The bright sunlight outside the throne room didn't feel like a welcome. It felt like a slap in the face. After the cool, static air of the marble hall, where words weighed heavier than swords, the outside air was stiflingly warm. It smelled of jasmine and horse manure here, a combination that always reminded me of the hypocrisy of the court: a layer of perfume over a pile of shit.

  I stood at the top of the broad, white steps of the palace. My hands were still trembling, an aftershock of the adrenaline that had surged through my veins when I screamed at my father. Father. The word felt strange in my mouth, like a pebble you accidentally swallow. Was he still my father if he had just banished me to the end of the world?

  "Lady Valerie," a soft but compelling voice sounded beside me.

  I didn't look sideways. I knew who it was. Madame DuPres, my personal lady-in-waiting and probably the only person in this entire damn castle who didn't see me as a ticking time bomb.

  Or maybe she did, but was too polite to show it. She stood ready with my traveling cloak, a heavy thing of dark green velvet, trimmed with fur. As if I would be cold. I was boiling inside.

  At the bottom of the stairs, on the large cobblestone square, my prison wagon stood waiting.

  They called it a 'royal carriage', of course. The thing was a masterpiece of ebony and gold leaf, with the crest of the De Valois family painted so large on the door that you could see it from the stars. The wheels were high and reinforced with iron, suitable for the rough roads outside the city walls. But no matter how beautiful they had made it, with silk curtains and soft cushions, it remained what it was: a cage on wheels.

  What pulled the carriage, however, was more impressive than the vehicle itself.

  Two gigantic Trotter Birds stood stamping impatiently on the pavement.

  They were enormous, easily two and a half meters high at the shoulder, with powerful, muscular legs ending in claws that could crack a human skull with ease. Their plumage was an iridescent black that faded into deep blue, and their beaks were curved and sharp as sickles. They snorted, a sound somewhere between the neigh of a horse and the growl of a predator, and the feathers on their necks rose when they smelled me.

  Even the animals knew. They smelled the magic, I thought bitterly. Or they smell the fear.

  "The luggage has been loaded, My Lady," Madame DuPres said softly. She placed the cloak over my shoulders. The weight felt like a hand pressing me down. "We must leave before... before the crowd becomes restless."

  I looked down at the square. Past the carriage, behind the wrought-iron gates of the palace, I saw them.

  The citizens. The people. My people, I had once thought, in my childish naivety.

  The street was beautiful, a paragon of our civilization. White marble facades, lanterns of polished copper running on expensive whale oil—a technology we had stolen from the Dwarves, though no one would ever admit that. and flower boxes full of color. But the people standing in it ruined the picture.

  They stood rows deep behind the barriers where the royal guard tried to maintain order with stern faces. It was not a festive crowd. There were no flags, no cheering, no flowers. There was silence. A heavy, threatening silence only broken by the shuffling of feet and the occasional cry of a baby.

  I took a deep breath, straightened my back one more time, a reflex hammered in by years of etiquette lessons and began to walk down the stairs.

  Every step on the marble sounded like the countdown of a clock. Tick. Tick. Tick.

  When I was halfway, the silence broke.

  It didn't start with shouting, but with whispering. A ripple going through the crowd, like wind through a wheat field. I couldn't understand the words literally, but I felt the intent. It was like physical pressure against my eardrums.

  I looked, against my better judgment, at the faces behind the fences.

  I saw no pity. I saw no sadness for the departure of their princess.

  I saw disgust. I saw pure, unadulterated fear.

  A man in the front, a baker judging by his flour-dusted apron, spat on the ground when our gazes crossed. His eyes were hard.

  "There she goes," I heard him growl, his voice rough. "The bastard."

  The word cut deeper than I wanted to admit. Bastard. Not 'Princess'. Not 'My Lady'. Bastard. It reminded me that, despite the crown, despite the dresses, despite twelve years in the palace, I had never really been one of them. My red hair was a brand. My green eyes were a warning.

  Next to the baker stood a woman. She held a little girl by the hand, no older than five, with blonde curls. The child pointed at me, perhaps fascinated by my red hair or the large birds.

  "Look mommy, the princess!" the child called out clearly.

  The mother's reaction was instinctive and cruel. She yanked the child roughly backward, as if I were a contagious disease that could jump through the air. She pulled the girl against her skirts and covered her eyes.

  "Don't look, Lise," the woman hissed, loud enough to carry across the square. "Don't look into her eyes."

  "Finally some peace in the city," a man next to her muttered, nodding in agreement. "Good riddance to that bad-luck child."

