It was inevitable. 

 

From her earliest moments of childhood, she had known it would come - it had seemed so… fulfilling back then - the only difference was that instead of a ship on the horizon it was now docked in the harbor with the tariffs paid and ready to do trade. Only instead of gold, furs, and salt the exchange was one of loyalty, power, and promises. 

 

And the only good for sale was her. 

 

If only it had been such a recent development. Her fate had been on the bargaining table since before her eldest brother was born, a myriad of treaties, laws, and customs shackled her to a vessel she had no sway over. Marriage to a man she had never met that lived in a place she had never been, all for the sake of making some old men happy. 

 

“At least now I have a name.” Her voice cracked, the paper in her hands crinkled as her hands shook. Claude. She was to marry some boy called Claude when he came of age in a year. She was to give him heirs, as her mother had done for her father so that their families might have a lasting bond of blood. 

 

It was not the story of true love that her nan had raised her on. 

 

She leaned forward, eyes resting in her palms as the cool breeze that still held winter’s bite washed over her. She had thought the blooming flowers of her mother’s garden would bring her some amount of joy. But the flowers were as grey as the clouded sky, even though yesterday they had popped like stars, shining in the sunlight. 

 

Claude might as well be the name of a dungeon for all the joy the name gave her. Where was that spark she had when she was younger? That joy that she would one day be just like her mother and marry some lord and have children and a family of her own? Where had that misguided child gone? 

 

A sparkling something caught her eye from between her fingers. It was as precise as the sun’s glare from between her curtains that always hit her right in the eyes. A butterfly that looked like it had flown out of the churches stained glass mural, fluttered in the air, darting and dancing on every gust of the wind that sent a few of her stray black hairs flying in her face. 

 

It was magnificent and so unlike anything she had ever seen, every flap of its translucent wings sent out spirals of color, some of which she didn’t even know existed. The colors lingered in the air like a brush stroke on paper. Another of the strange butterflies appeared, then another, and another as they flew around her passing through the bushes and painting a vibrant scene out for her.  

 

The overcast sky turned to a blue star filled one where the moons shined as bright as the sun and light swirled around them like milk added to tea. A horizon black buildings and purple mountains bounded out of nowhere dominating her vision as she found herself on a road of flower petals. A butterfly flew into her hand - she could feel it but it had no weight - and turned itself into a beautiful sword that looked to be stolen out from a tapestry. 

 

“Why a sword?” She laughed, twisting the weightless object in her hand. The only sword she had ever held was that of her brother’s when he handed it to her after training, it was so heavy she could barely lift it. The remaining butterflies darted in front of her their forms vanishing like shooting stars. 

 

A creature began to form, limbs made of roots, claws and teeth of roses, horns of bramble, and wings made of the autumn wind. It roared - thunder without sound - looming over her as a dragon of the garden began to charge at her. 

 

That explained the sword. 

 

Was she supposed to fight back? Why? How? She could barely muster the courage to remove a spider or a rat from her chambers without calling for a maid, this was well beyond her power! She was not a warrior, she didn’t know how to use a sword! And why weren’t her damn legs moving? 

 

The dragon crashed into her, breaking upon her like a wave upon a shore, spraying outwards into a thousand of those little butterflies that fell and dwindled like snow taking the scenery with it. Her heart was pounding in her chest, threatening to burst out and run away screaming. She fell to the ground, her legs finally giving up. 

 

A sad laugh that was filled with relief escaped her as she stared at the now empty garden before her, the cloud-choked sky still loomed overhead joining with the grey ocean at the horizon. “What on earth was that?” 

 

“Princess!” A voice half stuttered half shouted at her, from her left a woman ran towards her. She was not one of her maids or any of the other courtly guests that made it their business to know her business. No, this woman was far too tall to be any of those types, and none of them had hair like hers, it was purple, the kind that could only be seen on flowers. 

 

But it was the clothes that gave her away, a simple blue so dark that it might as well be black robe bound at the waist by a belt that gave the woman away. It was the wizard’s new apprentice. 

