Grim

CHAPTER 1 The Lonely Queen

A long time ago, below the sharp peaks of the Graulumberg Mountains, past the dark branches of the Verzanfrost Woods and over the cold waters of the Eisenfluss River was a quiet kingdom nestled in the valley. Once, it had been a bustling, vibrant kingdom, but the echoes of its glory had begun to fade.

It was the quiet that had begun to wear on the fair Queen Rose. She preferred to sit in the wild garden behind the palace, where the songs of the birds, the buzz of the bees and the rustling of the animals were there to ward off the growing silence.

The people in the kingdom called it the Queen’s Garden, but it wasn’t Rose’s garden. It had belonged to her husband’s great-grandmother, and while it had been tamed and groomed once, it had taken on a life of its own. The flowers overgrown from their gardens, the vines climbing over the fruit trees, the insects and all manner of beasts roaming freely—that was precisely as Rose liked it.

So while she loved the garden, it wasn’t hers. She let it belong to the flowers and the animals, the way it ought to.

When her husband, King Elrik, went out to the garden, he found his queen in her favorite spot. She sat among the pink carnations, unmindful of the dirt on her gown. Her dark hair was worn in a long braid, and though she was looking down, Elrik could see a tear falling down her cheek.

“My love, you mustn’t cry,” Elrik told his wife, and he held out his handkerchief to her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my lord.” Her cheeks turned the color of amaranth, nearly matching the carnations around her, as she wiped her tears away in haste. “I did not mean for you to see me like this.”

“There is no need for apologies, or tears,” Elrik said, his voice firm but gentle. He was a just ruler, and he always spoke like one, sometimes to the consternation of his wife.

Rose got to her feet, brushing petals and leaves from her dress. The tears had stopped, but she still didn’t brave looking up at her husband. She asked, “Am I needed inside the palace?”

“Not at the moment,” Elrik replied. “I came out to see you. The visit with the midwife this morning seemed to have left you saddened.”

Rose shook her head as she stared down. “The midwife, the doctors, my ladies in waiting, they all assure me these things take time. But the villagers are worried, and I’ve heard your advisors whisper in the hall.”

“What advisors?” asked the king, no doubt already planning a punishment for those who had hurt his wife. “Who is whispering about my queen?”

“Everyone,” she replied wearily, and lifted her eyes to meet his. “By now, everyone has begun to talk. But that’s not even what has my heart so heavy.” A tear slid down her cheek. “Why can I not have a baby?”

When she tried to look away, Elrik gently put his hand on her chin so she would look up at him.

“Rose,” he said with the tenderness he reserved for when they were alone, “I love you. Together, we will have a child. It will only take a bit more time.”

As she searched her husband’s gray eyes, she saw that he was beginning to doubt the truth in his words. Though Elrik did love her, their three years of childless marriage had begun to wear on him.

When they’d wed, though Rose had only just reached her sixteenth birthday, Elrik had already been in his middle age. He didn’t have the kind of time a younger man might have. Much too soon, he would need an heir.

“I love you, Elrik,” Rose told him simply, and she stood on her toes so she could lean up and kiss him.

When they separated, Elrik told her, “I must go back inside to meet with my advisors. Will you be joining me?”

“Not quite yet.”

The king eyed up his bride. “Are you still saddened?”

“I’m better, thank you.” She smiled at him, hoping to ease her husband’s worry.

A berry bush rustled nearby, and Elrik stepped in front of Rose and reached for the sword sheathed in his belt, preparing to defend her from any attacker. No sooner had his hand touched the guard when a mottled boar piglet came out of the brush, rooting around for grubs.

“Oh, it’s a darling piglet!” Rose knelt down and reached out her hand, meaning to summon the baby to her.

“My queen, you must be careful,” the king commanded.

“It’s only a baby,” Rose told him with a laugh. The piglet trotted close to her, its small tail wagging behind it, and stopped for her to pet its soft fur.

“Where there’s a baby, there is an angry mother nearby,” the king warned her.

The queen scooped the piglet onto her lap. “The boars are harmless when left alone.”

“You are too kind,” Elrik said, sounding almost weary of it. “There are too many wild beasts running about here. It’s no place for a young queen to be alone.”