  I felt my stomach turn. A nausea that had nothing to do with the breakfast I hadn't eaten.

  I wanted to scream. I wanted to run to the fence and yell: I haven't done anything to you! I just tried to help a child this last week!

  But I knew it was pointless. In their eyes, my help was a curse. My existence was a threat. They had heard stories about the Dark Plains, about demons eating people and burning cities. And when they looked at me, they didn't see a sixteen-year-old girl who loved reading and was secretly afraid of the dark. They saw the enemy. A demon.

  I quickened my pace. The distance between the stairs and the carriage suddenly seemed miles long. The footmen held the door open for me, their eyes fixed strictly on the ground. Even they didn't dare look at me today.

  I climbed into the carriage, nearly tripping over the hem of my dress, and let myself fall onto the soft, velvet bench.

  Madame DuPres climbed in after me and sat opposite me. She knocked on the roof.

  "Drive!" she called to the coachman.

  The carriage jerked as the Trotter Birds began to move. The wheels rattled over the cobblestones.

  I sat by the window. Through the glass, I saw the faces of the citizens sliding by. They were closer now. I saw the hate in their eyes, the grimaces, the fingers making protective signs against the evil eye.

  Someone threw something. A rotten apple splattered against the side of the carriage, right under my window. A dull splat.

  My hand trembled as I reached for the curtain. It was of thick, golden-yellow brocade. I clenched my fingers around it, so hard my nails dug into the fabric.

  RATS.

  I pulled the curtain shut with a yank that nearly tore the rails from the ceiling.

  The world outside vanished. The bright sunlight, the hateful faces, the spitting baker, the fearful mother—everything was locked out.

  It became dark in the carriage. Only a narrow strip of light fell through the gap between the curtains, slicing across my face and hands. The dust stirred up from the seats danced in that single beam of light.

  It was suddenly quiet, save for the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of the bird claws and the creaking of the suspension.

  I leaned back and closed my eyes.

  The adrenaline ebbed away, leaving behind a void colder than winter. I felt a tear escape, hot on my cheek, but I wiped it away immediately.

  Don't cry, I told myself sternly. Crying solves nothing. Crying is for princesses who get saved by knights. And no knight is coming for the likes of me.

  "My quiet life is over," I thought, and the words sounded in my head like a sentence.

  The books, the safe walls, the illusion that I was one of them... it was all wiped away. I was now what they always said I was: an exile. A monster.

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  I opened my eyes in the semi-darkness. The green glow, which always lay in wait when I was emotional, smoldered softly in my irises. I saw my own reflection in the dark window glass.

  "Now I'm on my own," I whispered.

  The determination I felt was brittle, but it was there. If the world wanted to call me a monster, then I would make sure I was the strongest monster they had ever seen. I would go to Aeridor. I would survive. And I would come back, not as a scared princess, but as something they couldn't ignore.

  The journey was a blur of boredom, discomfort, and a slowly changing landscape.

  What they don't tell you in books about "going on an adventure" is how much time you spend simply sitting. Sitting and waiting until you are somewhere.

  The first day we rode through the forests surrounding the kingdom. They were beautiful forests, with ancient oaks and sunlight filtering through the canopy, but I saw none of it. I sat with my nose in a book—The Geopolitical History of the Plains, Volume 4—but I read the same sentence twenty times over.

  The second day we rode over the Great Bridge at sunset. The sky was orange and purple, colors reflecting painfully beautifully in the water below us. It was the kind of view poets wrote about. I looked at it for five minutes, thought: "Pretty," and pulled the curtain shut again. Beauty felt like an insult when you were on your way to a prison.

  On the third day, it began to rain.

  Not just rain. It was a deluge. The sky was gray and heavy, and the water clattered against the roof of the carriage as if someone were throwing buckets of gravel over us. The roads turned into mud pits. The carriage shook and banged so hard that reading became impossible and I got nauseous from the rocking.

  By the fourth day, the boredom had turned into pure irritation.

  I sat slumped, my legs uncharmingly on the bench opposite me (Madame DuPres had given up saying anything about it), and stared blankly at the ceiling.

  Then it happened.

  Madame DuPres, who had been stiffly embroidering the entire journey, put her work away. She checked her pocket watch, looked outside (where the rain had finally stopped), and nodded solemnly.

  She opened a suitcase stored under the bench.

  "It is almost time, My Lady," she said with that professional tone that meant I had to do something terrible. "We are approaching the Wall. We must make you presentable."

