one elbow and lifted her head. Beyond the trees rose a castle of pale stone. Vines and flowers spilled across its walls, and its spires caught the strange light. It stood close, no more than a short walk. Someone lived there. Someone might help her. She tried to stand. Her legs buckled and folded under her. The cold and the fall had drained her strength to nothing. She sank back into the grass. The castle blurred and swam before her eyes. She reached for the shire's reins and missed. "Just a little farther," she breathed. But her arms would not lift her. The last thing she saw was the gleaming towers above the trees. Then her eyes closed, and the grass went dark.

Esme woke in a bed she did not know. The sheets were warm and soft. Sunlight fell across a room of pale stone, hung with flowers and blue silk. She sat up fast. Her wet gown was gone. Someone had dressed her in a clean nightshift. She did not remember any of it. Her heart pounded. Where was she? Whose bed was this? She swung her legs over the side. Her muscles ached from the fall and the cold water. She reached for the window, then stopped. Voices came from the hall. She backed against the headboard and pulled the blanket to her chin. Three soft knocks sounded at the door. It opened. A young maid stepped in first, carrying a tray. Her hair sat neat in a bun beneath a lace cap. Behind her came a butler with a slicked mustache, and a golden-haired man in a fine dark coat. The maid saw Esme sitting up and smiled wide. "You are awake, my lady," the butler said. His voice was smooth and grand. "We had begun to worry." Esme gripped the blanket. "Where am I? How did I get here?" The maid set the tray on a table. "You sleep two days," she said. Her words came slow, thick with an accent. "Our master, 'e find you by ze water. You are so cold. 'E carry you home." "Two days," Esme whispered. She looked from face to face. "Your master brought me here?" "He did, my lady," the butler said. "You were near death on the shore. He would not leave you there." The golden-haired man stepped forward and gave a graceful bow. "You are safe now. Nothing here will harm you. Eat, rest. You are our guest, not our prisoner." The word prisoner made Esme flinch. She had fled one castle already. She studied the three of them for cruelty, for the cold eyes she knew too well. She found none. The maid poured water and held the cup out with both hands. Her smile was plain and kind. Esme took the cup. Her hands shook. "Thank you," she said. She drank. The three of them relaxed, as if her thanks had lifted a weight from the room. "My horse," she said suddenly. "A black shire. He fell with me. Is he—" "Alive, my lady," the butler said. "In the stables, fed and dry. He would not be led until we brought him fresh apples." Esme let out a breath. Tears stung her eyes. She was warm. She was fed. Her horse had lived. For the first time in many days, no one wanted to lock her away or marry her off. "I would like to thank the master myself," she said. "May I meet him?" The three servants traded a quick glance. The maid's smile faltered. The butler folded his gloved hands. "Of course," he said carefully. "But Master is only available certain times."