“I will be fine, my king,” Rose told him. “Go inside, conduct your business, and I will be along shortly.”

The king bade her farewell, and Rose let the piglet off her lap. It squealed in delight, then disappeared in the bushes, leaving the queen alone with her heavy heart.

Her sadness hadn’t lessened any after her visit with Elrik. If anything, it had deepened. When the king had first taken an interest in her, Rose had almost instantly fallen in love with his gentle heart and fair nature, and she’d thought all her dreams had come true.

But with each passing year, her dream had begun to wear away. Soon, she would be left without her garden, her home, her husband. His kingdom would pass to his nearest advisor if the king had no children, and she would be alone and destitute.

The queen lay down on the ground, burying her face in her arms as she wept. Around her, the garden fell silent, and the sound of her sobs floated up to the heavens above her. She begged the gods to take pity on her, because she couldn’t bear the heartbreak anymore.

“Hush, child.” A soothing voice spoke in her ear, and Rose felt a strong, warm hand on her shoulder.

She lifted her head to see a man standing over her. He was handsome beyond anything she’d seen before, and light seemed to illuminate him from within, making his golden hair glow. White feathered wings spread out behind him, and though Rose had never seen a creature like him before, she felt no fear.

“Who are you?” Rose asked, and sat up so she would face him.

“My name is Adriel,” he said. “I’m here to help you.”

She asked, “Why would you care about a creature as pitiful as me?”

“I tend to nature, helping the plants and animals grow,” Adriel told her. “I’ve watched you, here in this garden, and I’ve seen the kindness you’ve shown to the animals and for the earth. I’ve also seen your sorrow, and I’ve heard your cries to the gods.”

Rose lowered her eyes. “I never meant to disturb you.”

“You haven’t disturbed me.” He smiled. “And I’ve come to give you a gift.”

He bent down over the queen, and his wings outstretched behind him, casting a shadow over her. He put his hand to her abdomen, and instantly Rose felt a white heat growing inside her. Rays of light shone around his hand, and even after he removed it, her stomach seemed to glow.

“You will have a child,” Adriel told her. “But not just any child. He will have the power of wishing, so whatsoever in the world he wishes for, he shall have.”

“Thank you,” Rose said, her voice trembling with gratitude.

Adriel laughed warmly, and then he disappeared, his body fading away into soft sparkles in the sunlight as if he’d never been there at all. As soon as he’d gone, the queen began to weep, but this time, out of joy.

CHAPTER 2 The Vengeful Cook

While the queen prepared to eat breakfast with the king, she marveled over her son, the same way she had every day since he was born. Nearing four years old, the young prince had already stolen the hearts of everyone in the kingdom.

Prince Brenn shared his mother’s dark hair and fair skin, but he had his father’s gray eyes and charming smile, and it was enough to melt even the hardest of hearts. More than that, he was a kind boy.

On their walks through town, Brenn had offered his apple to a child in need, and he’d encouraged his mother to free a bird caught in a trap. Even at such a young age, he already showed signs of Rose’s warm heart and Elrik’s determination. He seemed to have gotten the best from both his parents.

The family sat around the table for their morning meal, and the portly cook Fyren pushed in the trolley. As soon as the king saw it was Fyren bringing them their breakfast, he grimaced. It had been only a few weeks ago that Elrik had pardoned Fyren, and he’d already grown weary of him.

Since having his son, the king had begun to soften, and he wanted his kingdom to thrive again. In recent months, he’d pardoned petty thieves from the dungeon if they could retain gainful employment. Fyren had claimed to be a chef, but since the king had hired him, Fyren’s cooking had done nothing to support that.

“I trust everything is in order this morning,” said the king as Fyren wheeled their food up to the table.

“Yes, sire, you’ll find you have everything you need here,” Fyren told him, and removed the metal lids from their plates in haste.

He presented the king’s plate first, and to his surprise, everything did seem to be correct. When Fyren set a plate before the queen, she smiled politely and thanked him, though he’d forgotten to give her bread. It was when he got to the prince that his error became the most egregious.

“What is that?” the king asked, pointing to the chunk of meat sitting before his young son.

“It’s ham, my lord,” Fyren told him, bowing lightly when he spoke. His thick black hair was unkempt, with several matted braids running through it. His beard—which he’d promised to trim as soon as he went to work for the royal family—remained unruly and long.

