Scary Lady—I mean, Rosamund—escorted me back to the confines of the forest room, leaving me alone with the words still ringing in my ears. She didn't want me. My own mother didn't want me. Why didn't she want me?

I told myself over and over that I shouldn't care. I told myself that I shouldn't be bogged down by her words because that gave her more power than she deserved, but it hurt whether or not I acknowledged the pain. She didn't want me. I had mourned her death for fifteen years, only to realize she was alive mourning my birth.

The gut-twisting pain was more than she deserved, so I did my best to wrap it in false positivity and shove it as far into the back crevices of my mind as I could. Be strong, not sad. Biological mother, who? As far as I was concerned, that blue-eyed woman was just some cold-hearted beast named Annora.

Unfortunately, even with Annora's words wrapped up and hidden away, I still didn't get any closer to accepting the overload of information. It was all so much to process.

I'd been 'accidentally' kidnapped; my dead family members were suddenly very alive; and, to add icing to the overly frosted cake, apparently I was some descendant of the magical Lost Colony of Roanoke. It was so absurd. I felt like I was drowning in the absurdity.

And yet, so little had been explained to me. Well into the early hours of the morning, I was still wondering. Where was my father? Why had I been placed in Auntie's 'protective custody'? Why didn't Auntie and Uncle Coy live in Roanoke? How much of this place was like Auntie's stories?

I looked to the bookcase again. What if there were books in there that could help me understand what was going on? I slipped out of bed and tried to open the bookcase again. It still refused to budge.

"Why would they lock some stupid bookcase?!" I snarled at the case, driven by a pathetic combination of exhaustion and desperation. In a fury-fueled effort, I grabbed the desk chair and heaved it over my head, bringing it down upon the bookcase doors. The chair bounced against the hardwood doors and tumbled onto the floor. I examined the doors for any sign of success, but found only a faint scratch where the chair had collided full force. I looked down at the chair and noticed a significant chip missing from the chair leg.

Stupid bookcase. Stupid chair. 

I crawled back into the bed waiting for sleep that never really came.

The return of Reese marked the beginning of a new, equally absurd, day. As if to prove my point, Reese entered wearing an outfit I had never seen outside of a renaissance festival. She looked like some sort of cosplay character in her tall leather boots, ebony breeches, a dark emerald tunic, and golden bracers.

I refused to offer pleasantries and pulled myself out of bed, ignoring the faint head rush after a night of little sleep. Where was my food?

"You are eating with the High Court this morning," Reese explained with a scowl to my silent question while she fetched clothing from the dresser. She paused for a heartbeat in front of the bookcase. I froze. She seemed to take note of the damaged wood, but she said nothing of the mar and continued to the dresser.

"Oh joy," I muttered bitterly. "Aristocrats." In Auntie's stories, the High Court was a group of pompous jackaninnys who had earned their positions through nepotism and flattery.

Reese whipped back around, her chestnut braid flipping over her shoulder so quickly I half-expected it to break the sound barrier. "Roanoke is not a monarchy."

"Okay," I conceded. I knew so little, and yet I strongly suspected she was not telling the full truth.

She remained silent for a moment as she pulled a chocolate dress with a flaring skirt from the armoire. "The High Court will be scrutinizing your every movement. While you may be Gwyndolyn Dare, you can still be felled by your enemies." She pulled matching shoes from the bottom drawer and set them beside the dress.

"You keep saying my name like it means something. If Roanoke is not a monarchy, why does my name seem to hold such value?"

She pursed her lips, handing me a silver ring. "You need to wear this at all times."

"What is it?" I turned the ring over in my hands.

"A ring of purity."

"A what?!" Like hot coal, I dropped the ring, letting it bounce against the stone floor.

"A ring of purity. Customarily, you wear one until—"

"I know what a purity ring is," I interjected as quickly as I could. "I really don't need a ring to tell others I abide by the archaic definition of pure. My social awkwardness does that all by itself."

I bit my tongue, wishing I hadn't added the second line. It wasn't consistent with the stubborn-but-brave persona that I was trying to portray here. It was a line I would say to make Colel laugh and Elise roll her eyes.

Instead, Reece's reaction was a mix of awkward and confused. Her eyebrows shot up, making high exclamation points over her large eyes. "Right. Right, but you still need to wear one."

