Chapter One

BEFORE SHE WAS CURSED, Princess Islyne never imagined following a strange cat through a magic forest of thorns would become a normal part of her day.

But then again, there were quite a few things she would never have considered doing before the curse. Sometimes, it felt like the life she’d lived before belonged to someone else.

With a huff of impatience, Cat turned to stare at Islyne with her startlingly violet eyes. The black and white feline paused on the trail with an air of exasperation at how far she’d fallen back while contemplating.

“I’m coming,” Islyne assured her and picked up the pace in response to Cat’s frustrated whisker twitch.

With a flick of her tail, Cat stalked ahead, making it clear that she expected Islyne to keep up. Somehow, the inability to speak was not an obstacle when Cat wanted to get her point across.

That skill, combined with the unusual eye color, often made Islyne wonder if Cat was someone’s familiar.

It was said that the most powerful witches in history had violet eyes.

Maybe the trait also appeared in the animals who helped them in their magic.

Considering how Cat came and went, sometimes even appearing when Islyne called for her, the involvement of someone, or something, magical wasn’t so far-fetched.

Islyne was never quite sure how she felt about the possibility that some unknown witch was responsible for the way Cat wandered in and out of her life.

On the one hand, it was almost certainly a witch who’d cast the curse at the moment Islyne’s father was assassinated by an enemy soldier. A curse that afflicted every one of King Aegron’s children in different ways, and left the kingdom of Darkhar in a state of chaos.

On the other hand, the curse offered Islyne the first taste of freedom she’d ever experienced.

Five years ago, Islyne would have been too timid and afraid to risk the thorns, darkness, and magic dangers lurking along the forest’s shadowed paths.

But five years ago her body had been Trapped in cursed sleep while her spirit traversed the treacherous trails through the maze of thorns.

For three generations, the Winter Palace had been all but forgotten by Islyne’s family. Rarely used, only a handful of staff remained to maintain the royal retreat that once hosted lavish seasonal celebrations.

And so, a sparse forest had grown up around the once manicured grounds.

Even after Aegron the Cruel sent his only daughter to reside there with nothing more than a nanny and handful of extra staff, no one had bothered to do much about the overgrowth.

But the dark, ominous forest Islyne passed through now was nothing like the rambling groves she’d been able to see from her bedroom window.

In the hours after Islyne fell to the powerful curse, the gentle woodland changed drastically.

When she’d collapsed in the Grand Foyer the trees had just begun to grow unnaturally. They hadn’t yet cast long shadows over the palace, twisting into dark, threatening silhouettes.

Nor had the delicate vines that once clung to the palace walls thickened and slithered out to meet the growing chaos. Climbing over and through the menacing trees to become netted structures that gave the thick bramble bushes something to climb as they sprang up between the looming trunks.

She hadn’t seen the handful of retainers who served the Winter Palace flee the castle as it became clear the forest was going to continue to spread.

Leaving their afflicted princess to slumber, alone and abandoned, in her tower bedroom.

Hadn’t watched dawn break the over the cursed, impenetrable forest of thorns that had grown high enough to eclipse the Winter Palace and wide enough to stretch for miles in all directions.

But that was the world Islyne had woken to.

Well.

Perhaps woke wasn’t precisely the word.

When she opened her eyes, Islyne stood in the luxurious and lonely bedroom where she’d slept nearly every night from the time she was five.

And where she still slept.

Because, while Islyne was awake and standing, her body was stretched out on the bed where the servants had left her before they’d run away.

Her long golden braid lay over her shoulder and her eyes were closed. Her face was pale and expressionless, and someone had neatly folded her hands over her stomach.

For a long, terrifying moment, Islyne had believed she’d died. That she was a specter hovering over the corporeal body she’d departed. Doomed to haunt the empty palace for eternity.

But the faintest rise and fall of her chest showed Islyne her body still breathed. Whatever she’d become, she wasn’t a ghost.

Still, it was unnerving to find her ethereal body wore the same lavender day dress and matching slippers that adorned the motionless version of herself stretched out on the bed.

When curiosity eventually overcame the paralyzing fear, Islyne dared to tentatively touch the sleeping princess. Her outstretched finger passed right through, leaving nothing but a cold, uncomfortable sting in its wake.

Islyne flexed her fingers and lifted her hand. It still looked solid and substantial to her eyes. But when she reached out to press against the nearest twisted bramble of spikes, thorns slid through her, leaving only the icy prickle.

She’d gotten used to the strange sensation that had replaced touch, but Islyne would never get past the reminder that she wasn’t real. That she was little more than a ghost Trapped in the unnatural forest with nothing to do but haunt its trails.

And yet, Islyne couldn’t truly regret it, either.

Five years ago, she would not have been allowed to venture beyond the walls of the Winter Palace.