 

“Oh my goodness, I overdid it didn’t I? I’m sorry the children at the town loved that one.” She bowed deeply so that the loose ponytail that held her hair fell over her shoulder. The Apprentice looked up blinked and bowed once more, each word she spoke was either too fast or too slow and it looked like she was the one that had just been attacked by some dragon not her. “I should have asked, but I just saw you looking so sad and thought that maybe you could use something to cheer you up! Oh I should have used a different spell! I’m sorry!” 

 

There were three more quick bows woven into that frantically spoken sentence. 

 

“That was your doing?” She blinked, double checking to make sure no one else was in the garden. A smile was twisting onto her face

 

The woman nodded and then bowed once more. “Terribly sorry Princess!” 

 

“Aside from the dragon, it was quite lovely.” She extended her hand upwards to the woman, a gesture that she had seen her brothers use many times after sparing. With the woman’s help - her hand was rough - she pulled herself up to her feet, the purple-haired woman was taller than she thought easily as tall as her eldest brother, but with a fraction of the bulk. “You’re the Wizard’s new Apprentice, Merlin right?” 

 

“Oh! I umm, well,” She fidgeted, stepping back and sucking on her lip, her silver eyes darting to and away from her with every syllable, freehand twiddling with the tip of her hair while the other clutched an ornate book. “I, yes, that’s right Princess. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Well officially at any rate.” 

 

“Yes officially,” She found the smile Merlin had given her easy to wear, it was a lovely distraction from everything else. “Would you mind walking with me for a bit? It’s been a while since I had  company my age, wait you are my age right?”

Her father once said the wizard was old even when he was born. 

 

“Yes Princess, or at least I think so, I’m eighteen years old.” Merlin nodded, shoulders slouched like she was trying to look as small as possible. Her poor posture only made her lanky form stand out, her skin was pale and barren as though she hadn’t even heard of sun or make-up. Were it not for her purple hair and silver eyes the woman would completely unremarkable, resting somewhere between homely and natural beauty. 

 

She led the way through her mother’s garden, the numerous rose bushes and other flowers making for the worst hedge maze ever constructed, it was more a library of flowers where the late fees were bee stings - At least the gardener was far more pleasant than the old crone that oversaw the library - Merlin followed a polite step and a half behind her. 

 

“So,” She began slowly still feeling the smile on her lips, they paused before a large purple flower that was just a few shades lighter than Merlin’s hair. “How do you dye your hair that color? Magic?” 

 

“I don’t actually dye it,” Merlin mumbled, tucking a strand of her hair that had wormed its way to freedom behind her ear. She twisted her lips and shifted her feet while still looking at the flower. “But it is because of Magic, before I started practicing it I was a brunette.” 

 

“Magic changes your hair color on its own?” Shame, she was looking forward to seeing if there was some spell that could make her black hair something more exciting.

A short nod. “Yes Princess, it’s one of magic’s more...peculiar quirks.” 

 

Princess huh? She’d been called that more than her own name of late.

 

She hummed, bouncing the flower before moving onto the next vaguely interesting object in these gardens. Though she had to admit, the most interesting thing was walking beside her. “I’m afraid my knowledge of Magic is limited, I wasn’t even aware that women could be wizards.” 

 

Merlin nodded again, a faint blush blooming on her face as she continued to fidget and needlessly adjust her hair. “I’m still learning myself, but, most of my teachers have said that it’s because Magic likes tall or long things.” 

 

That drew her to a stop. That didn’t make any sense whatsoever! Sure her knowledge of magic was less than her knowledge of fishing or ore refinery but despite what her mother claimed she had common sense. “What do you mean magic likes tall things? Is that why you can do Magic because you’re tall?” 

 

“Or I’m tall because I can do magic.” Merlin took a half step back, holding the book tight to her chest almost like she was trying to hide behind it. She pointed a single finger to the side, drawing her attention to the Wizard’s tower, the tallest part of their home that looked too thin to even stand up on its own let alone be useful. “But yes, it’s why we have wizard towers, there’s also the theory of longness, which Master Spellbinder Galbreintariousnoxianze subscribes to.” 

 

That was the first time she heard anybody refer to the wizard by his full name and pointless title. Most just called him Wizard or Galben. “Theory of longness? What on earth is that?” 

 

The book lowered just the smallest amount when they began walking again. “It's the idea that if you take something tall and put it on its side you get something long, apparently a group of magi to the south built a long hall to prove the fact in the desert, though I’m not so sure. But to apply the theory Master lengthened his name, and why he has such a long beard.”