"Why?" I eyed the silver band wearily.

Perhaps I didn't know as much as I thought I did. This definitely wasn't in Auntie's tales. Those intense, independent characters weren't shackled to weird, arcane practices that gave me the heebeegeebees.

"Tradition."

"Well, 'tradition' isn't a good enough reason." I insisted, parroting the words of my eighth history teacher when certain kids asked certain questions about why he was calling it the 'Civil War' instead of the 'War of Northern Aggression'. Gotta love Georgia.

"If you don't, people will assume the worst."

"Who are they to judge me for not upholding their traditions?" I asked glaringly.

Reese's eyes narrowed, and she jutted her chin forward. "Who are you to scorn our traditions?"

Who am I to scorn you? What about the American tradition of not kidnapping random people unless you are a sociopath? What about the tradition of believing magic doesn't exist?? I bit my lip to keep myself from shouting an incoherent response.

I took a deep breath, using bitterness to calm the anger. "The scorned." I muttered as I grabbed the ring from the floor, shoving it onto my finger.

Worse case, I could always throw it at someone.

I took the initiative to step out of the room before Reese shoved me out only to find the hallway empty.

I scanned left and right, but Rosamund was nowhere in sight. However, there was a door. I would've sworn on my life there hadn't been a door there yesterday, but the dark wood slab hinged to the wall said otherwise.

Curious, I reached for the knob in hopes it would be a way home, but as my fingers brushed the handle, the door flung forward.

"What the—?!" I exclaimed, leaping back like a startled cat.

A dark-haired boy appeared in the doorway, his head darting either which way. He was about my age with ebony hair and an olive complexion, but what struck me most was his odd attire—an all-black tracksuit like a burglar. When he noticed me standing in the hall, his eyes flicked over my frame, and a smirk broke out over his face. "You are Gwyndolyn Dare?"

I blinked without words to respond. How did he know my name?

He chuckled, unzipping his black jacket to reveal a pressed dress shirt. Very James Bond meets lanky teenage boy. "This might be a meal worth attending, after all."

Before I could formulate a response, he tapped a gold bracelet on his wrist and disappeared into thin air.

I really need to get home.

This time, there were doors. Granted, the long winding halls still had very few doors—far fewer than any normal building—but it was something. This fact, along with the lack of windows, would make me inclined to believe we were underground, but I had seen the huge window the day before proving otherwise.

"What's the High Court like?" I tried to ask Rosamund as we climbed a short flight of stairs.

She wasn't much of a talker.

Guards came into view, saving me from the awkward silence. I examined the tall, willowy women standing on either side of the large double doors. They wore renaissance-esque outfits similar to Reese and Rosamund. However, these women's boots were rich chestnut leather with beautiful embellishments, their breeches were a pale cream embroidered with ivy leaves, and their tunics were made of light celadon green silk partially covered by finely engraved gold breastplates that glinted in the lighting. Rosamund and Reese were dressed for espionage. These women were designed to stand out.

Rosamund came to a halt beside the shinier women and gestured for me to continue through the double doors. I wasn't much for the idea of eating with a bunch of people that seemed to be living like the characters from Auntie's stories, but I pretended to be the protagonist from my favorite tales—Lola—and I walked in with my head held high. Be strong, not scared.

Only, I wasn't a courageous protagonist who possessed royal grace and dignity. I nearly stumbled over my feet as my eyes took in the grandeur. The massive dining room was designed to imitate a natural cavern with a white stone floor and rough white rock walls that extended thirty, forty, maybe even fifty feet to the ceiling. But, unlike the dreary caverns I've explored, this room was flooded with sun from huge skylights. The rays of sunshine bounced off millions of crystals and gemstones embedded in the walls, the ceiling, and even the floor. As the rays refracted through the stones, they illuminated the white rock with a beautiful rainbow of colors.

Four thick stalagmites rose from the polished marble floor, reaching several yards in height. Resting precariously on top of the stalagmites was a glimmering slab of emerald that fell beneath the most intense beam of sunshine, causing a breathtaking glow.

I watched in awe as one man sat in the ruby red chair. It grew beneath him; its legs lengthening until he was up to the height of the table above. Smaller stalactites hung from the ceiling with crystals adorning their tips like fairy lights. It was impossible, it was beautiful, and it was magical.