“The prince never eats pork for breakfast,” the king told him. “It gives him an upset stomach, so he only has apples in the morning.”

“I’m very sorry, my king. I’ll return with one immediately,” Fyren said.

“Don’t bother.” Elrik waved at him. “You’ve been troublesome since you began work here. You’re an inferior cook, a dirty man, and I see no reason to continue your employ.”

“My king,” Rose implored to her husband, “he’s only just started.”

The king sighed and gave the cook a hard look. “Let this serve as a warning to you, then. If my wife did not possess such a forgiving heart, you would be back in the dungeon. But if you do not do your job properly, you will return in no time.”

“Yes, my lord, thank you,” Fyren said, bowing again, then turned to the queen. “Thank you, my queen.”

The cook had begun to back out of the room when the prince announced loudly, “I wish for an apple.”

No sooner had the words escaped his lips than a fresh red apple appeared on the table before him.

“Brenn!” The queen was aghast. She looked up to see if the cook was gone, but Fyren didn’t appear to be in sight. “You mustn’t make wishes in front of others. You know the rules.”

“It’s only you and Father here,” the boy said, taking a bite of his apple.

“You did not check for the cook or any other servants,” the king said. “You must always be absolutely certain you are alone before you make a wish.”

“Why, Father?” Brenn asked. “Why must I be so careful?”

“If someone found out what you could do, they could use it against you,” King Elrik said. “They would harm you to gain the use of your wishes.”

“But I would share my wishes,” Brenn said. “If anyone asked, I’d gladly share.”

“I know.” Rose smiled and reached over, squeezing her son’s small hand in hers. “But we must keep this a secret. For your safety, and for ours. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mother.” He frowned, and sadness filled his gray eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. Just be more careful,” Rose told him. “Now finish your breakfast, and when you’re done, I’ll take you out to the garden.”

“The garden?” Elrik asked, raising an eyebrow at his wife while Brenn raced to devour his apple.

The queen said, “It’s perfectly safe, Elrik. You worry too much.”

“It’s hardly safe for you, let alone a boy of his age,” the king said. He grew louder as he spoke, so his voice boomed through the dining hall. “The beasts would be much happier feasting on a soft young boy than the squawking geese.”

“It’s early in the morning, and all the wicked beasts are asleep,” Rose said, acquiescing to her husband’s fears even if she did not fully share them. “I will be out there with Brenn, and the guards will be nearby if we should need them. We won’t be out that long, and we’ll be safe.”

As soon as they’d finished eating, the queen took Brenn out to the garden. She delighted in showing him the trees and the vines, the birds and the frogs, and Brenn seemed as taken with everything as she.

When they came to her favorite flower—the pink carnations—she plucked one and gave it to the young prince. Never had she seen anyone hold a flower so delicately, so careful not to disturb a single petal, and she couldn’t have imagined that a boy of his age would be so thoughtful.

Despite the king’s warning not to linger, Rose and Brenn spent the afternoon in the garden, playing among the flowers. Rose didn’t even realize how much time had passed until she began feeling tired.

Lying down next to the stream, Rose intended to rest for only a moment, but soon both she and Brenn had fallen asleep. Her son lay in her arms as the sound of the stream lulled them.

That was when Fyren saw his chance. He knew his time under the king’s service was growing short, and the cook had to find a way to sustain himself. He’d heard rumors of the prince’s wishing power, but it wasn’t until this morning, when Brenn had wished himself an apple, that Fyren had actually witnessed it.

With that, his decision was made. Fyren would take the boy for himself and make Brenn grant him the life he’d always wanted. So he’d followed Queen Rose and her son out to the garden. Fyren had stayed hidden in the bushes, waiting for the moment when the queen was the most unguarded.

Once she was asleep by the stream, Fyren put his plan in motion. He grabbed a wild boar youngling, and before the beast could make a sound, Fyren had slit its throat with his butcher’s knife. Then he’d covered the queen’s dress with fresh red blood, and then discarded the boar’s body in the stream.

When the king came looking for his wife, he’d find her like this, covered in blood with the child missing. He would think his worst fears had come true—that a wild beast had snatched Brenn from his mother and eaten him, leaving only the boy’s blood.

