Valera Drake had given bloody noses to a fair share of men in her life, but nothing could have prepared her for the amount of blood streaming down Gatlin’s face.

  Myrtle sat wringing out a rag full of blood, bringing another clean one up to Gatlin’s purple, misshapen nose. “Hell, Gat.” Myrtle shook his head, dabbing at the blood. “What did you do to deserve this one?”

  Valera gave him a side eye, her eyes saying, Don’t you say a word, or I’ll do it again.

  “Oh, you know,” Gatlin cleared his throat with a laugh, coughing up some blood. “Your sweet angel just stole something she shouldn’t have.”

  “You little—” Valera marched over, but before she could do anything, Myrtle stood to physically stop her.

  He towered over Valera, a look of disappointment slowly turning his features. “What did you steal?”

  Valera glared at Gatlin, who just gave her a small shrug in return. Myrtle noticed the exchange, and before Valera could even come up with a reply, he spoke again. “Don’t tell me you stole that…”

  She turned her nose up, crossing her arms. “I think you’re going to have to elaborate.”

  “Don’t get smart with me now, kid.” He said, turning away from Valera to Gatlin, who was still pressing a soaked rag to his nose. “Gatlin, tell me the truth.”

  Valera scoffed, knowing Gatlin was not one to refuse anything Myrtle ever asked. Gatlin mouthed a small, I’m sorry, to Valera, then he started. “Sir, the truth is that Valera stole the king’s bevrodraach from the Olka Spectacular this morning. Those guard patrols… they’re for her.”

  The room fell silent. Myrtle’s hands stilled over the bloodied rag, his knuckles whitening. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper.

  “Gatlin, go home.”

  The way Myrtle’s voice shook with quiet fury struck something deep within Valera. A memory from who knows when was dredged up, and for the first time since then, she felt true fear. She stumbled, sweat beading on her forehead as the memory began to overtake her.

  Her, younger, probably around 13. Her mother, standing tall in front of her. The bright flash of gold armor. The putrid smell of burning magic in the air, acrid and wrong. Her mother’s eyes glowing bright green with power—forbidden. A sword engraved with two snakes crossed over a rising sun catching the light. And then blood. So much blood, flowing over Valera, covering her in its sticky heat. Her mother’s final “run” in a gurgle of crimson. Horrible, blinding pain, tearing its way across her right cheek.

  An arm shook her shoulder, and she was pulled back to reality. Tears were rolling down her face, some catching in her open, heaving mouth, thick and salty. Her limbs felt leaden, her scars sharply stinging. The little she had eaten the day before came up, acid burning her throat and splashing on the floor below, covering her bare feet and the booted feet before her.

  “Valera… Valera!” Myrtle’s voice broke through her muddled head. She looked up, seeing Myrtle’s worried face along with Gatlin, who had his strong arm wrapped around her waist to steady her.

  “Valera, I’m so so sorry,” Myrtle gasped, holding her vomit stained chin in his rough hands. “I… I didn’t realize…”

  She tried to speak, but her throat constricted. The room spun around her in dizzying circles, the walls pressing in. Somewhere distant, she heard Myrtle barking orders at Gatlin.

  The two men carried her back to her room, changing her soiled clothes and helping her into bed, laying the scratchy blankets over the top of her. Gatlin fetched a clean rag and filled it with warm water, laying it on her forehead. Myrtle couldn’t even meet her eyes, wiping the vomit off of her mouth and chin.

  When Valera spoke, her voice came out in a croak. “Myrt… the royal guard killed my mother, didn’t they?”

  Myrtle’s hand stopped, and he simply said, “Yes. Yes they did.”

  “Why, Myrt?” Tears started up again. “Why my mother?”

  “That’s something not even I know, my dear.” Myrtle’s voice cracked. He hesitated, then added, “but considering what happened to her… it might be for the best to turn the creature in, Val.”

  Something mildly resembling rage bubbled through Valera’s blood. “Are you serious? I just found out that you lied to me about how my mother died and you’re still concerned about the bevro—whatever it is?”

