The Breaking of Brendalyn Ellingboe: Descendants of the Fire Tree, #1

By Aly Kuch

The kingdom of Crim rests along the mountainous human and fae borders, dedicated to defending the human realm from the shapeshifters at all cost. 

 

Brendalyn Ellingboe is the perfect image of a soldier. Everything in Bren's world seems to be under her control, that is until she is bitten by a shapeshifter. The shapeshifter venom rips Bren's consciousness in two, leaving her trapped in the same body as her new hellacious twin, Shadow. 

 

While the sun shines Bren is in perfect control of her life, but within her lurks a demon. Like a stain upon her soul, Shadow emerges only at night, straining for bloodshed and freedom. 

 

Thankfully the new general of Crim, Novah Vang, has experience with shapeshifter poison. In fact, he has more knowledge about the fae than anyone within Crim's walls. Bren and Novah dance around the truth like a deadly waltz. Their attraction to one another is just another flame that has set Bren's world afire.

 

Bren must tame Shadow, her personal demon, before she can tackle the dangers that threaten her kingdom. But Shadow is not the only traitor. Beating beneath Bren's chest blooms another. Her loyalty to Crim versus the man she loves battle as she navigates who within her now murky alliances she can trust.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aly Kuch
• Release date: Jun 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227074263

Aly Kuch

Hi I'm Aly! I'm an indie author from Michigan with a background in photography who loves craft beer and her dogs. Escaping between the soft musty pages of a book have always been a source of joy and comfort for me, but it wasn't until a few years ago that I decided to create a world of my own invention. It's been a long and rewarding journey to say the least. I encourage anyone who has a dream to create something whether it be writing, painting, dancing or sculpting to chase after it. Everyone has a story inside of them, don't hesitate to set it free. 

Book preview

Prologue

The weather was warming up, and spring buds decorated the branches in anticipation of summer. Hector leaned against the watch tower’s stone wall, listening to his friend, Barden, chatter excitedly about asking one of the maids to the coronation feast. All anyone in Crim could do was count the days until the prince would be crowned. The whole city was a bustle, dances were held every night and music could be heard down every winding street. Even the mountains seemed to sing with anticipation in the warm evening light.

Hector enjoyed the rhythm of it all, but more than anything, he was pleased that summer had finally arrived. He looked out over the field, taking in the majesty of the mountains that cradled the small kingdom of Crim. His gaze finally fell upon the deep, brambled forest; the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees when he laid eyes upon it. Something about the shady branches gave him the impression that he was standing at the edge of an abyss. He knew he was being paranoid, but it almost felt as though the deep shadows were staring back at him. He shivered.

The forest was all that stood between Crim and the fae creatures that lived beyond. Little was known about them, other than the fact that they were savage and deadly. Hector had been taught that fae-kind varied in their monstrous abilities, but the only fae he had witnessed with his own eyes were the shapeshifters.

For whatever reason, the shapeshifters raided Crim, along with any border kingdom that dared stand too close to the forest’s edge. Some people theorized it was to keep humans wary of ever venturing into the woods and discovering their hidden riches. Hector had fought enough shapeshifters to know they didn’t need a reason to slaughter. They were soulless things that only delighted in the pure thrill of carnage.

Movement out of the corner of Hector’s eye made him look back suddenly. He studied the tree line, holding his breath. Barden noticed the change in his friend, cutting off mid-sentence.

Hector, what do you see?

Hector kept his eyes fixed on the dark trees. I thought I saw one of them, but it must have been a trick of the light, he replied, exhaling noisily.

Barden’s laugh was full of nerves as he scanned the horizon. You wouldn’t be the first.

Just then a massive winged serpent broke from the tree tops, soaring towards them at a deadly speed. Six other gruesome creatures appeared out from under the dark branches, charging at them.

Hector wasted no time, sounding two long blares from the signal horn. Meanwhile, Barden dashed inside the watch tower to rouse the others. Hector could hear his call being answered by three shorter calls from Crim’s barracks nearby. Help was on the way, but until then, it was the watch tower’s duty to fight. Barden returned, a dozen soldiers following close behind him. Each soldier held a spear with an iron-tipped blade. Iron was the easiest way to kill a shapeshifter; the creatures shrieked if the metal even brushed against them.

With a heart-pounding battle cry, Barden was the first to lead the charge across the field to meet their enemy, with Hector quick on his heels. Crim’s soldiers were known for their ferocity. None of the twenty men and women on duty that day hesitated as they sprinted towards the fearsome creatures. A little less than halfway, the watch guard came to a halt. Wind whipped at their clothing as they fell into their rehearsed pattern, readying themselves for the impending clash.

Five heartbeats passed.

A lizard with batlike wings took a nosedive in their direction. A dozen more shapeshifters appeared from the forest’s edge. Monsters with wings and talons emerging from the chilly shadows. Some of them galloped on hooved feet with gnashing teeth, while other monstrosities took to the skies.

Hector’s breathing was ragged.

Two more heartbeats passed.

Barden hollered a war cry into the skies; the sound was deep and haunting.

Shapeshifters always brought death; it was Crim’s duty to face them.

Hector tightened his grip on his spear and cast his unflinching gaze towards the horizon.

It was time to look at death once more.