Carefully, Fyren took the sleeping babe from her arms, and then dashed off into the brush before either the queen or the prince could. He kept running—traveling days with only short breaks to sleep in the darkest part of the night. He went over the cold waters of the Eisenfluss River, past the dark branches of the Verzanfrost Woods, and Fyren didn’t stop until he’d reached the highest peak of the Graulumberg Mountains, far out of the reaches of King Elrik’s kingdom.

CHAPTER 3 The Flower Girl

The walls of the castle were high, just as Fyren had commanded Brenn to wish for, and all day and all night, they were filled with the sounds of the young prince crying. Nothing Fyren did seemed to ease Brenn’s sadness.

Fyren had told Brenn that a war had broken out and his parents had been killed. Fyren—being so sneaky and wise—had gotten past the warriors, and Brenn’s mother had commanded Fyren to take Brenn away, to keep him safe, and that Brenn was to do exactly as Fyren ordered.

Fyren had warned the boy about wishing for his mother or his father to return. He’d told him they both had been killed, and if he wished for them, they would rise from the earth, living as the unholy undead. They would be cursed monsters, and his parents deserved a peaceful slumber in their afterlife, so Brenn did not wish for them.

While Brenn had believed him, he had yet to comply with Fyren’s order to stop wailing.

Now that Fyren had a great castle at the top of the highest peak on the tallest mountain in the land, filled with riches and treasures, Fyren had begun to consider that his use for Brenn was done. If the boy didn’t stop crying soon, Fyren would have his head.

But he couldn’t do that just yet. Although it seemed that Fyren had all that his dark heart had ever desired, he didn’t know what the future might bring. It would be rash to get rid of his magic wishing tool so soon. Fyren had to find a way to silence Brenn before it drove him mad.

“Why is it that you cry so?” Fyren asked the prince finally. They were eating dinner, though the boy had hardly touched the roasted beef before them. Brenn only cried softly, staring down at the table.

“I miss Mother and Father,” Brenn replied.

“I have told you—they would not want you to be so unhappy,” Fyren told him. “You must be happy and stop this constant crying. It’s as your parents would have you do.”

“I know, sire.” The prince sniffled. “I am very sorry, but I am so lonely.”

The cook said, “I care for you and keep you safe from the men who killed your parents. You are not alone in this castle. I am as a father to you now, boy. Am I not enough to you?”

“You may be as a father to me, but you speak hardly a word to me,” Brenn said. “It is only you and I here, and you cannot be as a mother or my playmates back at home.”

The cook considered this for a moment and nodded. “Then make yourself a friend. If it will keep you happy and calm, wish yourself a pretty girl to keep you company.”

While the boy was excited about the prospect of no longer being alone, he didn’t wish for a friend immediately. He wanted to think about it long and well, making sure he’d made the absolute perfect friend before he made his wish.

The prince spent most of his time with his thoughts in the garden behind the castle. Fyren had given him the exact details of how he wanted his castle to be built, but Brenn had been left to wish for the garden on his own, so he’d wished for a garden exactly like his mother’s.

It was a few days later, as he was sitting out among the pink carnations, that Brenn was certain he’d finally crafted his wish.

With a loud, strong voice, he said, “I wanted to wish for a friend who is lovely and kind, loyal and patient, funny and gentle, strong and beautiful, intelligent and diligent, but the only thing I really wish for is a girl who will be my true friend for the rest of my days.”

No sooner had he made his wish than he saw the flowers next to him begin to move. He pushed back the petals and saw a girl, appearing to be just his age of four, curled up among the stems. She was nude, but her long golden waves of hair covered her.

Her lids fluttered open, and the girl sat up. She was as lovely as he’d hoped for, and he could see the warmth and playful spark in her eyes.

“What is your name?” Brenn asked the girl.

“I am Dianthus,” she told him, and smiled. “I don’t know how I came to be here, but I know that I am your friend.”

Twelve years went by, and Dianthus proved herself to be the truest of friends. She was far more loyal, kind and generous than Brenn would’ve known to wish for. In the dark castle, with Fyren lording over them, Brenn and Dianthus hid in the shadow to avoid his wrath.