  Gatlin stepped forward, switching out the rag on her forehead. “Val, he’s actually right.”

  Valera’s hand shot up to wrap around Gatlin’s wrist, her jagged nails digging into his freckled flesh. “Get. Out.”

  “Val—”

  “No. You have no right to tell me what to do.” She released him. “Honestly, neither of you do. I am an adult now, so stop treating me like a child.”

  Myrtle pressed his hand gently to her rigid shoulder, willing her to lay back down. “Valera, you’re sick. Rest up first and then we’ll talk.”

  She ripped his hand off of her. “This is exactly what I mean. You are coddling me, treating me like I can’t handle myself.” The men stared at her, silently. “Listen now, and listen closely. I may have made a grave mistake, yes. But it was mine to make. So the consequences of whatever I choose to do next will also be mine to receive. I want you both to start treating me like my age, especially you, Myrtle.”

  “Well,” Gatlin started up again, a new gleam in his eyes despite his swollen nose, “if you are serious about this acting all mature and being able to handle ‘anything,’ come to the Solstice ball with me tonight. I need a date, and hypothetically, if you were able to enter the palace and face the king without flinching, you would be very low on his list of suspects.”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Myrtle was shaking his head ‘no’ in a flash, but Valera was already on her feet. “Myrtle, I’m going. Don’t try to stop me.” She gave his hand a small squeeze, standing on her toes to whisper in his ear. “Please.”

  “Fine. Go.” Myrtle said, his frame slumped in defeat. “Gatlin, take care of her. I would never forgive myself if something… if something happened to her. After Everen—”

  Gatlin clapped his hand to Myrtle’s shoulder. “Trust me, Myrt. I got her.”

  After Myrtle and Gatlin left her room, Valera sat on the edge of her bed, heart still racing. The memory of her mother had never been so vivid before. She traced the jagged scar on her right cheek, feeling its familiar ridges beneath her fingertips.

  “What were you hiding, Mother?” she whispered to the empty room.

  She needed to check on her stolen prize. Valera moved to the loose floorboard beneath her bed and pried it up, revealing a small cloth bundle. Inside lay the bevrodraach, its scaled body glistening in the dim light. As she reached toward it, the creature shuddered, curling tighter into itself.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” she murmured, though she wasn’t sure why she was talking to it.

  A sharp knock at her door made her jump. She quickly covered the bevrodraach and replaced the floorboard.

  “Val? You decent?” Gatlin’s voice called from the other side.

  She opened the door to find him looking more presentable, his face washed and hair combed despite his swollen nose.

  “Listen,” he said, lowering his voice, “about tonight. I wasn’t completely honest with Myrtle.”

  Valera narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “The ball… it isn’t just about making you look innocent.” Gatlin glanced over his shoulder before continuing. “There are rumors about creatures disappearing from the palace menagerie. Creatures like your bevrodraach.”

  “And?” Valera prompted.

  “And I think it has something to do with your mother.”

  The words hit Valera like a physical blow. “My mother?”

  Gatlin nodded. “I’ve heard whispers. Years ago, magical creatures were going missing from the palace, but they weren’t being killed. They were being saved. And then suddenly, the disappearances stopped—right around the time your mother died.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Valera demanded.

  “Because I wasn’t sure. I’m still not sure. But tonight might be our chance to find out.”

  After Gatlin left to prepare, Valera moved to the small hole in the wall that she called a closet, pulling out the only dress suitable for such an occasion—a deep green velvet her mother had saved for her “coming of age.” She’d refused to wear it before, but tonight it seemed fitting.

  As she slipped it on, the fabric settled against her skin with surprising warmth. She approached her small mirror and barely recognized herself. The dress complemented her features in a way that made her look older, more dignified—less the street-smart thief and more someone who might belong in a palace.

