When I was a child,

  when I was little,

  a cupcake dress with short legs,

  with a will of its own two feet,

  I was a child, I was myself, aimless,

  before I understood I was the careless…

  The Wingless Princess.

  —Berdorf, E. Poems of a Wingless Princess. Unpublished manuscript, Summer. [Editorial Note (Redacted): Manuscript End]

  “I am not late.”

  Dorielle pushed the cart into the cell, its wheels rattling over stone. A porcelain mug chimed against the kettle as she stopped. Steam curled upward, carrying the clean bite of fresh herbs. For a moment, it cut through the musk of blood and damp stone.

  Eura swung her legs off the bed and stepped closer. “Did you bring my things?” she asked.

  The scent drew her in despite herself. She poured without asking and raised the mug. It hovered a breath away from her lips.

  Dorielle’s hand struck hard.

  Porcelain shattered against the floor, tea splashing dark across the stone. The mug spun once, then lay still.

  “Stop!”

  “What is wrong with you?” Eura’s voice rose before she could stop it.

  Dorielle didn’t flinch. She nudged the shattered porcelain aside with her shoe. Tea bled into the cracks between the stones.

  “It’s poisoned.”

  Eura stared at her. “Why would you bring me poisoned tea?”

  Dorielle leaned in just enough for her voice to drop. “Because that’s what I’m meant to do.” She glanced once at the door. “I’m supposed to kill you. That’s why she lets me in here. That’s why I’m trusted. Do you understand now?”

  Eura dragged a hand through her hair and turned away, pacing the length of the cell. Three steps. Turn. Two back.

  “I don’t know if this is madness,” she muttered, “or if I’ve finally lost what was left of my mind.”

  Dorielle didn’t answer. Instead, she reached for the cloth draped over the cart and lifted it. Beneath it lay a small bag and a bamboo stick.

  Eura stopped moving.

  Dorielle said nothing.

  Eura crossed the space in two strides and seized the bamboo stick, fingers tightening as if it might vanish. “You found it?”

  “Jaer had it,” Dorielle said. “He kept it hidden. He said you loved that stick. Bites me why?”

  She reached for the fastening at her collar and pulled, the fabric loosening as she shrugged out of her uniform. It slid to the floor in a pale heap.

  Eura was already undoing the ties at her own shoulders.

  “Where is he?” she asked.

  “At the camp.” Dorielle folded the discarded garment. “He left weeks ago.”

  Eura paused only long enough for the words to register. “He didn’t wait for me?”

  Dorielle handed her the dress. “That would have been noticed.”

  Eura nodded once. “I see.”

  She stepped into the fabric, drawing it up carefully, inch by inch. The material brushed her back, and she inhaled the sting, teeth catching her lower lip as she worked it over her shoulders.

  Behind her, Dorielle went still.

  “Eura,” she said. “Your back…”

  Eura finished tying the last button before answering. “It’s fine.” She reached back, fingers grazing stiff thread and tender skin. “I closed the worst of it. It will hold.”

  Dorielle could only stare with a knot in her stomach. The stitched flesh was uneven, raw in places, darkened where blood had soaked and dried again. Too much damage. Too many lines.

  “It looks like carnage,” she said, finally.

  Eura adjusted the collar until it hid as much as it could. “Then don’t look. At the camp, there will be a healer for sure,” Eura said, fingers working at the corset ties. “This isn’t what matters now. I need to focus.”

  Dorielle stepped in without asking and grabbed the fabric of the uniform. She tightened where she could, but it didn’t help. The uniform still hung loose, too much cloth at the waist, too much at the shoulders. The fit was wrong in quite obvious ways. Dorielle stilled, fingers still gripping the ties. It was supposed to fit Eura like a glove; they were the same height and had the same body type. But still looked bad.

  Eura had become skin and bones, too easy to count.

  “Will you be able—” Dorielle started.

  Eura tightened the last fastening herself and eased out of her reach. “I’ve endured worse. A walk to the Yellow District won’t stop me. Not now.”

  She crouched and reached beneath the cart. Her fingers closed around something small and familiar. When she straightened, a pendant swung free from her hand. Sun and moon, dulled by time and still intact. She fastened the necklace around her neck and turned the small gear until the sun and the moon aligned, their edges locking into place.

