• ~Prologue~



    Drip... Drip... Drip... Madalyn flinched as a liquid collided with the floor. Drip... The only sound echoed throughout the tiny black chamber. Madalyn curled up into a ball, as if trying to shrink out of the prison. Her delicate hand touched a slimy substance. With a yelp, she leaped to her feet, desperately searching her torn yellow dress for more of the slime. Her waist-long hair fell about her thin frame like a straw curtain. A shaft of light illuminated a small, square point on the furthest wall. Madalyn squinted her eyes and saw the rest of her prison. It was a blank cell, no door, no bedroll... Just a window, a pewter plate with a little hunk of bread laying on top, and a tiny pitcher of water. Madalyn spotted a small wooden stool in the corner and dragged it over, below the window. She stood upon it and looked out the window.

    Outside the window was not much to look at. Yet it invoked sweet dreams of freedom in Madalyn's teenage head. She spent hours staring out into the field of emerald green grass, past the guardhouse, beyond the portcullis and the vigilant guards. As evening approached, she blinked her tired, cobalt eyes and stepped down from the stool to stretch and nibble on the old bread and water that probably had been there since dawn. As her hand advanced on her open mouth with the food, she hesitated, pulled the stool back to the window and jumped back onto its rickety frame to watch as booted feet marched by. Another hunk of bread landed squarely on Madalyn's nose and she let out a small squeak as she strived to catch the bread before it joined the slime on the floor. Successful in her attempt, she smiled grimly, stuffing the extra bread in her pocket for later.

    She crunched on the hard bread and watched as the shadows grew long on the other side of the bars. Another pair of booted feet marched by, but the noise stopped abruptly. They returned and Madalyn shrank back a little.

    "Wat yew doin', Soldier?!" A husky voice barked. The booted feet shuffled a little as the armored soldier saluted the person beyond, blocking Madalyn's view of whoever was shouting.

    "Dropped my extra blade, sir. I don't want some thief to steal it and murder the king." This man's speech was clipped and sharp. More of a gentleman's voice than one of a soldier. At the mention of the king, Madalyn's nose crinkled up in disgust. The other guard snorted.

    "Very well then. Git back to yer duties later." Madalyn heard him mutter something like 'scum' under his breath as he walked away. The soldier dropped to his knees and a helmeted head was lowered to the bars of the window. Frightened, Madalyn's eyes widened. The soldier took a quick glance around and pulled the shining helmet off his head. A head dropped to the window again, this one young, cheerful, and full of fiery red hair. The soldier lifted his index finger to his lips in the signal for silence. Madalyn nodded.

    "You're the king's niece, aren't you?" Madalyn nodded. "Everyone thought you had been murdered." Madalyn shook her head, her messy blonde hair swinging from side to side. The twenty-year-old nodded grimly.

    "Thought so." He reached into a secret pocket sewn into the royal guardsman's cape he was wearing and squeezed something in between the bars. Something sharp, cool, and metalic fell into Madalyn's hands.

    The man put his helmet back on with the visor up. "Don't worry, your father is searching for you now. He didn't believe the lies either. We'll get you out of here." With that, he got to his feet and straightened himself out. Madalyn pressed her face to the bars as she watched the young adult go on with his watch.

    Who's we?

    Chapter One
    ShadowStorm



    Deep within the forests of a kingdom near the center of the continent, a palace sat, its sparkling marble walls towering above the canopy of emerald leaves swaying with the gentle breeze. The highest towers' windows were lit, the flames of thousands of candles danced beyond the stained glass. Although, one little window, the topmost window of the highest tower, remained unlit. The joyful semblance of the king's palace was marred by a doleful moan emitting from that window. The queen was mourning her loss.

    Within that very chamber at that stomach-turning height, not one light flickered across the sky blue tapestries that hung from ceiling to white marble floor. A bed, elegant in design and cobalt by color, was positioned against the farthest wall from the oak doorway. A fine mesh hung from a hook in the ceiling and enclosed the silken pillow and the headboard. A small desk sat in the farthest reaches of the massive chamber. A stool was placed beside it. A pale blue loveseat sat in front of a windowsill, the one that looked over the courtyards, walls, and forests beyond. A figure was draped across the loveseat's silken cushions. The queen's whole body shook with grief, her black velvet overgown shifting with every movement. The thirty-year-old woman's chocolate brown hair fell about the pillow she burried her face in. Her crown laid, discarded on the floor.

    As the dawn's first light illuminated the chamber, a soft knock split the relative silence. A voice called from behind the door.

    "Maraline?" A regal head peered into the room. The king shut the door gently behind him as he entered. The day's first golden rays bounced off the man's straw colored hair as he pulled off his navy cloak and placed it on the woman's shoulders. His ice blue tunic and leggings rustled as he sat down by the queen's feet. The woman raised her head. Her thin lips were drawn tight in a mournful frown and her deep azure eyes held the slightest glint of life.

    "We'll find her. Maraline, I promise." The middle aged man placed a comforting hand on Maraline's shoulder.

    "Oh, Richard, how could she just disappear?" the queen sobbed. "Oh, Rich, she's too young!" The king shushed her.

    "I know. She is too young to be captured by any stranger, she had guards by her side." This statement brought another wail from Maraline.

    "Thirteen! Thirteen years of age, Richard!" she sobbed. She clutched something to her breast. Something that shone in the rising sun. Richard put his weathered hand over hers.

    "I know," he whispered as he brought the lady's hand gently to her lap. Her fingers uncurled and there laid a necklace of ice blue ribbon and a small locket. It popped open and the painting of a thirteen year old girl appeared, her cobalt eyes smiling at the couple, and her blonde hair falling about her shoulders. A name was inscribed on the gold surface of the heart shaped locket. Madalyn.