  There was a small pocket sewn into the inner lining of the dress. Curious, she reached inside and felt something cool and metallic. She pulled out a delicate silver pendant, so small it fit in her palm. At its center was an emerald, cut in a way that made it look like a teardrop.

  “Mother’s,” she whispered, recognizing it from fragments of memory. She fastened it around her neck, letting the jewel rest on the bare skin above her chest.

  Valera’s mind raced with questions. If her mother had been saving creatures from the palace, why? And why had she been killed for it? The royal guards weren’t known for executing people without the king’s direct order.

  A knock at her door announced Gatlin’s return.

  “Ready?” he asked when she opened the door. He was dressed in formal attire she’d never seen him wear before, looking surprisingly… handsome, despite his bruised face. His eyes swept over her, drinking in every bit as if he would never see her again. “You look lovely.” The words fell from his lips in a gentle whisper.

  A minute or so passed in silence, the two of them taking in the words that had just been passed between them. “You don’t look too shabby yourself.” She giggled, running a hand through her hair. “I’m ready.”

  As Gatlin began to walk out the door, Valera felt a sudden urge to check on the bevrodraach once more. She made an excuse to Gatlin and hurried back into the room, prying up the floorboard again.

  The cloth bundle lay empty.

  Panic seized her as she frantically searched the space beneath the floor. Nothing. The bevrodraach was gone. She was about to call for Gatlin when she noticed something in the corner of her room—a small puddle of what looked like water, glistening in the light.

  She followed the trail of droplets to her window, which stood slightly ajar. Outside, in the fading evening light, she caught a glimpse of movement—a small figure darting between buildings, too quick to be clearly seen.

  “Val? We need to go!” Gatlin called from outside.

  She closed the window, her mind racing. The bevrodraach had escaped—or had it been taken? Either way, she couldn’t tell Gatlin. Not now. Not when they were so close to getting answers.

  “Coming!” she called back, smoothing her dress and taking one last look at her room.

  As they made their way toward the palace, the streets grew more crowded with elegantly dressed nobles and merchants. Carriages lined the main road, their drivers calling to one another over the din of hooves and wheels.

  “Remember,” Gatlin whispered as they approached the palace gates, “we’re just here to enjoy the ball. Nothing suspicious.”

  Valera nodded, though her heart hammered in her chest. As they presented their invitation to the guards, she felt a strange sensation—a prickling at the back of her neck, as if someone was watching her.

  She turned slightly, scanning the crowd, and for just a moment, she thought she saw a pair of bright eyes staring at her from the shadows. Then they were gone, leaving Valera to wonder if she’d imagined them.

  Inside the palace, the grand hall took her breath away. Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, casting rainbow light across marble floors. Musicians played in one corner, their melody floating above the hum of conversation. Servants wove through the crowd with trays of wine and delicacies.

  “This is…” Valera whispered, unable to find the words.

  “I know,” Gatlin replied, taking two glasses from a passing servant and handing one to her. “Drink this. It’ll help with the nerves.”

  She took a small sip, the sweet wine warming her throat. As she lowered her glass, her eyes fell on the figures across the room. A regal man descended the grand staircase, his black hair complementing his emerald green eyes strikingly. However, it was the woman slowly limping behind that really drew her attention. She wore a gown of deep red, her matching hair piled elegantly atop her head. Through the scandalous opening across her entire back, clearly visible even from this distance, was a black tattoo of a sun, bathed in fire.

  The limping woman turned, as if sensing Valera’s gaze, and their eyes met across the crowded hall. A slow frown spread across the woman’s face, and for a moment, Valera felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room.

  “Gatlin,” she whispered, gripping his arm. “Who is that?”

  Gatlin followed her gaze, his expression darkening. “That’s Lady Melanthea,” he said quietly. “The king’s personal… pet. And if the rumors are true, the only Edorilian who still has the ability to shape shift.”

  Before Valera could respond, the noble looking man raised a glass in their direction, his eyes strangely fixed on Valera’s. And as their gazes locked, Valera felt the pendant beneath her dress grow suddenly, inexplicably warm.