Arriving at the northern gate always threw me off. The dirt-road lined with shabby houses. The high guard towers overlooking the mess of busy streets. Or the hagglers trying to enter and merchants hoping to leave to sell their wares elsewhere. The dirty children crossing sidewalks running after starving kittens they wanted to hug tight. That fried meat scent coupled with sewer and trash and sweat, clogging the air and making it hard to breathe through the nose, and unsure whether or not one liked the smell.

The northern gate led into the poorer, less favorable neighborhood of Acewood—but I'd come through this way on purpose. Going through the main gate would attract attention I didn't want—yet.

These were the streets I'd spend my time trying to clean up, as queen. These were the jagged buildings I hoped to fix, the marketplaces I'd seek to fill with food and merchandise and supplies my people would need. These were the people I'd watch over, care for, speak to, speak for.

This was my home. As much as it irked me, as much as I'd rebuffed it, it was mine.

I'd managed to get past the gate-check unnoticed, blending in with a group of shepherds. Thinking ahead, I'd brought a worn-down hooded cloak with me before leaving Club Fields and had thrown it over myself a few miles before the gates. I'd also left my horse outside of the city limits, freeing it to graze forever in the meadows without being tethered to this world the way I was.

I didn't want anyone aware that Queen Gwenore was here. That I'd snuck back into my hometown to attend a vote that I already knew the outcome of. A vote that would result in me resting on my well-earned throne. Me, with Father's crown atop my head. Me, unhappy and disillusioned but ready to fight for what I believed in.

But they didn't know that yet.

If I was seen, recognized, another riot would come about. Why is a royal wandering the streets? And of all royals, the one who hates magic the most, who ditched this town to hide in her dilapidated castle far away?

This side of Acewood was where the riots had all started. These alleyways were where the knaves had begun riling up the populace by telling them the mages were unhinged, the mages were going to wipe the city clean, the mages were going to dethrone my father.

Lies, every word of it. The knaves were misguided, employed by a higher power I'd never been able to identify. They were unleashed here, spreading their fallacies to the citizens of Acewood, focusing on those less fortunate, egging them on. Pushing them to violence, urging them into storming the castle and dragging the mages out to hurt them. Maim them. End them.

And Jack, no matter how shaken by his brothers dying, no matter how shackled and in pain he'd been, never confessed the full truth to my father. He never told anyone who'd planted that seed of warfare in him, who'd told him to cause these riots that most of us still hadn't recovered from.

I took a left turn before heading deeper into the narrow, broken streets, knowing what I'd find if I ventured that way. Sanguine fluids still stained the walls of alleys where anyone associated with the castle had been executed. Smears of blood from guards, servants, apprentices. They were the non-magic folk who worked for the Aces but had no link whatsoever to them otherwise. The bloodthirsty citizens didn't care, didn't discriminate. So, while Jack and his brothers were fighting against the mages, the population steered their rage towards royalty.

We'd all been in danger. Some—me included—might argue that we still were.

I was in no mood for these bad memories to collect in my mind. By turning left, I avoided the less fortunate section of Acewood, and meandered into the more favorable area, more pleasurable to the eye and better kept up. The one I'd focus less time on once I was crowned. They didn't need me here; they'd wiped the blood from their walls, they'd buried the traces of the riot with all their resources. They...didn't care.

Upper-class merchants, quality seamstresses, high-education teachers, jewelers, bankers, investors—they all lived here. Their two- or three-story homes showed no hint of the battle that had been waged here, the lives that had been lost.

I wandered past the Mage Library and Academy, hissing under my breath. Many had perished here, atop the marble steps. Some were beheaded near the purple doors or thrown out of the windows of the top floor observatory. This was where the anger concentrated—and it was all cleaned up by magic. The Aces had erased the proof of the rebellion from this area, predominantly, to remind the people that they held the power. Or so, that was how I'd interpreted it.

After Jack was locked up, his brothers interred, and the mages straightened things up in the richer streets of Acewood, I left for Club Fields again. The riots commenced coincidentally while my sisters and I were in town, and we all hurried back to our new dwellings once we were safe to do so. None of us wanted to be around during the trials, where Father would sentence corrupted souls to prison or death.

When I'd gotten word that Jack had been spared, I'd thrown a tantrum so large, I thought the people in Club Fields had sensed the ground rattling with my rage. I had no magic, but my anger was such that I had the sensation that I did, for a spell.

And then came the ominous summons from Father, his demand to come back to Acewood, urgently, to meet with him. I suspected a trap immediately, but my ladies and my butler encouraged me to obey. "He's the king," they'd reminded me. "He's your father." One of them even added, "he may be ailing, grieving for all the losses. He needs his daughters."

