Black Moon Draw(14)

Chapter Seven





Thank god it was just a dream. I sigh as I come out of a deep, restful slumber. The sheets beneath me are rougher than usual, my pillow hard and flat. I’m not very comfortable at all for being in my bed. I’m too warm and something smells like burning bacon.

Distant alarm flutters through me.

Opening my eyes, I stare at the ceiling of a tree house.

What the hell?

I sit up and stare at the jittery boy around fourteen seated on a wooden box opposite the low bed I’m lying in. He’s wringing his hands and bouncing his legs, staring at me with a mix of uncertainty and curiosity. The moustache he’s trying to grow looks more like a smudge of dirt above his upper lip and his limbs are too long for his body in the way of nearly every boy in his early teens.

This isn’t home.

“No, no, no!” I press the meat of my hands to my eyes then wrench them away, staring at the palm of the hand I swear that beast cut off.

Flipping them over, I stare. The coral nail polish on my left fingernails is completely absent from my right hand. Not chipped or faded.

Gone.

But my hand’s there, and so is the countdown. Nine days.

“It grew back,” the boy volunteers. He stands and draws something from the knapsack across his chest. Whatever it is, it’s wrapped in cloth. He sets it on the bed near my leg.

“What is it?” I ask suspiciously.

“Your hand.” He opens the loosely draped cloth to display a hand. Blue-white skin, wrinkly, smelly, and. . .

. . .coral nail polish.

“That is so gross,” I mumble, feeling a little sick. “Why would you keep something like that?”

The boy blushes. “The Shadow Knight said you need to learn a lesson. Only a witch can regrow her body.”

Definitely the Villain. No Hero would ever cut off the hand of a damsel in distress.

“Put that away, squire.” The soft voice of a female draws both of our attentions to the entrance of the tree trunk.

A woman fit to be a Disney Princess stands in the doorway in a flowing, elegant gown of rich blue beneath a plush cloak of darker blue. Her eyes are large and clear, a perfect spring green, her auburn hair in perfect, loose curls around a face that resembles a doll’s.

She’s stunning. Absolutely gorgeous.

“M’lady.” The squire bows and scoops up the hand, returning to the box to sit.

“I am pleased to see you awake.” The woman speaks with an accent as rich and elegant as her clothing. She lifts her skirts to step over the threshold and enters, clasping her hands before her.

Everything she does is unnaturally graceful. Slender, tall and with a posture that tells me she doesn’t spend eight hours a day at a desk, and a slightly upturned nose I’m instantly jealous of, she’s a character worthy of her own fairy tale.

“Thank you,” I say finally in the awkward silence.

“I have never met a battle-witch.” There’s excitement on her features and she glances nervously over her shoulder. “A princess does not normally concern herself with war.”

Ugh! I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with Disney princesses and real live princesses from other countries. Until now, I never really thought myself too unworthy of being one, because it’s what’s on the inside that counts. Right?

Nope. This woman is every bit what a princess should be. I’m smaller than her in stature, without her Grace Kelly jawline and baby doll eyes. I have stretch marks on my hips from where I grew too fast between the ages of eleven and thirteen, acne scars on my back, and an aversion to dresses.

How did I ever think I could be a princess? I can almost feel my self-esteem drop several pegs. If I have to be stuck in a book, why don’t I get to be the prettiest girl?

“’Tis an honor.” She curtseys. “Is there aught I can help you with?”

To make matters worse, she’s nice.

I need to get out of here.

“I was going to find the Shadow Knight,” I reply. “Where is he?”

“At battle with Green Dawn Cave. They attacked us last night out of nowhere, perhaps when they heard the news about you,” she says, concern on her perfect princess features. “Are you well enough to venture onto the battlefield?”

“Apparently I’m invincible.” I stare at my new hand, a little squeamish at the idea it grew back overnight.

“You missed a most wonderful battle! I have recorded it here.” The squire starts and fumbles with a satchel, drawing out scrolls. “We defeated the advance party of Green Dawn Cave last –”

With no clue or interest about his story, I stand. I’m refreshed – but at a loss as to why I’m still here. “So if he’s at battle, there’s no one to chase me down, right?”

The boy gives a half-hearted nod. “Do you wish your robes?”

“Sure.” I’m in what appears to be a nightgown. It’s opaque and heavy, the material scratchy. Wool maybe?

He retrieves a gown of deep purple from a satchel with such reverence, I almost laugh. Setting it on the bed, he promptly turns his back so I can change.

“Allow me to assist you,” the princess says. She takes the clothing and sets it down, shaking out a gown. Even her hands are delicate, her nails filed to perfect ovals.