She’d felt like a prisoner. But that was giving herself too much importance in her father’s estimation. She was a pawn. An object of some indeterminate value that might one day be traded for something more advantageous.

Aegron the Cruel had valued sons. Strong, loyal warriors who followed orders.

Islyne, his youngest child and only daughter, was simply another commodity to Aegron. Useful only as bait for some arranged marriage to further an alliance or political agenda.

Islyne had still been a few months shy of marriageable age when her father finally found a use for her and negotiated a betrothal that enriched his current ambition.

She’d spoken to her betrothed exactly once. Then she’d been returned to the isolation of the Winter Palace. Where she’d quietly dreaded the moment she came of age in order to begin her life sentence.

The curse that swept through the royal family only a few weeks shy of her birthday had, ironically, been Islyne’s salvation.

One that changed them and confined them within arbitrary boundaries surrounding the strongholds they’d inhabited at the time of the curse.

For Islyne, that meant remaining Trapped within the perimeter of the thorn forest.

Mostly.

Neither her spirit nor her body could exit the wall of thorns that hemmed her in. But her insubstantial self could be transported by magic to random corners of the kingdom through mysterious fairy circles hidden within the thorn forest’s twisting paths.

Since discovering the possibility, Islyne had traversed more of the world than she’d ever been allowed to visit when her body was awake and her father controlled her every breath.

It was exciting and terrifying. Islyne found herself uplifted by some of the things she’d seen. Others brought her to tears.

She’d had an unprecedented chance to watch the brothers she’d barely known. To see them without the cold, cruel, arrogant façades they’d been compelled to wear in their father’s presence.

And had ached that they could not know her in return.

When she traveled through the circles, Islyne was a silent witness only. No one knew she was there. No one saw her. Or spoke to her. Or touched her.

Not that physical contact was even possible. The fickle magic of the curse made it impossible for Islyne to interact with anyone or anything.

Except for chairs.

For some reason, she was able to sit without sinking through things.

It felt like some kind of cruel cosmic joke.

No matter how many people she saw and heard, she remained alone and lonely. But she could have a seat whenever she wanted to. Even though her strange spirit form never seemed the slightest bit tired.

Islyne stumbled over Cat, who’d stopped abruptly in her path. A flick of the black tail and a disgruntled yowl made her displeasure known.

“Sorry,” Islyne offered with a wince of guilt. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

A huff of breath was clearly an agreement and a rebuke as Cat pointedly looked to the small, clear space among the thorns beside her.

A perfectly symmetrical ring of colorful mushrooms four feet across glowed merrily in stark contrast to the ominous gloom that permeated the rest of the forest.

“Where are we?” Islyne frowned, taking in their surroundings. Usually, they stuck to the circles closer to the palace. This one, however, lay almost at the edge of the forest.

Cat meowed and her thin shoulders lifted in what could be a sigh of exasperation or a shrug of dismissal.

Dozens of the strange circles were scattered throughout the forest, and every time Islyne stepped inside one, her spirit was swept away to some other location. Someplace where she could listen and watch and try to piece together what was going on. With the curse. With her brothers. With the kingdom.

As much as Islyne wanted to spend all her time watching her family, the magic circles seemed to have a plan of their own.

Each event and conversation and moment she’d been privy to, no matter how seemingly random or mundane, was the piece of a larger puzzle.

She knew there was growing unrest among the populace of Darkhar. That more and more disasters, both big and small, were befalling the kingdom. And that the blame was being laid at the feet of her brothers.

Specifically, Kyllean. The eldest, he’d become de facto king when Aegron fell.

Islyne watched helplessly as his increasing desperation led to more erratic orders and proclamations in response to the rising problems. It was clear to her that Kyllean’s futile attempts to maintain control while Trapped in the icy north only exacerbated the difficulties and unrest. And there was nothing she could do about it.

But her broad view also made it obvious that the capricious decisions her brothers made were reactions to the issues constantly plaguing their territories. They were not the cause of the problems assailing Darkhar.

They were a symptom.

Something bigger and more sinister was at play behind the scenes.

Unfortunately, Islyne had not been able to piece together what, or who, was truly responsible.

Cat mewled again, staring pointedly at Islyne before transferring the glare to the circle with deliberate intent.

“What’s the hurry?” Islyne asked, letting a bittersweet chuckle escape her lips. “The circles aren’t going anywhere. And neither am I.”

Rolling her vivid violet eyes, Cat settled onto her haunches and began cleaning one paw as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

If there was one thing Islyne had learned, however, it was that when Cat appeared and herded her toward a circle, it was with a purpose. There was something important she needed to see or hear.

In the first year of her cursed existence, Islyne explored every inch of the empty castle. It surprised her at first to find the hearths and candles eternally lit. But as days passed into weeks that stretched into months, there was no dust, no decay, no change in the palace at all. It was as if time and the normal order of things ceased to have meaning within the castle walls.