  As Eura’s features shifted, Dorielle went still.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Short red hair. Freckles scattered across pale skin. The change was clean, almost ordinary, and it pulled something loose in her chest before she could stop it. For a heartbeat, she saw grass instead of stone. Sunlight instead of torchlight. A boy laughing as he ran barefoot through Faewood, a faerie darting just ahead of him, daring him to keep up, laughing.

  The image vanished as quickly as it came. Dorielle’s breath caught. “Oh.”

  Eura glanced up. “Oh?”

  Dorielle looked away too quickly. “You just… remind me of someone. That’s all.”

  She didn’t say anything more. Her gaze lingered a fraction longer than it should have. “What are you doing about your eyes?” Dorielle asked, suddenly changing the conversation.

  “I think I have something.” Eura dropped to her knees and dug through her bag. At last, her fingers closed around a small box. She opened it. Inside, two thin lenses caught what little light there was. “My sixteenth birthday gift,” she said. She lifted one carefully, steadying her hand before bringing it closer.

  Dorielle turned away.

  She picked up Eura’s discarded rags instead, holding them at arm’s length. The smell hit her immediately. Blood, iron, damp stone. Blue stains soaked through the fabric, uneven and dark. She swallowed hard and set them down again.

  “How do I look?” Eura asked.

  Dorielle studied her for a moment longer than necessary. Then she smiled, small and careful. “Different. Brown eyes fit you better than I would imagine.”

  Dorielle crossed the cell and sat on the bed, easing herself back as if settling in for the night. She stretched once, testing the space.

  “Are you going to be all right?” Eura asked.

  Dorielle waved a hand. “I’m on vacation.” She shifted, arranging the blanket. “I’ll sleep. Then I’ll sleep some more.”

  Eura didn’t smile. She gathered her few belongings quickly, sliding them into the bag before hiding it beneath the cart again. “What happens to you if they find you here?”

  “I have nowhere to go,” she said. “The people I loved are gone. Or scattered somewhere on the Map. Probably forgot I even exist.” She shrugged. “If something happens to me, at least I tried to do what I could.” She paused, lips tightening just slightly. “I do regret one thing,” she added. “I failed to kill your mother. With a little more time, I think I would have found the right concoction. Or maybe not... old witch is a sponge.”

  Eura sat beside her on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under their combined weight.

  “You only need to hold on a few more moons,” she said quietly. “They won’t choose you if you look half-dead…” Her voice faltered. “…she prefers me awake when she... You know.”

  Dorielle covered her hand before she could finish. Her grip was firm. Warm. “She won’t kill me,” Dorielle said. “I’m useful.” A corner of her mouth lifted. “Entertainment. And I’m the only one here who doesn’t crumple when she opens her mouth. She’ll come after you once she knows. Embrace yourself for what's to come.” A pause. “Maybe she’ll hurt me until I tell her where you are.”

  Eura’s fingers tightened around hers. “Then tell her,” she said. The words came out rough. “Just tell her.”

  Dorielle shook her head once. “Never. I’d rather have her pluck my wi—”

  The word caught. She swallowed hard.

  “…eyes.”

  Eura stood and finally shouted, “Door!”

  The wheel turned at once. Metal groaned. The inner door opened and shut behind her in a single motion, the guard already turning away, uninterested.

  She didn’t slow.

  The outer door rolled open next.

  Light flooded in, harsh and white, washing the cell out of existence. For a split second, she couldn’t see anything but glare. She blinked hard and pushed forward anyway, hands locked on the cart. The corridor's stone stretched wide and immaculate on either side, polished enough to reflect the spill of light. Her boots struck the floor too loudly, too fast. Her pulse hammered in her throat, each beat threatening to give her away.

  She kept her head down and walked.

  Just another maid. Just another cart.

  “Hey,” a voice called out. “Maid.”

  Eura didn’t stop.

  “Identify yourself.”

  The cart rattled as she slowed, breath shallow, fingers tightening around the handle. She didn’t turn.

  The cart tipped as she shoved it aside, porcelain shattering against stone. Her hand closed around the bag and the bamboo stick in the same motion, and she ran.