  I sat up, wary. "Presentable? For whom? For the wall? I don't think brick and concrete care about my appearance, Madame."

  "For the entrance, My Lady. You are the representative of the House of Valois. You must look like royal blood."

  She pulled something out of the suitcase. Something that gleamed with satin and whalebone. Something with laces that looked like torture devices.

  A corset. An official, tightly laced court corset.

  My eyes went wide. I recoiled until I was pressed against the wall of the carriage.

  "NO WAY!!" I shouted. "Forget it! Out of the question! I'm not wearing that monstrosity!"

  "But My Lady," Madame DuPres began, standing up in the wobbling carriage and advancing on me with the corset at the ready like a hunter stalking a wild animal. "You must represent the country!"

  I dove to the other corner of the bench. "I represent oxygen deprivation if I wear that thing!" I shouted. "How am I supposed to breathe? How am I supposed to fight if I get attacked by... by who knows what lives there?! Do you want my last words to be: 'Hold on, I just need to loosen my laces'?"

  "It is about etiquette and grace!" she insisted. She lunged. I fended her off with a pillow.

  It was a ridiculous fight in a space of two by two meters.

  "I don't need grace, I need lung capacity!" I screamed, climbing over the bench to escape her grip. "I'm going to a school for magic and monsters, not a tea party!"

  She almost grabbed me by my ankle, but I kicked myself free. With a quick movement, I snatched my travel bag from the floor and pulled out what I was looking for: my old, trusty riding breeches and my leather boots.

  "I'm wearing this!" I declared, waving the pants like a trophy. "I can run in this. I can kick in this. And more importantly: I can breathe in this!"

  Madame DuPres sank panting back onto her bench. She looked at the corset in her hands, then at me with my disheveled hair and my riding breeches. She sighed deeply.

  "You are impossible, My Lady."

  "I know," I grinned triumphantly. "That's my charm."

  While I changed in the shaking carriage—which was an acrobatic feat in itself—the feeling of the ride suddenly changed.

  The carriage braked. Not gradually, but abruptly. The wheels locked in the gravel. I half fell over, with one leg in my pants and one leg out.

  "Are we there?" I asked, quickly hitching up my pants.

  Madame DuPres looked outside. Her face paled a little. "Yes, My Lady. We are there."

  I slid the curtain open, this time without hesitation.

  My mouth fell open.

  I had read about it. I had seen pictures in books. But nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared me for reality.

  Before us loomed a wall. But the word 'wall' didn't do it justice. It was an artificial mountain range.

  It was made of gray, rough concrete and steel, a scar in the landscape that made all the nature around it pale in comparison. The thing was gigantic. At least five trees high—no, higher. It disappeared into the clouds above us and stretched to the left and right as far as the eye could see.

  The contrast was painful. Behind us lay the green, rolling world of humans. Before us lay this... this industrial monstrosity. It felt cold. Unnatural.

  Right in the center sat the gate. A massive bronze behemoth with a relief of a human figure in the center, surrounded by gears and runes.

  I kicked open the carriage door and jumped out, glad for my choice of boots instead of slippers. The ground here was hard, packed earth and crushed stone. The wind was bleak and smelled of metal and ozone.

  I walked a few steps forward and tilted my head back. I had to shield my eyes from the sun to see the top. The thing was so high it made me dizzy.

  "Incomprehensible..." I muttered.

  I put my hands on my hips and looked critically at the structure.

  "Why does this have to be so ridiculously big?" I asked aloud to no one in particular. "Is this pure intimidation? Or just a case of extreme overcompensation by the architect?"

  The answer didn't come from Madame DuPres, but from the ground beneath my feet.

  It started with a vibration. Small pebbles began to dance near my boots. A deep, low rumble, as if a sleeping dragon was waking up under the earth.

  KRR-KRR-BOOM.

  I recoiled as the bronze gate began to move.

  It wasn't a smooth movement. It was violent. Tons of weight were being moved by invisible mechanisms. Steam escaped with a loud hiss from pipes on the sides of the wall, white plumes shooting into the air.

  The doors didn't slide open; they split. The center of the relief broke open and a bright, white, unnatural light streamed out.

  I squinted my eyes to slits. A security guard, dressed in a uniform that looked much more functional than the guards in my city, leaned against the side of the carriage. He chewed on a toothpick and grinned at my amazed face.

  "Impressive, huh?" he shouted over the roar of the steam. "Dwarven technology is something else entirely than that decorative junk you're used to!"