That was the last time I'd been here. I'd come through the northern gate, but undisguised. I greeted those who still trusted us royals to protect them, and dodged those who glared at me as if about to extract a knife from their coats to stab me until my blood painted the cobblestones red. Guards guided me to the castle. I was squeezed past the gates, I was safe; but I'd looked behind me one last time with a sinister feeling that something was off.

And I'd been right.

That same sinister feeling came to me now, as I neared the Acewood Brewery. It was part bar, part ale merchant, part hang-out for those who needed a pint or fifteen to commiserate over their sorrows. Many from all areas of town flocked there to share in their woes. While it was a property on the richer side of Acewood, the prices were affordable, and the beer was good.

Being here, where I remembered guts on the ground and severed body parts floating in puddles of blood, bile billowed up my throat. I never meant to see any of it, but I'd thought it necessary to come to the aid of our people. I'd snuck out during the riots, hoping to lend a hand—I had some weapons training—but what I saw ended up being too much for me. No way was I strong enough to stop the riot. No way was I supposed to.

I hurried to move along.

I was close to the Acewood Market when a chill ran down my back. There was an off-putting presence near me. Behind me, trailing my steps, matching them. I flipped around, worried I'd been spotted and was being followed; but no one was there. Folk flurried about in the distance, holding baskets of goods or directing tourists to the hot spots. No one tailed me.

I pursued my path, but still felt it; something hovering over my shoulders, pressing down on them. A breath blowing into my ears, a tingle in my gut. Something scanning the back of my head.

Magic.

With a groan, I pictured the cloaked and veiled mage in their basement lair, gazing into their crystal, watching my every move. It was them, it had to be—they were the one with the power to see all, hear all.

"No," I growled, as I swerved past a small carriage before it trampled me. I'd been so distracted by this haunting presence that I'd wandered into the middle of the street, endangering myself.

Clearly, I wasn't ready to enter the castle.

I backtracked and dashed into the brewery, happy to find it packed with people, bustling with life and beer. In such a crowded place, the mage wouldn't have a clear grip on me and my movement. I'd be able to catch a breath or two before having to confront them. Confront all of them.

I ordered a wheat brew, and settled in an empty, corner booth. The table was sticky with spilled alcohol, and crumbs and shells from peanuts were stuck to the surface.

I nestled into the cushions, keeping my head down, nursing the cool, refreshing beer to my chest as I analyzed the room.

No one in here had any clue what was going on. They had no inkling that a powerful, all-seeing mage was watching them this very moment, because I was here. That someone in the castle wished them all harm, wished to put an end to the royal line. Someone had murdered my father, and I—

I forced a few gulps of fizzy liquid into my mouth, to calm myself down. This very public place wasn't appropriate to have a meltdown.

Why did I do this to myself? Why did I accept to come home? Yes, the throne was mine and I needed to take it back. But was I truly ready for it? Could I sit atop that cushioned chair with the heavy crown on my head and do what Father did? What if I received all his doubts, all his concerns? What if I stopped trusting everyone around me, like he had?

I scoffed. I already didn't trust anyone, so that couldn't get worse. But to sit there and face the mages, none of which I cared for, all of which I harbored loathing and confusion towards—was I ready?

Perhaps I'd jumped the gun. Perhaps I should have told Ysac I'd participate in the vote at a distance. He'd have tried to negotiate, but I should have put my foot down. Had I stayed far away, confined in my black tower, I could have put together a better plan.

Today...I had no plan. I'd waltzed in through the wrong side of town, tortured myself with memories I still hadn't properly digested, and hid from the people I'd soon govern.

This town was mine, and I hated it. It reeked of magic, of control. It infested my nostrils and lungs and pulled, squeezed, tightened all at once. Why did I come here?

I needed air, so I guzzled down a few more drops of beer and made my way back outside.

I gasped for breaths, drinking in too much oxygen, too fast. My vision blurred, and I dropped onto a bench outside the brewery, gathering my thoughts.

No, no panicking here, not now...

The presence pushed down on my consciousness again, as if invading my brain, swirling around me in a noxious cloud. Nothing was there, and since I was in the middle of a panic attack, I must have been hallucinating, surely...

Yet when I looked up, sighting the stone facade surrounding the castle grounds, and the castle itself poking out in the distance, my heart stopped. Then raced. Then stopped again.

In there was my throne. My home. But also in there was my demise. Within that gilded cage was the individual who'd brought about the demise of my father. The villain who'd conspired to ruin the city, and who was probably still striving to dismantle my family.

Was it the one currently observing me through their crystal ball? I couldn't tell. No one could tell anything about them, and that made them all the more suspicious to me.

So, was it Sir Sym, hiding behind his mask of elegance? Or Lady Ossenna, all smiles and kindness in the public, but a bundle of rage behind closed doors? Or Sir Otho, who felt everything deeply, and might have been sick of it?

I wouldn't know unless I entered and faced my fears.

I fanned my face, shaking my head. "No choice, but...not yet. Not quite yet. I need more time."

♥♣♦♠