Creatures screeched as iron spears met talons and flesh.

Hector and Barden paired up to fight a wolf that leapt over them, shifting form in mid-air. As it landed it took the form of a bear with the head of a crocodile. Barden struck first, aiming for the creature’s chest. The shapeshifter anticipated his movements and caught the spear between its claws and pulled, yanking Barden forward.

Hector dashed to block the creature’s next movement, but he was a hair too slow. The shapeshifter took advantage of Barden’s stumble and grabbed him, hoisting him in the air and biting Barden’s side. Hector screamed as he plunged his spear through the creature’s scaly neck. Warm blood sprayed across Hector’s breastplate. The shapeshifter’s guttural cry could be heard even as it pulled a chunk of flesh from Barden’s abdomen.

Using Barden’s limp body as a weapon, the shapeshifter hurled his victim at Hector, like a stone. Hector grunted as his friend crashed against him, toppling them both to the ground.

Barden writhed beside Hector; the poison was already spreading through his veins. Barden only had minutes left; the shapeshifter venom ensured they would not be pleasant.

Hector didn’t turn at the thunder of hooves, signaling the arrival of the calvary. The fresh soldiers made it in time to finish off the bear-crocodile that had murdered Barden. The fight was nearly over.

Hector watched as his friend’s eyes glistened with pain, then dissolved into emptiness. He closed Barden’s eyes before examining the bloody field. The violence was already over. Hector gritted his teeth at the dozen retreating shapeshifters fleeing back to the safety of the forest. They usually ran as soon as aid came; the hideous creatures loathed a fair fight. Three shapeshifter corpses lay in the spring grass. Barden was the only one they’d lost from their side.

Hector cradled Barden’s head as he lowered it to the ground, the gentle action so at odds with the violence surrounding him. Barden would never get the chance to ask his maiden to the coronation day festival.

Hector stood, holding tight to his spear like a talisman. Rage melted into fatigue and sorrow as he joined the surviving soldiers.

Shapeshifters always brought death. There were no exceptions.

Chapter One

Bren hid her mirth as Alder stalked up and down the room, running fingers through his now tangled hair. His anxiety was palpable, haunting the room like a restless spirit. Alder sighed noisily as he folded up the parchment he had been studying, returning to his unwavering strides. He stopped suddenly to adjust his golden belt and crimson tunic in the mirror. Alder was not usually prone to nervous outbursts. Many would describe him as steadfast and charismatic, but today was different. In one hour, Prince Alder would become the next King of Crim. Bren watched as he fiddled with his hair for the fifth time. She tsked at him, unable to contain herself any longer.

You’re sweating through your tunic like a drunk working up the courage to ask the barmaid for a dance, she said with a smirk.

Alder’s eyes widened at her gall.

Let’s see how well you fare when you’re expected to address the court and the whole divine-forsaken kingdom! I’m entitled to a little burst of madness.

The spark of amusement left Bren’s eyes, replaced by sincerity.

Alder, you’ve been preparing for this day since you could walk. You’ve given hundreds of speeches to the court and a hundred more to our people. Not to mention you charm everyone you’ve ever met. Can’t you hear the music that’s been playing all week? The people are celebrating your coronation like it’s the Harvest Day Feast!

Alder looked down at his feet, smiling with pride. He was a charmer, but give him a little praise and his cheeks would redden like a bashful youth.

Alder sighed noisily in defeat. Your words are always comforting. You must save me one dance tonight at the feast. As the future king, I command it, he said with mock severity.

Of course, Your Highness. But as your royal guard, I expect you to be more careful where you step. How can I defend your life properly when my feet are sore from being plodded on all night?

Alder snorted and stopped fidgeting to meet Bren’s eyes. I hope we can always speak with this ease, Bren. The older I get, the more the world changes around me. You, however, have remained a constant. Promise that you’ll always be candid with me, even when I’m acting a fool?

Bren’s posture was easy, her smile natural and confident. Alder was soon to be her king, but she would always see him as her friend first.

A crown can’t erase our past, Al. As for my honest opinion, trust me, you’ll have it, she said with a wink. Alder grinned back at her. His shoulders loosened and he was no longer fidgeting incessantly, so she would consider that a minor victory. Bren sat back, exuding calm in hopes that some of it would rub off onto Alder. Looking at him in his bold red and gold finery, she couldn’t help but marvel at the man he had become.

From schooling, combat training, to sneaking out after curfew, they had always been together. Their memories of childhood were so joined that it was difficult to recall a story from their youth that didn’t include the other. They were both children with futures fixed from birth. That kind of pressure forged a bond stronger than iron. Today’s coronation signified their first steps into the future they’d always been promised. Bren felt peace at the thought. She knew her place as Alder’s Captain of the Guard would be fulfilling, and she took comfort knowing she would always be there to protect her closest friend.

Most children would rebel against the strict nature of their future being predetermined, but Bren had been an odd girl. Even when she was young, people had fallen into treating her as an adult. Her wide eyes seemed to brim with secret understanding, as if she could see her destiny laid out before her. Whenever she felt doubt or fear she would take solace in the fact that she had a plan for her life. She was at home in this world, peaceful, focused, and most importantly, in control.

It wasn’t long before Alder resumed stalking around the room like a captive animal. Bren rolled her eyes.

