I led the way, Starlight Grace in hand as I ascended a spiralling stairwell.

Ordinarily, climbing a spiralling stairwell was cause for joy. There was only one in my life, and it led to my bedroom. Appropriately located on the third tallest tower behind my two sisters, it was my refuge from the queues of admirers who wished to solicit a moment of my attention.

Granted, the queues of admirers were somewhat smaller than those for my siblings … but even that was a masterful effort on my part! 

Ohohoho … by making myself unavailable throughout every hour of every day, I had created a system which was the epitome of a healthy work-life balance! 

Naturally, the actual percentages didn’t matter. Nor was this to suggest I did no work whatsoever. 

On the contrary, the popularity of my mandatory tea parties spoke for themselves. They were a veritable gala of sweat–as my servants ran ceaselessly to the clicking of my fingers. And when I wasn’t kidnapped to forcibly spend time with the daughters of countryside nobility?

Why, I was inundated with my daily tasks.

What my daily tasks were didn’t matter, of course. Only that it was a workload few could manage. But as a princess, mine was ever a life of duty to match any oathbound knight.

The only saving grace was that many of my most crucial tasks not to take place while rolling about in my orchard’s grass could be completed in the warmth of my personal abode instead.

Sadly, this wasn’t my tower. And these certainly weren’t my cracks on the wall. 

As I ascended a flight of steps decorated with disrepair and darkness, it was all I could do to keep my dismay in check as I bemoaned the falling standards of those who sought my boot of authority.

I thought that a decayed chapel would be the worst I’d see. At this rate, my next destination would be the rodent filled kitchens of some dockside bar. Or worse, a baron’s estate.

I shuddered.

No … there was no need to think about that!

Indeed! As highly unfitting as it was to stomp so much as a flea amidst such a shambolic backdrop, I could look to the future with a smile! A smile having soaked within a bath steeped with oasis water imported from the Kingdom of Dunes using all the extra funds I’d secured!

Ohohoho! I was almost done! The litany of calamities solved through careful negotiation and studious patience … and towards a foreign monarch who sought to delay my homecoming, what could I do but offer the highest courtesies?

Yes.

This newly crowned Elven King will certainly enjoy a state welcome worthy of his title.

As the representative princess of my kingdom, I would make sure of that.

“... Ohhohohohohohohoho!!”

Behind me, my loyal handmaiden was in bright spirits as she skipped up the flight of stairs two steps at a time.

Diligently making no comment about my gloating laughter, she gave a whistling tune despite being faced with the same cracks on the wall as I was. An envious talent. To be able to ward away the sight of disappointment with a simple melody was no small feat. 

“You know, I’m surprised you’re not struggling more,” she said.

“Struggling? Regarding what?”

“This. You don’t like walking. But you’re climbing a bazillion steps just fine.”

I offered a proud smile at the stretch of illumination before me.

“Of course. I live in a tower. To me, this amount is perfectly humdrum.”

“Well, I figured with how often you ask me to carry you like a mule, I would’ve had to cross my arms, shake my head and nope at least twice by now.”

“Please, Coppelia. I ask you to carry me only because of the alarming frequency to which scenarios warrant it. I’ve little wish to overuse it. Were you truly my mule, the sight of me being carried away amidst the chasing of certain doom would lose all gravitas.”

“You’re right. That’d be awful.”

“Quite so. And in any event, I’ve little wish to set a dangerous precedent. The moment I allow myself to be carried without reason, all the maids in the Royal Villa will follow suit. I fear that would take them away from Clarise.”

Coppelia clicked her fingers.

“Oooh~ hang on, I know that one! It’s the …”

“The 2nd Princess.”

“That’s the one! … Have we met?”

“The one you met was Florella, the 1st Princess. Clarise rarely leaves her observatory. Her constitution is fragile, and thus she occasionally requires assistance.”

“Oh, is she ill?”

“No. She’s just busy with work and regularly forgets to eat.”

Coppelia’s footsteps stopped. I turned to look at her once more.

“That sounds terrible,” she said, both hands to her mouth in shock. “I hope she recovers soon.”

I raised a brow, then continued climbing.

“Clarise deals with matters which take her away from such common issues as basic sustenance. She is a prodigal genius, much like I am … except she’s also a genius amongst geniuses. Why, her observatory is likely filled with baubles, trinkets and wonders to rival any of those found in the workshops of Ouzelia.”

“Oooh~ that’s a pretty big claim.”

“One I’ll stand by. Clarise’s ingenuity is in a class of her own.”

“On a scale of wheeze-to-explosion, how dangerous is the stuff she makes?”

I pursed my lips momentarily.

“There have been incidents.”

“Incidents. I love that word. It sounds so much more nuanced than, ‘Everything exploded.’”

“Nothing exploded.” I paused, then glanced up in thought. “Not everything exploded. It’s simply that, very occasionally, her inventions end up outside the strict confines of her observatory. The last invention consumed several acres of crops and desecrated a number of barns before it was submerged into a river by a mob of farmers.”