Fyren still commanded the boy to make his wishes, but he’d grown even more ill-tempered as he aged, striking out in unprovoked rages. He’d become paranoid about everything, and he seemed to distrust the friendship between Brenn and Dianthus.

Escaping out to the garden as often as they could, Brenn and Dianthus created a world for themselves among the flowers. Fyren never left the safety of the castle walls anymore, claiming that he was afraid that the men who’d killed Brenn’s parents would come after Fyren soon.

While Brenn still listened to Fyren’s rants, he didn’t believe them any longer. He was now a young man of sixteen, and he wasn’t as easily fooled as the young boy Fyren had stowed away those many years ago.

Not to mention that Brenn had more pressing things on his mind. Like the change in his friendship with Dianthus.

For years, she had been his closest confidante, his only respite in the dark storm of his life. He’d shared with her all his darkest secrets, as he’d learned hers. He’d protected her from Fyren’s increasing tantrums, as she had nursed his wounds after horrible fights.

He’d considered her nothing more than this—nothing more than his everything—but as each day passed, with Dianthus growing more beautiful than she had been the day before, Brenn could no longer deny that he was in love with her.

“Do you ever notice that your lips are the color of the pink?” Brenn asked her in the garden as she lay among the carnations, reading a book.

“The color of the pink?” Dianthus lifted her blue eyes to meet his.

“The flowers.” Brenn was lying down next to her, and he rolled to his side. “You are far more beautiful than they will ever be, though.”

Then Brenn leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the mouth, and the kiss seemed to warm him from within, the heat radiating all through him like a flower opening its petals to the sun in the morning.

“You are my one, my one true love,” Brenn said, breathing in deeply and filling his lungs with the aroma of the flower bed. “I love you, Dianthus.”

Her pastel lips curved into a smile as a blush darkened her cheeks. “I know.”

“You know?” Brenn asked in surprise. “How could you know when I’ve only just discovered it for myself?”

“I’ve known since the first time you took my hand and led me into the castle,” Dianthus told him. “And every time you’ve taken my hand since then, and put your body in front of mine to spare me from Fyren’s belt, and each time you looked up into my eyes in that unabashed way you do. I knew that you loved me as deeply and as eternally as I loved you.”

Brenn stared down at her. “If you’ve known all this time, did you not think to tell me?”

“My dear, sweet Brenn.” She put her hand on his cheek, warming his skin, and he leaned into it, relishing the way it made his heartbeat quicken every time they touched. “It is not my place to tell you who you love. You must discover it on your own, and I am so glad that you finally have.”

“How come?” Brenn asked.

“Because now we can do this.” She pulled him back to her, and she kissed him fully on the mouth.

And in that moment, Brenn discovered that she was right. He had loved her since the moment he’d met her, but he’d been unwilling to see it. Deep down, he’d always known that Fyren would take away everything he loved, and Brenn had never cared for anything as much as he cared for Dianthus.

But in her arms in the garden where they’d created their world, Brenn no longer cared about Fyren. They weren’t scared children anymore. He could take Dianthus away from this place, away from Fyren, and they could start a life of their own. They could be married and have a family and a home, and something far grander than anything Fyren would have in store for them.

CHAPTER 4 The Sinister Father

From the high tower of the castle, Fyren stared out of his window, watching down in the garden as the prince kissed the flower girl for the first time. It was at that moment, as Brenn declared his love to Dianthus, that Fyren realized it was time to get rid of the prince.

Soon, Brenn would leave, venture out on his own with his true love and make a name for himself. Fyren had been able to hold him as a prisoner in the castle with threats of the king and queen’s enemies, but Brenn was old enough to believe he could fend for himself.

If Brenn left, it wouldn’t be that long before he found out his mother and father were still alive, and then it would be a very short time after that before the king sent all his men after Fyren to capture and execute him. If Fyren did not kill Brenn now, before he left with Dianthus, then the old cook himself would be dead.

Worse still, Brenn was much stronger than Fyren. Years ago, when the boy had been small and weak, Fyren knew he should’ve done away with him then. Now it was too late, so he’d have to find another means of killing Brenn.

Fyren thought on it for several days, letting the ruminations of his decaying mind work their way through the problem until finally he settled on the simplest plan: Fyren would get the flower girl to do it.