As I craned my head, scanning the group of people above me, my eyes fell to Annora. She was sitting at the ostentatious head of the table in a glimmering peridot chair adorned with additional glittering gemstones. She gestured subtlety to the open chair beside her.

Her action made the desire to scoff almost unstoppable. She wanted me to sit beside her? She didn't want to raise me, but she wanted to make sure she could filter my words and protect her image from my ignorance?

I dismissed her gesture and took an open seat at the opposite end of the impossible table. The dark garnet red chair trembled and grew.

As my gaze rose above table level, I felt the error of my choice. A dozen or more eyes shifted in my direction, and the foreign faces attached filled me with dread. Alone, there was no one to guide my words and save me from my ignorance. Alone, I was under the unchecked scrutiny of my tablemates.

Be strong, not scared.

I pretended to look down at my plate of decadent foods while I analyzed my opponents. The man to my right frowned at my presence, regarding me with a wary eye and pinched lips. The woman to my left had an even more dangerous appearance—an affected indifference that poorly masked contempt.

That's when I noticed out of the corner of my eye, the faint curve of a smirk directed at my silent audience. The owner of that knowing smirk caught on to my attention and flashed a toothy grin my direction, calling my eyes up to his.

"Hello."

I analyzed him wearily. He was the same kid that had disappeared into thin air. He leaned back comfortably in his chair, watching with an eased grin. "Hello," I parroted, analyzing his features for signs of evil.

"You have caused quite a stir, Miss Gwyndolyn Dare," he remarked with a subtle accent that I couldn't quite place.

This time I wasn't surprised that he knew my name, but I was peeved. Why was I the only oblivious one? I cast aside my frustration to deal with the issue at hand.

What would Lola do? I thought. Act. She would act like nothing in the world was wrong. 

"You know my name?"

"Of course." He shifted forward to full posture, settling his gloved hands in his lap.

"And yet," I replied, drawing fabricated coyness into my inflection, "I don't know who you are. That's hardly fair."

His smile widened like a Cheshire Cat. "Aha Ciliz Ek."

The name brought me back to all my unsuccessful attempts to pronounce words correctly in Mrs. Schwartz's eighth grade German class. She'd teasingly called me a 'disgrace to the language'.

"A— An interesting name," I commented to hide my inability to pronounce his name.

He quirked his head sideways. "Perhaps," he replied, toying with his words, "but it is your 'interesting' name that brings me here, Miss Gwyndolyn—"

"Gwyn's fine," I interjected.

The angry woman to my left coughed aggressively.

He paused, his eyes flicking over my features. "Very well. Gwyn, how has your adjustment been thus far?"

The ambient noise of conversation fell quiet.

Apparently, my response was one of importance. I took the opportunity to speak tactlessly. "I've been locked up in a room for the past two days. There hasn't been much adjusting."

Soft whispers skitttered around me, making me grind my teeth. I didn't want to be there, and I definitely didn't want to be the focus of scrutiny. I felt an astute longing to be back in Georgia with my real family.

He nodded knowingly while his dark amber eyes twinkled with mischief. "Well, at least you are finally home."

His words sounded like an echo of someone else's. I turned, making eye contact with Annora as I spoke. "This place is not my home."

The whispers became indignant exclamations. I caught onto the fragments being thrown across the table. "How could she say something like that?!" and "Where is she from!?" seemed to be the most common cries. While I didn't enjoy being the source of contention, some small part of me enjoyed the chaos.

"Silence!" Annora commanded above the noise.

The air went still. Every single person fell silent. Even the serving staff below stopped in their tracks. The immediate hush was followed by a quiet rumble as Annora's chair rose above the rest. She lifted her chin, and her eyes cast a stilling coldness over the crowd.

The whispers were dead on people's lips. I couldn't completely hide the vindictive grin from my face as she turned to me, watching me with her emotionless gaze.

"Forgive my daughter's frustrations," she began, her voice devoid of her anger. "Her life in the realm of meres has been much different than ours, so it will take her time to adjust to our ways. Given time, she will be a great Dare for our people." She turned again toward me, her cold eyes revealing nothing. "Now, if you'll excuse us. My daughter and I have business to attend to." She tapped her left arm rest twice and the chair slowly descended back to the ground.

A sense of foreboding rose in my chest as I followed her.