“Was it a mechanical caterpillar?”

“Nothing so horrific. It was a teapot.”

“That’s a really hungry teapot.”

“And also effective. I believe it was designed to defend against thieves breaking into the Royal Villa’s dining room. When grasped upon the handle, acid flames sprout from the tip.”

“Hmmmm … but if they're holding the handle, won’t the tip be pointing away from them?”

“Not at all. To break into the Royal Villa would be an unthinkable feat, as daring as it is foolish. Were it to be attempted, it’d need to require either a peasant mob or every misbegotten burglar in the realm acting in concert. The acid flames would pour over any nearby accomplices. Then, upon dropping the teapot, it violently explodes.”

“Wow, that sounds really fun … and dangerous! How did something like that end up outside?”

“Clarise forgets her supper, but not her duty of care. She vigorously field tests all her experiments to ensure their safe usage.”

I paused.

“The field test was a splendid success.”

Coppelia nodded with professional admiration. As she should. Clarise was nothing if not insistent on the Royal Villa’s defences.

Of course, I was delighted in each and every acid spewing creation, but I personally didn’t feel they were all strictly necessary. Besides our border garrisons and Reitzlake Castle, the Royal Villa was the most secure location in all the kingdom.

A permanent garrison of soldiers complemented by a rotation of knights formally training and informally being reminded of their vows. It would be an act of unbelievable stupidity to attempt access to a single spoon, much less the vault. 

One which I’d personally hired a troll to defend.

Surely, none would dare attempt to rob the Royal Villa anytime soon?

“You shall have the opportunity to meet Clarise yourself in short order. I believe she’d be very interested in speaking with you.” 

“Ehhhh … I don’t really want to be poked. I’m sensitive and fragile.”

“There’s little to fear. Her teapots may spew acid flames, but she doesn’t.”

“That’s not something to fear. That’s something to be jealous of. Think of all the happy ways you could help the world by spewing acid flames.”

“Such as melting down a gate of rotting elderwood?”

“Mmh~ just like that!”  

As Coppelia and I climbed the last steps of the spiralling staircase, we bore witness to a small landing decorated by a pair of rusting candle sconces mounted into the wall.

And between them, where an entrance should be, was instead a barrier of elderwood roots. 

Its distinctive, coiling pattern was known to all who had a passing interest in gardening. Each individual fibre bore a shape akin to a musical note. Said to spawn from a single tree hidden in an unknown corner of the world, here was amongst the rarest, hardiest and most beautiful of things nature could offer.

And it had turned into something wholly malicious.

A coat of thorns, wilted leaves and drooping gardenias devoid of colour adorned it like a lifeless wreath. It boasted crinkled bark as black as the deepest soil, its fibres no longer elegant and singing, but mangled and twisted, curled around one another as though to strangle itself.

I wrinkled my nose as I studied the mangled mess of wilted flora.

A druid’s mockery. 

Even so, elderwood roots were present only where magic inhibited the soil. And no matter the passing of time or the corruption of its form, they were doubtless as resilient as any steel.

And this meant–

“[Coppelia Kick]!”

Thwunk.

I reacted with horror.

Not because Coppelia hadn’t knocked. This thing didn’t have a handle, and therefore didn’t add to our alarming tally of broken doors and forgotten etiquette.

But rather–

“Ooh … this is new.”

I was moderately concerned with the way a maze of twisting roots now swallowed her ankle like a den of writhing snakes.

“Coppelia! Is your shoe unharmed?!”

“Hey! I’m more important than my shoe! Also, this definitely feels as gross as it looks.”

I watched the tortuous movements as the last of Coppelia’s lovely pink shoe was lost.

“Do you … Do you require help?”

Coppelia tugged at her leg. It didn’t budge.

“No,” she said, as she looked at me for help.

I rolled my eyes, then duly raised my gardening tool.

“Very well. Stay still. I’ll release you.”

“Ahahaha~ oops, sorry, that wasn’t to you. My foot’s ticklish. Hey, make sure that doesn’t scratch me, okay? I’m happy the way I am.”

“Fear not. These aren’t the first roots I’ve needed to do away with.”

Indeed, as I lifted Starlight Grace, a hissing groan like my mother’s snoring sounded in response.

What came next was a dozen spindly roots sprouting from between the tiles.

Misshapen caricatures born from a garden of nightmares, they were more akin to spiked mauls than any living thing. Bloodied thorns covered their surfaces like rows of teeth on a lake lurker.

Seeing them, I could only recoil as they sprung towards my own legs.

They were so … ugly!

Snip.

My gardener’s instinct left no room for second thoughts. 

More than punting fruit slimes or blowing away caterpillars, Starlight Grace was first and foremost designed for returning flora to a disciplined state. 

Or if that was not possible, to prune them altogether.

I pirouetted on the spot, shearing the roots in a wide circle as easily as I trimmed the grass. Had such misgrown monstrosities been discovered in my orchard, I would have immediately followed up by fainting beautifully on the spot.