It’s almost time. I’m going to check on my soldiers.

She stood gracefully, turning on her heel and stepping lightly out of the room.

Directly outside waited ten soldiers in red and white ceremonial garb. A golden tree with sprawling branches was emblazoned across their chests, the symbol of Crim. They saluted her by placing a fist to their hearts. Those closest to the door were Edric and Lira.

Edric was a stout man, made up mostly of shoulders and torso. At a glance he was reminiscent of a boulder, but Bren had trained with him long enough to know he was quite agile with a spear in hand. Lira was slender in comparison to Edric, even with her broad shoulders and the hard, corded muscle outlining her figure. Many had underestimated Lira when she first arrived as a recruit five years ago. She had been too thin, her features soft and delicate. Perhaps it had been these judgements which spurred her to become the most skilled spearman within her brigade.

Edric retrieved an apple from somewhere deep in his uniform and took a bite.

Ugh, I don’t even want to know where you were storing that thing, Lira grimaced.

Edric grinned, taking another bite.

Captain Ellingboe, do you think the Terethial royalty will bring some new female companions with them? I’m kind of sick of the lot here…they’re too picky, he said through a mouthful of apple.

Lira rolled her eyes, Sorry Ed, you’re not my type.

Do you know what a common denominator is, Edric? Bren said, giving him a wry look. Lira cackled.

Edric’s eyes darted between the two in an exasperated fashion. See this is exactly the kind of treatment I’m talking about. I need a pretty lass who’s bad at math.

Bren snorted. One can always dream, Edric. Now put that apple back in whatever divine-forsaken place you pulled it from. It’s time to get into formation; the procession is about to begin.

Each step echoed down the grand tapestry covered halls. It was an awkward kind of quiet. The kind of silence that’s created when people are desperately trying to be quiet, and failing. Feet shuffled, one person would cough, another would sneeze, and then a baby would start to cry, parents urgently shushing. Bren and her guards flanked Alder as they made their way to the throne room.

Heads bobbed and peeked between the shoulders of strangers, everyone trying to catch even the slightest glimpse of their future king. The halls were crowded with all sorts of people, from the wealthiest merchant to the poorest farmer, their excitement and hopes trained on one sole individual.

As Bren passed under the epic stone archways of the throne room, she remained alert, sweeping her gaze along those closest to the prince. Most people carried an iron blade on them; living in a border kingdom made such weapons commonplace. No one ever knew when some cursed fae creature would wander out from the forest and terrorize a village. Most of Crim’s royals incorporated iron into their gowns and jewelry; Bren considered this a completely useless precaution. How was a courtier supposed to protect themselves against a shapeshifter attack with an iron beaded petticoat? What were they supposed to do? Shoo the creature away? But Bren didn’t mind the impractical baubles today. Iron was an unspoken symbol of a border kingdom, the only metal lethal to a fae creature. Crim’s people wore it with pride as if to say, We are strong and prepared for anything.

Bren’s eyes lingered on two unfamiliar royals. To the right, the queen and princess of Terethial stood, wearing immaculate deep emerald gowns with intricate iron beadwork. Queen Lilith and Princess Elora had arrived yesterday just in time for the coronation. The queen was a wisp of a woman with dark eyes that locked on those around her like a bloodhound on the hunt. Though she was slender, nothing about her seemed delicate. She wore her long, graying hair piled atop her head in intricate braids. Her daughter, Princess Elora, was stunningly beautiful. Where her mother was hard angles, Elora was soft. Standing next to each other, they looked completely unrelated, until you noticed their eyes. Elora had her mother’s calculating eyes, deep pools of blue that pulled you down into a bottomless well.

As the procession passed, Bren noticed Princess Elora’s piercing gaze captured on the prince, a coy smile pulling at the corners of her soft lips. At a glance the expression seemed like careless infatuation, but as Bren’s eyes lingered upon the princess, the adoration began to morph into hunger. Bren fought the urge to position herself between them as they passed by.

Everyone assumed the Queen of Terethial was here to arrange a marriage between Princess Elora and Prince Alder. It seemed odd that such a large kingdom would tie their bloodline to a king from such a small kingdom, and near the fae border at that. But who could explain why monarchs did half the things they did? Kings and queens juggled a dozen schemes like a nimble court jester. Bren preferred combat, a more honest skillset.

Bren’s soldiers split to flank both sides of the dais as the prince made his way up the stone steps. The throne gleamed of polished iron, directly behind it stood Crim’s mighty Fire Tree. The trunk was thicker than four men, with black bark and crimson leaves that dripped from its branches, giving the tree its distinct name. The tree loomed over the crowd like a mighty giant, its branches gently brushing against the vaulted ceiling. Legends said the first king and queen of Crim planted the great tree in the throne room to remind the people of their mighty ancestors. The tree’s origins, however, had always been a mystery. No one throughout the human realm had ever seen a tree like it.

Bren glowed with pride as she watched Alder ascend the dais. She knew he would make a great king. As he turned towards the crowd, his eyes locked on hers, offering her a confident smile. Gone was the nervous boy pacing his rooms moments ago.

The former Queen of Crim, Alder’s stepmother, placed the golden crown atop his head.

