"You're late, Evangeline, Again."
Freasia's voice cut through the silence of Bloodhound Forest, half-amused and half-reproachful. I dipped mid-flight, laughing breathlessly, the cool air whipping my face as I landed in a clearing between two gnarled trees, my duskfire wings shimmering with the last rays of sun, flying always make me exhausted, so sometimes I prefer to walk, I didn't dare to tell Freasia that I walked part of the way here.
"Swordplay waits for no one, Freasia," I called back, unsheathing my blade with a flourish. "And neither do illusions."
"on guard"
I signalled to him to approach me, he smirked but stood there, he didn't move, he leaned against a tree with his arms crossed, the sun glinting off the silver hilt of his own weapon, a gleaming tidronite sword gifted to him by a sorcerer supreme. His dark tunic clung to his lean frame, and a single lock of black hair curled across his forehead. The way he looked at me, sometimes I wondered what was on his mind whenever we are together, he was always cautious but always intrigued, noticing this sent something sharp through my chest.
I knew the rules guiding all royals in Aetherion, although it infuriated me. Royals and commoners didn't mix, not in Aetherion, not ever, the punishment was banishment for the royal and death for the commoner. But somehow, Freasia Tron had managed to carve a place in the private corners of my world, as my montor, my best friend and my trainer since a was a fifteen years old pixie girl.
Freasia sighed, but his mouth curled into a small smile. "Show me what you've got then, rebel princess."
I didn't answer him, instead I sharply lunged forward with my sword.
The duel between the both of us began in silence, only the clash of metal and the rhythmic rustling of our wings filled the forest air. Each strike I landed on his blade felt like peeling back layers of doubt, of fear, of who the world said I had to be: a weak feminine princess or a warrior. Freasia didn't hold back either because I am a princess ,he never had. And that was what endeared him to me, he treated me like just another pixie, allowing me to be myself. His blade caught mine with a twist that sent a jolt up my wrist.
"You're getting faster," he said, parrying and ducking.
"You're getting slower," I replied, pivoting and striking low. Our laughter echeod through the forest like music as we practiced swordplay in our hidden lear in the forest, broken only by the occasional grunt or curse when a strike landed too close.
Eventually after dueling for an hour, we both dropped to the forest floor, our chests heaving, sweat trickling down our temples. I flopped onto the moss,my wings splayed and glowing faintly. He sat beside me, leaning back against a fallen tree trunk.
" That was thrilling"
Freasiaads no comment so I could tell he had something to say to me."What is the matter Fea"
"Did you hear what the bards are whispering in the marketplace?" he asked, flicking a pebble into the underbrush.
"Gossip? I'm a princess Fea, which means I'm obligated to pretend I don't listen to gossips."
He gave me a look. "Pretend all you want, they're saying your father, our once noble Lord has changed."
My smile faded, I sat up and turned to face him, listening intently.
"They say he's cursed," Freasia continued, voice low. "That he speaks to shadows in the high chamber, that he hasn't walked the palace gardens in weeks, neither has he done his touring to meet and greet the common folks like he use to"
"He's not cursed", I swallowed hard. "He's being controlled by that horrible court adviser of his. That evil Gaston Kyl whispers poison into his ear, and Morgana… gods, Freasia, She's not what she seems, she is evil"
He nodded. "I know Eva, she is a Witch-pixie and a mind manipulator, everyone in the lower rings knows she's trouble. And she's too… beautiful to be trusted. Rumors has it that she has been widowed twice, suspected of killing her husbands".
I knew there was something dark about that witch
"Beauty is her weapon," I said. "And my father has fallen for it, he has fallen for her."
We both sat in silence listening to the insects chirped in the tall grass, and a breeze stirred the leaves on the trees above us.
I stood up, brushing dirt from my elbows. The sun had dipped lower now, shadows stretching long across the forest floor. I could feel the tension in my bones, like the whole realm was holding its breath.
"Freasia," I said slowly. "What if… what if my father never comes back from whatever spell she's cast?"
"Then you can't rely on him to protect the realm anymore, and also sadly neither can we common folks" he said simply.
Before I could answer, a strange shimmer caught my eye. Just beyond the trees, nestled between stones slick with dew, something glowed faintly, it was a pale, opalescent bloom.
I walked towards it, my heart hammering. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Dreamshard flower," Freasia breathed, moving to stand beside me. "Evangeline, that shouldn't be here. They only grow where memories have been tampered with."
"gods...."
My stomach dropped. "This forest touches the outer edge of the palace grounds."
Freasia looked at me in dismay as I said that, few creeped inti his eyes.
He shielded his sword, his expression grave, "This is bad Eva, do you know what this means? Someone's rewriting the past and my suspicion is on Morgana. Maybe this is what she is doing to our king."
I crouched beside the flower, watching it pulse softly, like it was alive, breathing. My wings twitched with unease. My mother had once told me that dreamshards were sacred and dangerous. The gods left them behind when they couldn't bear to erase something entirely.
"This is proof," I whispered.
Freasia knelt beside me. "It's a warning Eva"
The leaves rustled again, but not from the wind this time. I froze, hand on my sword.
Freasia's hand brushed mine. "No. Not yet."
We waited. Whatever it was passed or maybe it just watched.
When we stood again, he turned to me, and his expression was something I'd never seen before, fear, he looked troubled.
"You must not speak to the King," he said, voice hushed. "He's not the man who raised you anymore. He has been influenced by something darker. Something older than Gaston Kyl. Older than Morgana."
I stared at him. "What do you mean older?"
He shook his head. "Just… don't. Not yet. Don't look him in the eyes. Don't speak to him alone. Whatever she's feeding him...it's feeding on him, feeding on his soul."
A single chill slithered down my spine.
"If not him," I asked, "then who do we tell? Who will believe us?"
He looked toward the canopy of trees, his wings folding close. "We have to start small, but we must stay quiet until we're ready."
I nodded. The wind stirred again, this time warm and sharp, like a whisper across skin.
Behind us, the dreamshard flower trembled and glowed.