  I ignored his tone. My attention was drawn to something else. My right eye began to tingle. A familiar sensation, one I had always had to hide. A small, digital glimmer appeared in my field of vision. PING.

  Without consciously activating it, my gaze switched to Appraisal Mode.

  The world changed. A blue, translucent wireframe overlay laid itself over the massive gate. Text blocks floated in the air, invisible to everyone except me.

  Hmm, I thought, reading the data scrolling before my retina. Powered by a hydraulic pressure system... coupled with 8 primary Runes of Power and 2 secondary Stabilization Circles.

  My gaze zoomed in on the hinges, where the runes glowed brightly in my vision. I analyzed the energy flow.

  Inefficient, I concluded dryly. They lose almost 15% energy to heat through friction. But... it is strong. Brute force over finesse.

  The rumbling stopped. The gate stood fully open.

  Madame DuPres remained by the carriage. She waved, a small, sad gesture with her handkerchief. She wouldn't come with me. From here on, I was alone. No ladies-in-waiting, no soft cushions, no protection.

  I took a deep breath, straightened my back (this time without a corset, thank god), and walked through the gate.

  I expected a road. I expected a city. I expected something.

  But when I stood on the other side of the wall, I stopped abruptly.

  There was no road.

  There was no landscape.

  There was only a stone plateau, and on it stood... something that made my Appraisal crash for a moment.

  In a rough stone arch, standing alone in the middle of the square, hovered a pool of liquid. It looked like quicksilver, or liquid water defying gravity. The surface rippled and vibrated, WOB WOB, as if it were alive.

  "What on earth..."

  "Hahaha! Better late than never, little one!"

  The voice came from below. Much further down than I expected.

  I looked down.

  There stood a creature that looked like it had just crawled out of an oil bath. He was small, barely a meter high, with skin that looked like old leather and a nose big enough for two faces. He wore dirty overalls covered in grease, welding goggles on his forehead, and held a gold pocket watch in his hand that was almost as big as his head.

  A Gnome. A real Gnome.

  He looked at me with a grin that was both friendly and manic.

  "What did you think?" he creaked. "That I could fly? I'm standing down here!"

  He tapped aggressively on his huge watch.

  "Come on, hurry up! We're in a rush! You're the last one. Always those nobles, always late."

  I pointed confusedly at the floating quicksilver pool. My brain was still trying to process what I was seeing.

  "What do you mean, rush?" I asked. "We're nowhere near there, are we? Where is the road to Aeridor?"

  The Gnome rolled his eyes, a movement that seemed to involve his whole body.

  "Road? No way, kid. Roads are for horses and merchants. We use warp."

  He put his watch away and walked nonchalantly towards the deadly-looking wall of water.

  "The other humans are already there," he called over his shoulder. "And I don't get paid for overtime."

  Without any warning, without a running start, the little man jumped.

  SPLASH.

  He disappeared into the quicksilver as if it were water. No splashes. He was just... swallowed.

  I stood nailed to the ground.

  "Step through the mirror, princess!" his voice still sounded, but now distorted, as if he were calling from underwater. A gurgling, echoing sound.

  I stood alone before the gate. The wind howled around the stone arch.

  I looked at my hand. I looked at the vibrating surface.

  This was it. The border. Behind me lay my past, my parents, my title, my safe cage. Before me lay... a puddle of potion and a manic little man.

  I stuck my finger out. Hesitantly. Trembling.

  My fingertip touched the cold surface. Ripples spread from the center.

  At that moment, I felt no cold. I felt a pull.

  Not gentle. It was as if a giant hand grabbed me by my collar.

  WHAM!

  The ground disappeared beneath my feet. The air was squeezed out of my lungs.

  I wasn't stepping into the gate; I was being sucked into it. Violently. My feet flew off the ground and the world went black, and then an explosion of colors that didn't exist.

  Visual chaos. Flashes of light. Neon purple, poison green, blinding white.

  I floated, no, I fell. I fell up, down, and sideways all at the same time. I was upside down.

  I saw a tunnel of light rushing past as if I were sitting inside a cannonball.

  "AAAAAAH!" I screamed, my voice lost in the space between spaces. "BRAKES! WHERE ARE THE BRAKES ON THIS THING?!"

  In the distance, I saw an opening. A stone hall. And the Gnome standing quietly waiting, counting down on his fingers.

  "Three..."

  I saw the floor coming at me with a speed that looked deadly.

  "Two..."

  I tried to brace myself, but there was nothing to push against.

  "One..."

  I was shot into the new world like a human projectile.