Here today, we witness the crowning of Crim’s next monarch… Lady Harriet’s voice filled the room and a true quiet came over the crowd. The kind of quiet that stilled Bren’s heart and made her want to hold her breath.

Lady Harriet led Alder towards the tree, a silver blade glinting in her hand. With a deep breath, he offered her his open hand. Her smile was reserved, but her eyes beamed with pride as she looked him up and down, before shifting attention back to her blade. Five quick flicks from her dagger brought drops of ruby blood swelling on each of Alder’s fingertips. She made efficient work of his other hand, letting the blood drip down upon the roots, sprinkling the soil with Alder’s blood. Bren’s heart pounded beneath her chest as Alder turned to face the crowd, lifting his bloody hands to the sky. Lady Harriet’s firm voice broke the silence.

It is my honor to present to you, Alder Ambrose Edman, the King of Crim!

Conversation and laughter filled the banquet hall late into the night. The next shift of royal guards had taken over, but as their captain, Bren remained close by and sipped from a goblet of watered-down wine. The feast echoed with elated shrieks as bodies entangled on the dance floor, writhing to the music of the string band. The smell of warm food, alcohol, and sweat filled the air.

Hundreds of glowing candles illuminated the space, hanging gently above them by invisible threads of magic. Living in a border kingdom like Crim, people often preferred traditional methods such as torches affixed to the wall rather than use magic that was so close to fae ways. Only a handful of witches lived in Crim, and Alder’s stepmother was one of them. If it wasn’t for Lady Harriet’s stature, there probably wouldn’t be any witches in Crim at all. However, despite prejudices she was beloved by all. The people trusted her, but that did not mean there weren’t those still leery of her ways.

Lady Harriet never flaunted her magic; the use of her levitating candles to light the vast chamber was the flashiest spell Bren had ever seen from her. She devoted most of her magical efforts towards healing, which alone was most likely the reason Crim’s people trusted her. It was hard to hate the person who healed your child of a lethal fever or mended a broken bone in a day. Bren often wondered what other magical feats Lady Harriet was capable of.

Bren looked towards the far wall of the ballroom where Lady Harriet sat conversing easily with her two young apprentices. The former queen of Crim wore a simple dark red gown with silver and gold chains woven through her hair and draped over her dress. Bren wondered idly if Lady Harriet would ever remarry. King Edman had died only three short months ago, but the witch was still young, barely into her forties.

Bren’s gaze lingered on Lady Harriet a moment too long, and suddenly the witch locked eyes with her from across the enormous ballroom. Bren averted her gaze, shaking off the ridiculous feeling of paranoia that crept up her spine. She felt as though Lady Harriet had heard her thoughts, but surely Alder’s stepmother couldn’t read minds.

Bren forced herself to relax, enjoying the merriment of others as they blurred by. She wore her long, dark hair loose down her back, still clad in her captain’s uniform with the tree of Crim emblazoned upon the breast of her red jacket. Bren had never been fond of the large, puffy dresses young women tended to favor. They tangled around her legs and seemed extremely impractical, not only for defensive reasons but also just for everyday movement. The nimble women who twirled and jumped around the room amazed Bren to no end. She simply didn’t know how they managed to maneuver in such cumbersome garments without tripping over themselves.

Hundreds of different shades of satin skirts twirled like blooming wildflowers, from bright cardinal to deep bloody mauve. The theme of the evening was red, turning the room into a dazzling bonfire of color. Only two women weren’t wrapped in the warm colors of Crim: Queen Lilith and her daughter, Princess Elora. Bren followed their movements, peering over the rim of her goblet for a time before realizing what she was doing. Alder’s chiding voice made her roll her eyes. Bren was off duty after all; she shouldn’t be looking for danger where it didn’t exist.

Taking a long pull from her goblet, Bren caught Edric’s eyes from across the hall, a pretty blonde maiden sat upon his knee. Lira was being spun by a graceful blonde maid on the dance floor nearby. Bren’s shoulders relaxed as she said a small prayer of gratitude for the simple, easy moment.

Bren normally wouldn’t call a coronation ceremony relaxing, however, there had been more attacks from the Fae Wood recently, forcing Bren to keep her squadron on an extra strict schedule.

Separated by the thick woods as they were, no one actually knew what lay beyond the shadowed, leafy branches. As kids, Bren and Alder were told heart-pumping stories to keep them from wandering too close to the forest edge; tales of shapeshifters that could eat a child whole and faeries that tricked humans into giving up their soul. As they grew older, they learned to separate fact from fiction. Bren had never actually seen a faerie that could steal souls, but the shapeshifters were real, and Bren had fought and killed many.

Skirmishes were ever present between the humans and shapeshifters, but recently the creatures had become far more tenacious. Crim’s general and advisors had yet to figure out why there had been so many attacks recently. They had started right as spring had begun and continued into early summer. Each attack seemed random, happening at any hour, day or night. No one could tell why the shapeshifters did what they did; they were worse than monarchs, and far more deadly.

Standing near a pillar, Bren locked eyes with the General of Crim, her father. She pushed herself off the wall, wading through the revelry towards him. As she made her way through the sweaty bodies, she realized he was engaged in a deep discussion with Captain Rathfa. Rathfa was a fierce-looking woman, with cold dark eyes and long blonde hair she wore in a tight braid. She had a scar that curved down the middle of her face all the way to her chin. She had earned it in a shapeshifter raid five years ago. The jagged mark made her look lethal.

