23 YEARS LATER

Willow pounded his fist against the castle door. He had arrived late; the final patches of pink twilight were fading to sleepy purple behind the Lumen trees. It was a smaller castle than he had expected, but he was too exhausted to notice much else.

Three days riding. What a waste. He hadn't asked to become King Jarrod's royal messenger. Even his mother had disliked the idea, had tried hard to dissuade him from it. But the request had come from Jarrod – personally – and Willow had seen no way out of it.

He thumped the door again, growing slightly impatient. Were the stories really true about this kingdom? If they were, no one would be here but the nine girls – the nine princesses. Jarrod had warned him to speak with them as little as possible, given what they were. "You wouldn't want to anyway," he'd said with a snort. "Not one pretty face among them."

Well, someone had to answer the door. Relief washed over Willow when he heard the latch slide and the heavy door – twice his height – began to groan on its hinges. He reached inside his satchel for a thin roll of parchment closed by a wax seal. Hopefully, this wouldn't take long.

"Good evening." The soft voice drifted out of the castle through a gap of barely ten inches. Willow raised his eyes. She held a candle in order to see him, but it also allowed him to see her.

This wasn't a servant. This was a girl, somewhere in her middle teens. Small and slim, with fairy-like features. The pristine cut of her cherry-red gown marked her instantly as a noblewoman. One of the princesses.

Willow, taken aback, found himself bowing. "Forgive me for the late hour, my lady. I have a message from King Jarrod of Grunwold."

"Lovely," said the girl in a flat voice. She clearly did not intend the word's meaning.

Yet lovely was just what Willow was thinking. The girl had pale yellow hair – as did he – but hers looked as fine as a newborn's. It barely reached the tops of her shoulders, where it turned up in feathery tips. He rarely saw a girl with hair so short, but it suited her well, a complement to her fine jawline.

"I assume it's for Maelyn?" She held out her free hand for the parchment.

"Yes – is that you?" Willow knew it would not be but wanted to get her name.

The girl looked at Willow. She had large eyes, green as the blades of budding grass. Willow's heart gave a strange jump and he could feel every beat that followed.

"No. I'm Arialain."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Arialain."

Lovely, Willow thought again. Then felt some disappointment when she didn't ask his name in turn. He dropped the rolled parchment into her hand.

"King Jarrod told me to wait for the reply."

"Tonight?" Arialain asked, eyes widening.

"If... possible?"

Arialain stared at the parchment in her hand. Her fingers closed around it decisively. "I can't give this to Maelyn tonight."

Her tone carried a meaning Willow understood. Maelyn would not want this just now. The message would be unwelcome.

"Will you come back tomorrow?" she asked, looking slightly worried her request would annoy him. "I'm sure by then she'll have her answer ready."

Willow bowed again. "Whatever you wish, my lady." This task had ceased to be a chore for him. "But forgive me. It's my first time in Runa Realm. Could you suggest a place where I might spend the night?"

"Merridell," she said. "First town below the castle. Try the Inn of Good Wigston, I've heard it's comfortable. Oh wait...." She disappeared behind the door for several seconds and returned with something in her closed palm. "Take this to cover the cost. You may keep the rest."

She was giving him money – four goldens to be exact. Willow felt almost ashamed in accepting it. The cost of the inn would be less than one.

"Thank you."

"Is there anything else?" Arialain asked.

"No, but...." Willow's eyes trailed upward, trying to see the interior of the room behind her, finally feeling some curiosity. "Is it true you have no king here? No queen either?" An impudent question, he knew, but he wished to prolong his stay. The answer now mattered to him.

Arialain raised her chin. "We have Maelyn," she said with dignity.

Worried he had offended her, Willow made a final bow. "I will keep you no longer, my lady." He returned to his horse as the door scraped shut, and swung up into the saddle. His thoughts leaped to a small bookshop in Grunwold, near his home. He knew where he would spend every bit of this money.

But for tonight, he would seek the inn and a bowl of warm stew, if they had it. And in his dreams, he knew he would see those green eyes again.