A few days later, Mary delivers a book to me.

“The Path of the Mage: a Beginner’s Course?” I read. “Where did this come from?”

“I’m not certain, my lady,” she says, averting her gaze. “It was found with the deliveries this morning with an anonymous note saying to pass it along to you. Do you want to keep it? Or…I could take it away, my lady, if you’d prefer.”

I flip through the book, noting sections on history, fundamentals, and basic practice. It’s better than what I currently have, which is nothing. “I’ll keep it.” Mary curtsies and leaves.

Who would’ve sent it? Not father, surely. Miles?

I bite my bottom lip. It could be Thorne, too. I belatedly remember the enchanted pen and journal he gave me. So much had happened that night and the following morning that it had slipped entirely from my mind.

When I had ordered the renovations to the room, I made a secret request to the designers and mages—a small hiding space. As the lady in charge of the project, they could not deny or question me, though I do worry if it was ever reported to my father…

The large window in my room now has a lovely window seat, perfect for reading. Beneath it, one of the panels presses in, then swings open to reveal a space behind large enough for a small jewelry box, a stack of letters, and a few other odds and ends. The journal and pen sit on top of everything else.

I’m surprised to see Thorne has already written to me—

Dear Lady Florence,

By now I hope you have received the book. It is my sincere wish it helps you in the meantime, before you enroll in the Academy. You must do everything you can to enroll. It will be impossible to learn how to control your abilities without a mentor. As for your other training, I am in the process of setting things up and will need a little more time. Please allow me to request your patience in this matter.

I await your reply—

T

“Huh,” I say. “A bit cheeky, isn’t he? Perhaps being his lord’s right-hand man has given him airs.”

Dear Sir Thorne, I reply,

I did receive the book, and I thank you kindly for thinking of me. Indeed, it should prove helpful while I make arrangements. while I wait to enroll. You may take your time in your preparations. As far as I know, there are no other pressing matters looming in my future. At the moment, time seems to be on our side.

Should I adopt a pseudonym?

-F

Smiling, I return the journal to my hiding spot.

Smiling.

I touch my face as the smile slides from it. Was this the first time I’ve smiled in days?

I scoff. There is no time to dwell on that—The Path of the Mage awaits.

♥♥⸸

I thought the debut costume had been terrible, but the thing I'm forced to wear to the palace is even worse. Not in terms of gaudiness, but in terms of complexity. The dress code for the palace is not to be taken lightly—those found to be in violation are, at a minimum, barred from entering, and at a maximum, imprisoned.

Madam Rosanna, to my immense displeasure, was tasked with outfitting me for my summons. Since my mother cannot come with us due to her illness, it is Madam Rosanna who accompanies me as my female chaperone, along with my father, to the Royal Palace.

At first glance, the Royal Palace appears a drab gray, but in bright sunlight, the gray gives way to a breathtaking luminescence, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. But I am not given long to admire it—all too soon I am bustled inside by father and Madam Rosanna, as well as the retinue of guards that accompany us, to keep us on a strict schedule.

Inside, however, takes my breath completely away. The luminescence created by the exterior windows combines to make a writhing, sparkling shimmer, undulating on the arched ceiling of the throne room. I have to force my eyes to the ground, to the red carpet in front of me, but I can’t help but notice that nobody in the room seems interested in the miraculous display above their heads. Perhaps they see it every day.

I had been drilled relentlessly about how to act and what, exactly, to say. Despite this, I’m still so nervous as we approach the daises, I can feel the sweat drip down the back of my neck and legs.

“We greet His Royal Majesty, the Highest Mountain of Dorandia, and Her Royal Majesty, the Sky Only He Touches,” I say, my voice only shaking a little towards the end as it rings out in the Grand Hall. I curtsy deeply as I was taught, dipping my veiled head low to show my respect to the Father and Mother of our country.

I grip my gem-encrusted navy skirt to prevent myself from swiping at the cream-colored veil as it slips over one shoulder—while technically within the bounds of the dress code, it is somewhat of an antiquated fashion. Neither father nor Madam Rosanna could be convinced that my natural hair would be fine. They both insisted I cover it when presenting myself to the King and Queen.