Rathfa’s exterior, however, did not appropriately match the woman’s personality. She was not a warm person, nor was she aggressive or mean. Rathfa was fair—ruthless but exceedingly loyal—and she cared deeply for her soldiers.

Their conversation died as Bren approached, Rathfa eyeing Bren warily.

We shall speak of this further, General Ellingboe. Rathfa nodded to Bren, giving her a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Good evening, captain. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.

Bren couldn’t tell if it was a trick of the candlelight, but she thought she saw worry behind Rathfa’s steely eyes. She nodded politely back as Rathfa departed, leaving Bren and her father alone.

Her father had worn his best armor for the occasion; gold medals shimmered in the low light. His heavy shoulder caps curved upward at a wicked angle, which gave anyone around him the intimidating impression of being towered over. Her father’s appearance would have sent people scurrying in the other direction if it hadn’t been for his easy grin, which mellowed the effects of the armor. Silver peppered his hair, the creases near his eyes deepening whenever he smiled.

He was a kind, strong man. One might expect the General of Crim to be harsh and intimidating, but her father had always taught her that anger and might were not the main ingredients to a successful leader. A person shows their strength through their actions, and actions must come from purpose. The purpose that drove Bren’s father had always been his love for Crim.

Are you enjoying yourself tonight? her father asked.

Bren studied her father’s warm expression, searching for a trace of concern leftover from his previous conversation with Rathfa.

Yes, very much so. I hope I wasn’t disturbing anything. You and Captain Rathfa seemed to be preoccupied.

The general sighed. It was a discussion better suited for a tactics meeting than a coronation festival. Don’t worry about it, Bren. Tonight is for celebration, he said, clapping her on the back.

Bren admired the lively scene before her but couldn’t banish the questions that crowded in the back of her throat. She spotted King Alder leading a dance with one of the ladies of the court. He looked so sure of himself.

He’s done it, hasn’t he? Excitement and emotion thickened her words. The crown suits him already, she said, smiling.

He’s become the man he was always meant to be. He will make a great king, the general said proudly, shifting to face her. You’ve changed much yourself, Bren. Pride shone in his eyes. You hold your sword like it’s an extension of your body. A perfect soldier completely in control. But more importantly, you’ve become a leader your people look up to. I’m very proud of you.

Bren couldn’t hide her awkward smile; it wasn’t often that her father gave such praise.

Thank you, Bren said, standing a bit straighter.

The general wrapped her up into a brief hug, and she grinned into his warm embrace. I mean it, Bren. He beamed.

She cherished his praise as if it were precious stones. Her father had always been her idol, and growing up without a mother had made Bren especially close to him.

They stood on the outskirts of the hall in silence for a time. Watching as people danced, laughed and drank, solely focused on the joy the evening had to offer. Blissfully ignorant as to what tomorrow would bring.

Bren was pulled from her wandering thoughts when Alder appeared suddenly before her, stepping lightly out of the crowd.

Bren! There you are, hiding in the shadows! I could have easily mistaken you as a common thief rather than my royal guard. You promised me a dance!

She was about to inform the new king that she was busy speaking to the general, but as she looked to her side, she realized he had disappeared into the crowd.

Come on, Bren! Alder exclaimed, reaching for her hand. Don’t you want a chance to dance with your new king?

She smirked back at him. I would be utterly disappointed; I hear he is handsome and charming. Would you be so kind as to point me in his direction?

Alder scoffed, pulling her towards the spinning bodies. As they made their way to the center, Bren noticed two of her guards in the crowd, watching every step and flourish in the king’s direction. They blended in well, but a careful observer would be able to tell from their stature and weapons they were not common revelers. Bren gave them a small nod before turning her attention to Alder.

The strings were fast. They danced and spun, sweat beading on their skin. For the first time in weeks, Bren felt herself let go of her responsibilities. Her mind went blank as her body twirled and jumped to the beat of the drums. When Bren looked at Alder’s smiling face, she could tell his mood reflected hers. Each held tight to the moment they’d been given.

Eventually, the upbeat music subsided, and a slower waltz began to play. The dancers swayed softly, catching their breath. Bren looked up at Alder, a soft sheen reflected on his brow. He was wearing a small, modest golden crown. The delicate metal was twisted to create an intricate pattern that looked as though it was woven into his hair. Even covered in sweat and with his clothes slightly crumpled from dancing, he looked like a king.

I know I tease, but I want you to know that you’re going to make a great king, and I am proud to stand by your side, she said.

Alder looked at her with feigned shock. A compliment from Brendalyn herself. I must get a scribe and write this down, for this is a historic day. It might even overshadow my coronation!

Don’t call me that! she said, stepping hard on his boot.

Brendalyn? Alder laughed. Why not? I think it suits you; strong yet also…very pretty.

She blushed. They were close friends, but they didn’t speak in such a way to one another. Bren quickly found a way to change the subject.

Speaking of pretty things, have you danced with Princess Elora? She seems to have kept her eyes focused on you most of the night.

Alder sighed and looked in her direction. Even now as Bren glanced towards Elora, she could see the princess’ gaze shift from Alder to the wine glass in her hands, suddenly very interested in its contents.