She’d ventured outside once or twice, but the darkness and the ominous threat of the thorns had deterred her.

Fear had overruled her natural curiosity and boredom.

Until Cat appeared one day.

As Islyne had contemplated the forest from the safety of her bedroom window one morning, she’d spotted the black and white cat. It had been caught in a tight place between a thick vine and a grasping thorn bush and was struggling to get out. Compassion and concern had shoved aside her ever-present fear, and she’d rushed out of the palace.

Only to remember that she could do nothing to help free the tiny ball of fur from its predicament.

But, as soon as Cat spotted Islyne, she’d wriggled herself clear of the thorns.

Then proceeded to haughtily badger Islyne into exploring the surrounding forest. Every few days, she’d appear somewhere in or near the palace and lead the way down a new trail to a new adventure.

Eventually, Cat led her to the fairy ring nearest the castle and bullied her into stepping inside the glowing circle.

A disorienting, dizzying moment later, Islyne found herself face to face with Kyllean, who was shouting impatient orders at someone just beyond her ability to see. She’d been momentarily disheartened to realize her brother could not see or hear her.

Until she realized Kyllean was demanding the unseen man find some way to discover what happened to Islyne. The fear and raw concern that underlay his usual autocratic disposition was the first hint she’d ever had that anyone in her family might care about her welfare.

Might consider her more than just a means to an end. Or an obligation to be remembered from time to time.

All too soon, however, the world had spun around Islyne again, and she’d found herself dumped back into the circle.

And that established the pattern of their unconventional friendship.

Most days, Cat was content to let her explore on her own. Sometimes accompanying her. Sometimes not appearing for weeks at a time.

And, occasionally, appearing unexpectedly, to nudge her insistently toward a particular circle.

Like today.

Despite the nonchalant way Cat licked at her paws, an air of impatience simmered through the whole forest.

As if the world held its breath, waiting for Islyne to enter the circle.

Islyne could be contrary and linger on the edge, but that wasn’t really her nature.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped into the center of the ring and braced herself for the swirling sensation she never quite got used to.

Darkness swept her up in the unsettling twirl of nothingness as she Blinked between the cursed forest and her unknown destination.

***

The forest of thorns was a towering, unrelieved wall of tightly woven brambles, vines, and unnaturally gnarled trees.

Conall, Duke of Lakentre, squinted and twisted his head one way then another, trying to get a better look at the minuscule break in the foliage.

“Are you sure this is a way in, Unwir?”

There was no time for any more false leads and Conall made no effort to hide the skepticism he felt.

He wanted to believe. Finding a way to pierce the barrier of thorns was necessary to his plan.

But Conall was not convinced the faint break in the tight weave of brambles could stretch enough to allow a toddler to pass through, let alone a full-grown man.

“I’m sure, Your Grace,” the informant assured him with a vigorous nod. “My cousin slipped in on a dare. I watched him go in myself. I was certain I’d never see him again when the vines swallowed him up…”

 Unwir let his words drop into an exaggerated whisper, playing out the drama for all it was worth as he drew his dark green cloak more tightly around him.

At the same time, Conall recognized real fear cloaked beneath the more obvious greed.

“But then, there he was, singed and rambling. Looking as if he climbed the gates of hell to drag himself back to my aunt’s house a full two weeks after he disappeared into the thorns.”

“Did he find the Winter Palace?”

Unwir shook his head, looking forlorn. Though whether it was for his cousin’s misadventure or the lack of treasure, Conall could not be sure.

“He swears the forest is alive and moves at a whim. He spent days wandering aimlessly through a maze of trees. The only thing he encountered were the cursed traps hidden among the thorns.”

“What kind of traps?”

Unwir shuddered, and this time Conall was certain the reaction was real.

“There were stretches of trails where geysers of fire erupted wherever he stepped. There was a pit of darkness he was inches from stumbling into. There were places where the voices of the dead roared their anger in his head. He even swore he saw the ghost of a woman who disappeared when he called out.”

The moment of honest disquiet slipped from Unwir, however. Then sly, greedy curiosity took over, though he quickly hid it behind a mask of faux concern. “Someone’d have to be reckless, like my cousin, or desperate to find something significant to risk going into that cursed place. Whatever’s in there must be of great importance to you?”

For a second, the question hung in the air. As much as Conall wanted to ignore it, he knew he couldn’t.

“My betrothed.” Conall ground out the short, succinct answer through clenched teeth, determined to head off any new rumors of treasure. The last thing the kingdom of Darkhar needed was treasure hunters swarming the cursed forest.

“Ah.” Unwir nodded in understanding, though his disappointment was poorly hidden. “True love, is it?”

Conall pinched his lip and kept his gaze steady, answering quietly, “Something like that.”