  Boots struck behind her. Too many.

  The corridor opened ahead into the balcony passage. She aimed for it without slowing, lungs burning as she pushed harder than her body wanted to give.

  A guard lunged from the side. She curved, shoulder clipping stone, and slipped past him by inches. Another closed in. She ducked under his arm, stumbled, recovered, and kept moving.

  Shouts tore through the space.

  “Get her!”

  “Intruder!”

  She burst into the open air. Wind slammed into her face as the vast drop yawned ahead, the balcony stretching wide. Stone rushed beneath her feet. Behind her, the guards spread out, trying to cut her off.

  Eura didn’t look back. She ran. She ran until the stone beneath her feet sloped away.

  The balcony widened into open ramps, the floor dropping out ahead of her in long, descending lines. Beyond the edge, the city fell away in layers, roofs and streets stacked smaller and smaller until they blurred into haze far below.

  Wind tore at her clothes.

  She skidded to a halt just short of the edge. Her stomach lurched as she looked down despite herself. The height stole the air from her lungs faster than the run had. There was no railing close enough to grab. No cover. Only open space and distance measured in silence and soon, panic.

  Behind her, the metal of armour and swords rang with the clink of boots and the shout of men. Closing fast.

  She tightened her grip on the bamboo stick. Her fingers trembled. It had been too long.

  She glanced at the bamboo stick in her hand. Then down. The distance pulled at her stomach, the city far below reduced to pale lines and motion. Wind rushed past her ears.

  “Don’t,” she said under her breath. “Don't fail me now. Not today.”

  Boots scraped behind her closer. Eura didn’t wait for them to reach her.

  She vaulted the rail. For a heartbeat, there was only air.

  The stick bit into her palm as she clutched it tight, and she smiled as the drop swallowed her whole. Whatever waited below, Whitestone was now behind her.

  The fall tore the air out of her lungs. Too fast. Too steep. The ludworms scattered in the rush, pale shapes vanishing before she could reach for them and use them as staires.

  Eura’s fingers locked around the bamboo stick. Pain flared in her arms as the force dragged at her shoulders. She twisted hard, muscles screaming in protest, and the world spun. Stone, sky, and void traded places in a blur.

  Somehow, her body obeyed.

  She wrenched herself upright and slammed her feet down onto the cane. The impact jolted through her bones, nearly tearing it from her hands. She bent instinctively, knees shaking, balance thin as breath.

  The drop was still there. Waiting.

  “Fly!” she gasped. "Come on! Fly!"

  Nothing happened.

  The word vanished into the wind without answer. The cane shuddered beneath her feet, useless, and fear finally caught up to her. For a long moment, she let it have her. All that planning. All that waiting. To end like this.

  Her grip tightened until her hands ached. The tower rushed past her shoulder, stone close enough to touch. She squeezed her eyes shut, breath breaking, bracing for the drop. Then the pressure shifted. The wind no longer pushed against her. It slid along her skin instead, catching under her arms, along her legs. The fall eased, thinned into motion.

  Eura opened her eyes. She was no longer dropping straight down. The tower curved beside her as she drifted, circling it in a wide arc. Far above, voices echoed.

  “Down there!”

  “She’s still moving!”

  "Is she flying?"

  The stick trembled under her feet, barely holding. But she was gliding. She was now Master of the winds. She smiled before she noticed it.

  The tower slipped away behind her as the glide carried her past the outer walls of the Capitol. Stone gave way to open land. Wind softened. The ground rose to meet her in uneven lines of dirt and scrub.

  The cane wobbled once. Then her legs gave out.

  She hit the road hard, shoulder first, the bamboo skittering away as she rolled onto her side. Her limbs refused to answer when she tried to push herself up.

  She lay still.

  Breathing came shallow. The air felt too heavy to draw in properly. Her fingers twitched once, then went slack.

  Footsteps approached.

  Hands slid beneath her shoulders, carefully. She felt herself lifted, weightless in a way that didn’t hurt. Warmth pressed against her back.

  Eura forced her eyes open.

  The world swam, then steadied just enough for a face to come into focus.

  “…Jericho?”