I have spoken to her briefly a couple of times throughout the night. Each time it feels forced, and her mother has been hovering over her like a vulture the entire evening. It feels like we are two horses she is trying to breed. Can you think of a less romantic way to meet someone?

Bren laughed. Poor King Alder, too charming for his own good. What a hard life it must be.

Alder gave a hollow laugh. Bren realized he was looking at her intently.

You mock, Bren, but I have always been told I will marry for the crown and not for myself. It’s easy to accept when you’re young and marriage seems so far away, but the Queen of Terethial has informed me they plan on staying for a few months. If she is serious about her daughter marrying me, it will be something I have to accept. The kingdom of Terethial is too influential to just ignore. It would be a great ally for Crim.

Worry creased Bren’s brow. But they can’t force you to marry… She trailed off as she caught Queen Lilith staring daggers at her. Bren licked her lips, quickly averting her gaze.

Doesn’t it seem odd that a kingdom as large as Terethial would be so interested in a kingdom as small as ours? And the way they rushed to get here before your coronation; it almost seems…

Desperate, he finished.

They swayed in silence for a bit. Leaning on one another, trying to give the other strength.

Well, Bren, you sure know how to keep the conversation light, Alder said with a forced smile, trying to return to their earlier carefree mood.

The music came to a halt, when they stepped away, their fingers lingered on each other’s palms. Bren could feel the coarse scabs that decorated each of his fingertips. Suddenly the small amount of blood seemed like a steep price to pay. The bells rang. It was late, almost early morning. The two guards tailing Alder approached.

Shall I escort you to your chambers, Your Highness? Bren asked.

That’s alright, Bren, you’ve followed me around enough today.

She nodded to her soldiers, Thomas and Njal.

"Very well, goodnight, King Alder of Crim," she said with a smile.

Goodnight, Captain Brendalyn Ellingboe the Grimest of Crim! he said with a smirk. Oh, don’t look so offended! You know everyone who is written in history needs a memorable name, or at the very least one that rhymes! Alder winked.

Bren scowled at the king as he walked off, Thomas and Njal failing to suppress their smirks.

When Bren left the Great Hall, the sounds of festivities had slowly turned to those of tidying and soft conversation. In the dark archways, she caught sight of couples stealing kisses in protective shadows.

Her steady stride took her past her quarters, and on towards the barracks and training grounds. It had been a long day, but Bren’s mind was still alert. She knew she would only lie awake for another hour if she retired to bed. Better to walk and think.

The path to her future lay before her, and all it would take was just one short step to claim it. Bren had worked hard to be everything she was expected to be. Some had judged or assumed she was receiving special treatment because she was the general’s daughter, but those whispers had only pushed her to work even harder. Bren had proved herself worthy, not only to herself, but also to her peers before accepting the position of Captain of the Royal Guard. Some might feel stifled by a life laid out for them by their parents, but Bren had never felt that way. She had always wanted to be like her father. Soldiers and monarchs looked at him with respect and awe, and someday Bren hoped those people would look upon her with the same intensity.

Maybe it was her nostalgic thoughts that led her to her father’s office. As she turned the corner, Bren saw a soft light on through a crack in the door.

I guess he couldn’t sleep either.

She held her hand up to knock when a terrible feeling came over her. The type of wrongness someone might feel right as they lose their footing. Inexplicable panic washed over her. Forsaking niceties, she pushed open the door.

The room was a mess of chaos.

The desk had been kicked over; papers and glass covered the floor. Her father lay on the ground, blood pooling around him. A figure cloaked in black kneeled over him. The figure looked up at Bren but didn’t move. Her father gasped as the stranger pulled a long thin dagger out of her father’s chest. Blood dripped from her father’s open mouth.

Bren howled, drawing her sword as she lurched towards the killer. She swung her weapon down, aiming for the neck. The figure grunted as they blocked her blow with their forearm, as if made of steel. The killer shoved her back, barreling towards the door and escaping down the corridor. Bren was pulled in two directions, unsure whether she should follow the killer or stay with her father.

She screamed, letting her anger and fear tear out of her as she ran to the horn that hung upon the wall. Bren stuck her torso out the window and sounded the alarm. The deep, resonant blare echoed in the courtyard, disturbing the peaceful night. Once she heard others responding to the call, she threw the horn to the ground and rushed over to her father. The general lay face up, his eyes open and unseeing, damp blood soaking his tunic. She hopelessly searched for a heartbeat and found none. His skin already looked ashen. Tears stung her eyes. A broken sound escaped her; it was a pained noise which sounded foreign to her ears.

Captain Rathfa appeared in the doorway with twenty more guards behind her. She quickly surveyed the scene and began barking orders.

You two, guard this room and don’t let anyone touch anything. The rest of you create a perimeter around the tower and send word for the castle to go into lockdown. No one leaves or enters without my approval.

Rathfa knelt down beside Bren and the late general.

Bren, how many assassins are we dealing with?

The word assassin brought Bren out of her daze. Her thoughts immediately went to Alder.

I saw one person wearing all black. I couldn't tell if they were male or female. I need to get to the king and inform my guards.

Go secure your people. Once everything is in order, please meet me in the tactics room; you’ll need to be questioned.

Bren looked to her father one last time before standing, her legs felt numb.

