Rosalina
Dancing around the willow tree in the middle of town at dusk on a Sunday is not exactly how I imagined my life going. But after you’ve spent months living in a castle with a bunch of shapeshifting faeries, at some point, you just have to say fuck it.
I prance around my father’s beloved willow tree, wearing a woven crown of daisies and daffodils. At the base of the tree is my backpack full of our Enchanted Vale possessions. I carry a wicker basket filled with a mixture of ground mushrooms, dried lavender, and carrot seeds, and sprinkle it like I’m the most cursed flower girl you could possibly imagine. I’m also wearing my favorite ‘This Shirt Glows Blue When Orcs Are Near’ hoodie, but that’s for my own aesthetic, and has nothing to do with the ritual. Maybe Mom’s necklace, tucked under my shirt, will help.
“My legs are getting tired,” I say in a sing-song voice to my father, who’s prancing right in front of me with his own basket.
Most of the various experiments we’ve tried over the last few months have been based on ancient folklore from across the world. This is from some creepy children’s book Papa found on one of his visits to the countryside of England. But at this point I’ll try anything.
Even if that anything means practically every resident of Orca Cove has gathered to point and whisper as Papa and I continue our ridiculous display.
“Keep going!” Papa looks back at me with a wild grin. “We’re powering this tree with fae magic!”
This morning, I would never have submitted myself to such humiliation or such foolish hope. But now, I don’t give a damn who’s watching or how stupid this might be.
I saw Ezryn. And he saw me.
Was it my own foolish hope that he’d sounded happy to see me? Relieved?
What exactly has happened at Castletree since I was there?
I take a deep breath of the early spring air, remembering the sight of him, his huge frame like a sentinel. At least he was still a fae; the curse hasn’t taken them yet.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the disgusted looks of the townsfolk. My old boss, Richard, has his hands on his hips and shakes his head. One lady quickly ushers her young daughters past us. Go ahead and stare, I think. I’ve seen colors you can only imagine.
But one color emerges out of the crowd, a face red with anger. Lucas shoves through the onlookers and stomps toward us.
“Keep dancing, Papa,” I say. “Don’t stop.”
My heart hammers, and my throat grows tight. I sent him away earlier. I can do it again.
Lucas blocks my path and yanks the wicker basket out of my hand, tossing it to the ground. The face I once thought so handsome is marred by a bruise across the cheekbone where Papa slugged him. “Stop right now. You’re humiliating me.”
“Then leave,” I say.
“I will not have my future wife prancing about like some sort of hippie heathen,” he snarls.
“Good thing I’m not going to be your wife then.” I reach for my basket.
Lucas slams his foot down on it, breaking apart the wicker.
“Get out of here, boy,” Papa bellows. “She told you once. She told you twice. If she has to say it again, I’ll remove your useless ears.”
“Careful, Papa,” I whisper, but it’s too late.
Lucas turns to the town. “For years, we’ve forgiven this man’s delusions. We’ve always thought of him as just a harmless old eccentric. But this morning, he did this!” He points to the bruise on his face.
The trapped coals within me light ablaze again. “You deserved it!”
“This man is a danger to himself, to Orca Cove, and to his daughter.” Lucas’s fiery gaze lands on me. “We must separate them for her own safety.”
I stumble away from Lucas, but he grabs me by the back of my neck. My whole body goes rigid, his touch paralyzing. The flower crown falls from my head.
“You can’t talk to her like that,” Papa roars. He charges toward us, but two of Lucas’s goony hunting pals step out of the crowd and grab his arms. “Rosalina!”
“Get off of him!” I scream. “Someone help!”
But all of Orca Cove looks down, their faces shrouded in shame. Because of Lucas or because of the embarrassing O’Connells?
“Listen to your fiancé, Rosalina dear,” a woman calls. “He’ll take care of you.”
“He’s not my fiancé,” I snap and drive my foot down onto Lucas’s. He yelps and lets me go. I quickly grab my backpack and sling it on. I won’t let him destroy these items like my basket.
“Run, Rosalina!” Papa cries, struggling in the grasp of the two burly men. “Run!”
Breath comes ragged from my throat as I sprint away. Lucas swears behind me, and I hear him give an awkward chuckle. “She’s worn herself out caring for her father. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”
I barely get five steps before Lucas yanks the back of my sweatshirt, then throws a powerful arm over my shoulders. To the crowd, it probably looks like an embrace. But inside, it feels like he’s clamped chains around me.
“Enough, Rosalina,” Lucas whispers. “You are mine. Agree to marry me and put on the ring in front of all these people.”
“Never.”
Lucas pulls me tighter against him. I feel like I’m pressed against thousands of worms. “Do you see those two men holding your father? That’s Laughy and Aldridge. Old buddies of mine.”
“I know them,” I spit. “No better than thugs.”
“Yeah, well, those thugs beat the shit out of a guy who cheated me in cards. Imagine what they’ll do to your father.”
Tears prick my eyes. “You wouldn’t.”
“I fucking would.” All the time, he keeps looking up at the throng of people, plastering on a smile. They probably have deluded themselves into thinking he’s whispering sweet nothings into my ear. Can’t they see my face? Can’t they hear my cries? Or do they just not care?
I look at my father, getting pulled further and further away from the crowd toward the Poussin Hunting Lodge. No… I can’t let him get hurt. Not because of me.
“Accept the reality,” Lucas says, his voice an eerie whisper. “There is no one else for you. You’ll always be my little Pumpkin.”
I close my eyes. There’s no choice to be made. I’ll do anything to protect my father. I take in a shaky breath—
A murmur trembles through the crowd and a couple gasps erupt. I blink my eyes open and stare. The crowd has parted. And walking down the street toward me, the blaring sun at their backs, are three towering men.
“Who the fuck are they?” Lucas snaps.
I squint against the sun. Who are they? I can’t make out their faces yet, but there’s something odd about them.
They’re dressed like they walked out of the nineties.
The tallest one on the left looks like he just left the slopes, wearing a ski suit of vibrant purple, pink, and green. A matching neon ski mask covers his entire face, complete with huge orange goggles with tinted lenses.
The one on the right wears baggy acid-washed jeans, topped with a huge shirt covered in colorful squiggles and geometric shapes. His face is totally covered in shadow from his oversized holographic bucket hat, but I see auburn waves peeking out from underneath.
But all eyes are on the one in the middle. Even Lucas is squinting and staring at him. He’s wearing the tightest jeans I’ve seen in my entire life, the denim hugging his huge thighs. I swear I could see more, but a leather fanny pack covers his hips. A fucking fanny pack. Who are these people? A black turtleneck envelops his torso, complete with a gold chain.
I should use this distraction to get away, but I’m as entranced as everyone else. I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them, fighting against the sun’s glare.
Then it comes into focus.
Not my vision, but my heart.
These are not just three weirdos with totally outdated fashion.
These are my weirdos.
“Ezryn! Dayton! Farron!” My voice carries crystal clear through the air.