“So you’re the one all the fuss has been about,” the King drawls.

I raise my head and only then notice that all three of his children are also present: Crown Prince Lancelot sits to the right of his father, while Princess Aurelia and Prince Andrelandros sit to the left of their mother, Queen Genevieve. Their eyes stare down at me, bored but…curious, perhaps?

“You’ll remember Russo and Felix, yes? The ones who saved you?” the King says, drawing my attention back.

The two clerics in their pristine white robes step forward from the side—I hadn’t noticed them. When I make eye contact with Felix, his cheeks flush and he looks down.

“So, where is this famous hair of yours, the thing that caused such a scandal? Hm? Show us.”

King Roark sits forward on his throne and looks at me expectantly.

I freeze. What?!

Madam Rosanna hisses behind me, “Take off your veil!”

I carefully remove the veil, conscious of all the pins beneath. The maids had been instructed to pin up my hair in such a way as to hide most of the color by rolling it in on itself, until the golden color near my scalp covered the colorful ends.

“Is that all?” the King asks, famous eyebrow raised.

“N-n-no, Your Majesty,” I say, and move my fingers to my scalp to begin removing the remaining pins, but I can immediately tell I’m going too slow. Madam Rosanna steps forward and starts ripping them out of my hair—I bite my bottom lip to keep from crying out, but I can’t stop my eyes from watering.

Finally, my famous—or infamous, if you ask my father—hair is free and tumbling down my back in perfect waves, all the way to my waist.

“Ha! Now that is a sight!” the King shouts with a laugh. “And I’m told it happened the day after you woke up from your cursed sleep.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

He stares at me, hand rubbing his bearded chin. The back of my neck and cheeks grow warm under his scrutiny.

“The twins tell me it was quite the curious curse,” he says. I can feel his eyes crawl over me, but my attention is on his words—the twins know more about the curse? “Curious, indeed. Tell me, Duke, has she enrolled in the Academy?”

“No, Your Majesty,” my father says. I hear his unspoken words: and she won’t be.

“Correct that immediately.” Oh.

I hear Madam Rosanna gasp behind me and a soft ripple of confusion throughout the room.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Of course.” My father’s voice is tight. Clipped.

Inside, I smile. He can’t defy an order from the King, can he?

“Girl,” he addresses me. In surprise, I raise my face to meet his gaze—light blue eyes, kind but firm—and quickly look down when I realize my mistake. “You are to graduate the Academy at an advanced pace. Two years at most. You’ll study year-round to accomplish this. Understood?”

“Y-y-” my voice comes out as a squeak. I hurridly clear it. “Yes! Yes, Your Majesty.” Two years? How in the name—

“Duke.”

I freeze, feeling the instant change in the King’s tone. My father steps in front of me.

“You do realize hiding a noble daughter from high society is a crime, do you not?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” my father says. From the corner of my eye, I see him lower his head.

“Ordinarily, I’d have you whipped.” Madam Rosanna isn’t the only person who gasps in the crowd. It takes a moment for everyone to quiet down, so I use this moment to study the king discreetly: he has wavy, graying golden hair that curls beneath his ears, hair his daughter and youngest son share. His face is stern at the moment, but is etched with the permanent lines of someone who frequently smiles. “Luckily for you, given the unique circumstances, as well as your complete cooperation, I will waive your due punishment.

“However,” he continues, “this does not mean there are no repercussions for your actions. The LaVelle Duchy is now under my scrutiny. You will no longer enjoy the favor you have received these past years. Not only have you deceived your King by hiding your daughter, but you have deceived your friend. A friend who would have helped sooner had he known of your plight.

“Let this be a lesson to all!” he announces, “In the Kingdom of Dorandia, not only do we share in the happiness and riches our sacred land bestows upon us—we share in the pain and sorrow that befalls one another. Only fools choose to suffer alone.”

My father’s ears grow red.

The King just called my father a fool.