Like a specter, she ran through the dim corridors, racing to get to Alder. As she sprinted through the darkness, she peered into every shadow she passed, expecting to see a cloaked figure hiding. Slow simmering rage replaced her shock with each new step, thumping to the beat of her heart. The anger and pain consumed her as she ran. Anger was easier to feel than the deep sorrow that threatened to drown her. She let herself focus on the cloaked figure instead of her father’s lifeless body.

She didn’t need to speak or think the words she was feeling. Her heart thrummed to the beat of vengeance, her muscles flexing in violent prayer.

She would find the assassin, and she would end them.

Chapter Two

Three Months Later

Panic. Fear. Death. Bren awoke from another nightmare, her body slick with sweat and her ankles trapped in the twisted mess of her sheets. The summer nights had been unbearably hot lately, but the heat wasn’t the sole reason Bren avoided her bedchamber most evenings. In her dream, she ran through the dark hallways of the palace, a familiar half-moon hung in the sky. It was the night her father had been murdered. She chased after a cloaked figure, who shrieked and laughed. Her muscles burned, but no matter how hard she ran, she could never catch up.

The dark specter darted around a corner into the palace gardens. Bren extended all of her strength forward, pushing as fast as she could. She was out of control; her rage carried her forward like a wave. She followed the shadowed figure into the gardens when suddenly, the cloaked assassin stopped abruptly.

The figure turned to look at her, becoming a shadowy beast. The creature’s mouth stretched open wider than her head. It had a million razor-sharp teeth that sprouted in strange angles. But the most unnerving thing was its eyes. The creature had her father’s eyes. The hideous thing shuddered, its body slowly shifting. Bones creaked and undulated as it gradually took another shape: that of her father. He grinned at her. Bren’s fear and disgust choked her as a scream burst from her lungs. That’s when she awoke.

The nightmares had plagued her on and off ever since the coronation day. They always ended the same way, and yet each time the horrible scene hit her like it was the first time.

Bren got to her feet and splashed some water onto her face, her hands still shaking. She took steady breaths and felt the stone fountain beneath her fingertips. Its cool surface soothed her. She was calm; she was in control.

She looked back at herself in the mirror; her hazel eyes looked tired and empty.

No.

Bren splashed more water on her face and glared back at her reflection. Now her eyes held fire. Like a holy prayer, she whispered a silent vow to herself; she would do whatever it took to find the creature that had butchered her father and kill it.

It was early afternoon. Ever since the coronation she’d placed herself on the night watch, along with the late afternoon and evening shift as well. All of her time was devoted to her work. At first no one had commented on her drastic efforts, but now that months had passed and the summer was nearly over, she was beginning to take note of the worried glances sent her way. She knew her behavior might seem obsessive, but she would not allow Alder to suffer the same fate as her father. Until the killer was caught, she would not slow her momentum.

Doubling Alder’s guards had been her first step, but her caution had not ended there. She arranged for Alder to switch sleeping quarters every night, placing guards at fake rooms to draw out the killer. Unfortunately, no matter how much she plotted, there had been no sign of the cloaked figure since the first attack.

The all-consuming anger born on that dreadful night continued to propel her forward in everything she did. From when she woke up, to when she finally went to bed, it was always there beating dully in the center of her chest, like a second heartbeat. She didn’t know what to do with it. When she wasn’t guarding Alder, she was restless, constantly trying to work the feeling out of her body. She would train and run laps, but no amount of exercise could relieve its thrumming siren call.

Bren checked to make sure the two iron blades tied across her back were in place, then she double checked the ones up her sleeve before stepping out the door. Checking and rechecking her blades had become another nervous habit she’d inherited ever since that awful night.

With each step, she shook the remnants of her nightmare off, setting her sights on the training grounds. She had three hours until her shift started. Perhaps she could make herself useful there.

Rathfa was surrounded by fresh recruits who held their spears timidly as the captain patiently began explaining the basics to Arch Defense, a style highly esteemed by Crim’s army. Arch Defense required paired fighting using long iron-coated spears. It allowed two soldiers to cover each other’s blind sides against a shapeshifter attack. A useful technique in a border kingdom.

Shapeshifters were no strangers here. Most of the people who lived far beyond the border cities rarely experienced fae-kind of any sort, but Bren couldn’t imagine that sort of life. Shapeshifters constantly tested their boundaries, killing and destroying everything in their wake. They were large monstrosities that could change their entire appearance in less than a heartbeat. Bren had once witnessed a two-hundred-pound tiger suddenly change into a swarm of birds, then reappear as an eight-foot-tall bear behind an unsuspecting soldier.

Taking on a shapeshifter alone was impossible. One soldier was incapable of constantly watching every angle of attack. Fighting in tandem helped keep a multi-peripheral defense. Although this was a huge advantage, the style took extensive training to learn. Young soldiers were often awkward together at first and would wind up hurting each other as often as defending accurately against an opponent. One of the most challenging things to learn as a soldier was who would lead and who would follow. Just like dancing, one partner led while the other must let themselves be guided. It took agility and the ability to read a partner’s body language. Once this technique was mastered, a pair could move fluidly; if it wasn’t for the spears, some might mistake their lethal motions for a dance. The spears that Crim’s soldiers used were quite heavy, coated in iron from top to bottom. Although they looked it, fae creatures were not indestructible; something about iron poisoned their blood.