The book fell to her side now, her eyes held firmly in front of her while she continued to ramble. “He claims its why he’s lived such a long life despite being shorter than the average wizard. But I think that’s just because he’s weird and magic likes weird things. Or maybe because magic makes things weird.” She took a breath, shifting again, her lips twisting into something close to a smile. “Like for example while female wizards are uncommon, one of the books I’m studying was written by a set of quintuplets that think that magic doesn’t actually like tall things just weird things, otherwise trees would be magic favorite things or maybe even mountains, but if you go up on a mountain there’s-”

Merlin stopped, her mouth snapping shut, eyes widening, and her face growing redder than the nearby roses. The book was back, blocking over half her face as she tried to hide completely behind it. “I’m sorry Princess! I was rambling! It’s a terrible habit of mine I’m so sorry.” 

 

She couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t the polite courtly laugh that had been groomed into her, rather it was half mad cackle that had her clutching her stomach. “Don’t worry, so much Merlin, I found it rather charming.” 

 

“You did?” She lowered the book just enough so a single silver eye could peer over the top. 

 

“Certainly, the way you talk about magic actually makes it interesting,” admitably, this was the first time someone had ambushed her, though Old Galben hadn’t done much in the ways of making magic seem interesting. And nobody in her family could use magic, at least not that she knew of. 

 

Merlin’s face beamed, her top lip over her bottom lip as she tried to hold back what might have been a smile for the ages. She squirmed in place the book now being pressed against her waist desperately trying to rein in her composure. A cough into a bow so small it might as well be a nod and the smile was contained, though her face was still horrendously flushed.

 

“If, you, uh, that is,” She paused, failing to maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds. Her hand moved to push back a strand of her purple hair before balling up her sleeve and covering her mouth. “If you have any other questions about magic please feel free to ask me Princess. Though, I might not know everything. But I can probably find out. I’m still learning after all.” 

 

“I’ll be certain to keep that in mind. But, Merlin, I must ask that you call me by name; Oriana.” She placed a hand over her heart, feeling the ease of the smile that graced her lips. It had been far too long since she had worn any smile that wasn’t trained or groomed into her. Longer sense she had anybody interesting to talk to at the castle. 

 

Merlin gasped, arms straight at her side and she deepened her bow. Perhaps with time her new friend would outgrow her nervousness. “As you wish! Pri, Princess Oriana!” 

 

“Just Oriana is fine, Merlin.” 

 

“Okay, Oriana.” Merlin nodded like she was trying to shake the words from her head, still bent at the waist so she was staring at the ground. “But, do you think you could do the same for me?” 

 

“The same? What do you mean?” She took a step forward, placing a hand on Merlin’s shoulders. Wait, the same? No, it couldn’t be, she wasn’t that bad was she? “Merlin is your name isn’t it?” 

 

Her purple hair swung low as she shook her head no. Apparently she was that bad. “My name’s Ange, Prin- Oriana.” 

 

“Ange?” But then why did everybody call her Merlin? Merlin was a name right? It was right out of the history books. Sure it was a little odd, but it was still a name. “Is Merlin your last name then?” 

 

Ange, stood, shoulders still slouched so that she looked like a tree pushed back by the Ocean winds. “Master believes that by giving his apprentices a rank that’s the name of a famous wizard it will help them learn. I was hoping that it wouldn’t spread.” 

 

It probably didn’t help that Old Galben had a habit of calling her like a puppy the moment she had arrived. 

 

“I must apologize for being so rude to you then Ange,” despite the warmth in her cheeks she kept her eyes focused on the woman, paying attention to every twitch of her rather expressive face. With that oh so persistent smile on her face she stretched her hand out to Ange. “It’s nice to meet you Ange, I hope we can spend plenty of time together.” 

 

Ange stared at her hand with wide silver eyes and sucking on her lip. After what felt like an hour her hand slowly snaked towards her own. Her grip was strong, and her hands were rough - not  unlike the hands of her brothers, father, or any of the knights that trained with swords daily - while still being quite soft and dexterous. 

 

“I hope so too, Oriana.” Though Ange’s smile lasted but a heartbeat it was like that of a shooting star, rare, easy to miss, and brilliant.