“Oooooooh~”

Coppelia hopped back as I snipped through the centre of the blackened roots. 

Curiously, it didn’t collapse. 

It withered even further instead, all its thorns and wilted flowers crumbling as though whatever magic held it together was shattered by the gash made by my trusty gardening instrument. All which remained was a husk. 

And somewhere behind it–the source of its rot.

I readied Starlight Grace to do away with its skeleton, only stopping when I saw Coppelia stretching her legs.

She smiled brightly.

“That was just a practice run.”

I rolled my eyes.

And then–I glanced away.

“[Coppelia Kick]!”

Pwoomph!

An explosion of earthen debris was sent inwards.

Boasting splinters and fragments to match any respectable door, the husk of a druid’s malignant magic sought its revenge by hurtling magnificently into a revealed chamber.

I flicked my sword at the ensuing cloud of dust before stepping inside.

Then, as the foremost expert of royal tower chambers in my kingdom, I sent a single, sweeping glance to view everything in order of importance.

Porcelain vases clearly requisitioned from some apprentice’s failed experiments. Landscape paintings lacking both signatures and any sense of perspective training. Furniture freshly hauled through a farmer’s market, the fabric damp with the soil of those who sat upon them. And chandeliers so wonky that the teeth of common hoodlums found brawling in bars were neater.

I almost considered putting the broken roots back together.

It was all so … tacky! 

Misaligned, misshapen and misplaced! 

A tower chamber not even fit for the lowest rungs of aristocracy, much less royalty. But as I studied the disrepair barely hidden beneath ill-fitting banners, it was nothing compared to the greatest blemish present.

Thus, I turned to the elven man sat behind a table.

A napkin was tucked upon the collar of his robes, while a fork poking the world’s saddest quenelle remained suspended before his open mouth as he looked appallingly at the mess around him.

I hardly saw why.

That was his responsibility. The bits of broken wood? They were an improvement. Especially where they garnished the food on offer.

I strode over, morbid curiosity and just a hint of familiarity drawing me towards the table. I leaned down and studied the discoloured fare.

Hmm. Curious.

Now I knew where all the failed entrées I’d tossed through the window went.

“A delectable choice of rotting cuisine,” I declared, offering a nod towards the man sitting with his expression locked in stunned ire. “A showcase of spoiled salads, freshly bruised grapes and discoloured lobster bisques. A table fitting for the prisoners of Soap Island. I sincerely hope you’ll leave some for your peers.”

At last, the robed elf closed his parted mouth. The fork came down later.

He gazed around at his newly garnished dinner, then sent a look at me not unlike how I viewed the new hires when they spilled chamomile tea over my lap.

I thought this to be quite unfair.

When my servants made a mess, it was a travesty. When I did, it was modern design.

“I was having dinner,” he said simply.

“Is that so? My, I had no idea. You appear to be missing a few guests. There are vultures outside and rodents scuttling within these walls. Should they not be joining you for this family meal?”

He raised a brow.

“Do you know who I am?”

“I dare not hazard a guess. As singularly capable as I am, I cannot know the names of every parasite. By all means, expand my knowledge. My tutors would be delighted.”

“I am Eucian of the Stars.”

“Excellent. A new subspecies. Am I to understand from that crown of twigs hanging past your brow that you are the vagrant known locally as the Elven King?”

He narrowed his eyes at me … and also Coppelia as she joined to examine the food. Her hand reached out for a charcuterie platter missing at least 27 shades of colour. I batted it away.

“You understand correctly. And you, humans, should not be here.”

“Hey!” Coppelia pointed in indignation. “How dare you call me sad, blubbery and gross! Nobody deserves to be called human! Not even humans!”

The elven man blinked at Coppelia.

A long pause later, he returned his attention to me. 

“... And so I see the inevitable interlopers have arrived,” he said, straightening his posture in a vain attempt to seem regal. A look spoiled by a napkin beneath his chin, long shorn of whiteness. “How poor. You’re later than expected. I’m surprised it’s taken this long to–”

“Stop.” 

I held up my hand.

Ignoring the mild look of indignation he wore, I stared at the fork he’d put down.

Brass.

Not a whiff of shine. Even were I wincing from the horizon, I could see it was as brass as the plaque adorning every middling riddle door to be found.

All of a sudden–I was struck with a deep sense of foreboding as all the hints came together.

“... The fork you were using. What material is it?”

The vagrant raised a brow, a note of confusion betraying his deliberately straight posture.

He glanced down at the item in question.

“Gold,” he replied simply.

My hand covered my mouth as it widened in horror.

Then, I noticed the fabric of the tablecloth. 

What I saw almost made me collapse on the spot. 

Why, it was … 100% linen.

Not a hint of brocade. Not even silk. Here was upholstery borrowed from a fishmonger’s apron.

I took a step back, horrified beyond measure.

No class. No money. No standards.

There was not a single doubt in my mind.

I had come all the way to the edge of my kingdom … because of a peasant.