Bren strode up to the general with her head held high. When Rathfa spotted her, she frowned, looking her up and down like she was searching for something. Her stony expression told Bren she was not pleased with what she found.

Break for water, Rathfa shouted across the field.

The young men and women broke formation, Rathfa turned to Bren, speaking in a gentle voice that Bren was becoming accustomed to as of late.

Captain Ellingboe, it looks like you should return to your quarters. I know what hours you’ve been pulling, and you need to take better care of yourself. Concern shone in her eyes as she spoke.

Bren tried to hide her shock. This was the first time Rathfa had spoken so candidly. Your advice has been noted, but even if I were to return to my room, I would not find sleep there, she responded, more harshly than she meant to.

Bren appreciated how kind Rathfa had been to her these past months, but she despised being pitied. Rathfa turned back to the field, her posture straight as an arrow.

Your actions are your own, Bren, however, I worry for you. Good health is important in order to take care of your people. To defeat your enemy, you must be stronger than them.

Bren’s jaw clenched. Hadn’t she shown strength these past months? She had done everything in her power to protect the king and draw out the killer.

If one must be strong to defeat one’s enemy, Captain Rathfa, then I shall be stone.

Even stone can chip when applied with too much pressure, Rathfa replied.

Bren met the woman’s gaze with fire; Rathfa merely regarded her coolly. At least Bren did not find any more pity in the general’s eyes.

Captain Ellingboe, I am dismissing you from this training. You are not needed here today. Bren wanted to protest, but she could see recruits eyeing her. The last thing she wanted was to make a scene in front of her soldiers.

Fine, I will discuss this with you later, general, Bren said in a clipped tone.

Her shift didn’t start for a while, and she was not going to sit in her room and let her thoughts consume her.

She took off from the sunny field, her stormy mood distracting her from the beautiful day. The tight ball of anger still beat steadily inside her, chasing her footsteps back into the castle. Walking felt good; at least she was moving. Towards what, she didn’t know, and for the moment she didn’t care. It just felt good to move.

Bren found herself wandering through the castle down to the lower level and into the library. The library was one of the palace’s most impressive features. It was designed to look like a forest with one giant tree in the middle that mimicked Crim’s beloved Fire Tree. The giant tree-shaped pillar held two platforms in its branches and a winding staircase that climbed its trunk. The bookshelves on the ground level curved organically, pointing towards the base of the impressive sculpture. The light was dim; glowing orbs rested within the branches and gave off a warm light.

Bren breathed deeply, greeted by the smell of parchment and leather. She made her way up the winding staircase, letting her fingers trail along the colorful spines of books that were nestled into the shelves carved into the trunk. The soft light was inviting; it banished some of the shadows cluttering Bren’s mind. As she reached the top of the first platform, she heard a familiar voice.

Bren! I hope you come bearing more biscuits! Alder exclaimed. He sat across from Princess Elora; teacups and pastries lay on the table in front of them.

Oh, I…I didn’t mean to interrupt! Bren said as she tried to take a step back down the stairs.

Nonsense! Please come join us. I’m sure the lovely princess wouldn’t mind a break from my company.

Bren met Princess Elora’s cold eyes and felt the temperature of the room drop a few degrees.

Not at all, Elora said, with a smile that didn’t touch the rest of her face.

Bren had met the Princess of Terethial and her mother, Queen Lilith, multiple times throughout their stay. Each time had been brief and unfeeling. Of course they had attended her father’s funeral and offered their deepest condolences, but every word they spoke to Bren felt empty. Bren could see it in the way their eyes flitted about as she spoke, as if getting to know her was just another distraction from their main goal: the king.

At first, Alder had seemed wary of the princess, but soon he had warmed to her company. As Captain of the Guard, Bren had attended many walks with Alder and Elora through the palace gardens. The things the princess whispered in his ear seemed to confuse and intrigue him. Alder had been fond of mystery stories as a child, and Bren could tell that he was attracted to the mystery that was Elora. Why would the princess of the largest kingdom in their realm court the king of a small border kingdom? Every coy smile and witty remark that Elora favored him left Alder wandering deeper and deeper into her labyrinth. Bren worried for him—not because Alder was simple or gullible, but because scheming just wasn’t in his nature. Bren feared that he and Elora differed in that area a little too much.

I was just telling Elora about the childhood mischief we made, climbing these branches. You somehow seemed to evade the wrath of the clerks better than I. Alder explained, trying to inject some ease into the tension that had thickened between Bren and Elora.

Bren smiled and for a moment her anger faded. It was easy to evade getting caught when I had you to create distractions for me. Do you remember when you fell on top of poor Mr. Linden?

Alder laughed from deep in his belly. Yes, knocked the toupee right off his head!

Bren began to laugh but stifled it when she saw the princess’ expression. I fear I’ve heard all of Alder’s stories a hundred times. Do you have any fond childhood memories, princess? Bren asked, trying to be friendly.

Elora regarded Bren coldly. Unfortunately most of my stories are not as…colorful as the ones His Highness tells me. I had to learn how to be a princess worthy of Terethial at a very early age.

Bren could relate to that. She had always worked hard to live up