As Fyren had understood Brenn’s wish, he’d made Dianthus to be a servant, subservient and dependent on her elder’s commands. Fyren had always treated her as a slave, and she’d always responded as one, so he had no reason to think differently.

In the middle of the night, when both Dianthus and Brenn were sound asleep, Fyren crept into her room. She woke up startled, but he silenced her when he held up a sharp butcher knife.

“Tomorrow, as the boy sleeps, go into his room and plunge this knife into his heart,” Fyren commanded her. “Then bring me his heart and tongue.”

“Why would I shed his blood? He has done nothing to harm anyone,” Dianthus said. “What reason do you have to even want him gone?”

“Dianthus, my sweet.” Fyren changed his tone to one of loving, and reached out, gently stroking her hair. “Have I not treated both you and the boy as my own? Have I not sheltered you and cared for you the way any good father would?”

“Yes, you have,” Dianthus replied, though she didn’t really believe this was true. She’d never had a father or known one, but the ones she read about in books sounded far kinder than Fyren had ever been.

“Of course I have, and I’ve loved you both,” Fyren continued to lie. “So you must believe me now. It hurts me so to get rid of the poor boy, but it must be done.”

The girl asked, “Why must it be done?”

“He’s grown too old for this palace, for the world he created, and soon he will leave. But when he does, everything he’s wished for will be destroyed.” Fyren told her the story he’d concocted. “I brought him here to save him, but a kind fairy granted pity on him. That’s how he got his power for wishing, but it will last only on this mountaintop. As soon as he leaves, all his wishes will be undone—this castle, this life, even you, my dear girl, you who are a very daughter to me would be destroyed.”

“Can you not ask him to stay?” Dianthus asked. “If he knew it would be my undoing, surely he wouldn’t go.”

“Ah, but he does,” Fyren told her, doing his best to appear sorrowful. “He knows, and he does not care. He told me in my chambers this very afternoon. He’s told you that he loved you as his way of telling you goodbye. In a few days, he will leave, then you will be gone, and I cannot bear that.”

Dianthus seemed to think about it, then she nodded. “I will do as you commanded. I will kill the boy.”

CHAPTER 5 The Wild Heart

The next morning, Dianthus began to carry out her plan. With the knife hidden in the waistband of her dress, Dianthus led Brenn out to the thick woods at the edge of the garden, making sure that Fyren was watching from his dark tower. Once they’d gone far enough into the trees that she was certain that Fyren could no longer see them, Dianthus stopped.

“Where is it you are taking me to?” Brenn asked her as he leaned in to steal a kiss.

Dianthus put her hand on his chest, halting him. “You must run away. You must go as far away as you can, and never come back here again.”

“Why? Why would you have me do such a thing?” Brenn asked.

“I cannot tell you,” Dianthus said, fearing that he would stay if he knew the truth. “But you must go.”

“Not without you.” He shook his head. “I love you, and I won’t leave without you.”

“I cannot go with you,” she insisted. “And if you love me, then you must promise that you’ll leave and never return.”

By the look in her eyes, Brenn knew he wouldn’t be able to change her mind. So he told her he loved her and kissed her one last time before disappearing in the woods.

As Dianthus finished her quest, Brenn was careful to stay just out of sight as he followed her, hiding in the bushes and long grass. Dianthus trapped a boar, then cut out its tongue and heart, staining her dress in crimson.

When she went into the castle, Brenn moved quietly, making his steps light and hiding around corners and in wardrobes. Dianthus appeared to be making a meal out of the heart and tongue, so Brenn waited in the pantry off the dining room.

Through the crack in the door, he saw Dianthus set a silver platter at the end of the table. A few moments later, Fyren came down, easing his hefty frame into the chair.

“It is done, then?” Fyren asked the girl as he stared down at his plate.

She told him, “It is done.”

“Good.” Fyren smiled and picked his knife and fork. He cut into the meat of the heart, eyeing it with suspicion, and then asked Dianthus, “This is the heart and tongue of the boy?”

Brenn understood instantly what had happened, and that Fyren—the man who had spent many long years pretending to care for him—had ordered his true love to murder him.

“That is not my heart, old man,” Brenn said as he burst from the pantry, frightening both Fyren and Dianthus. “You have been deceived, the way you have spent all these years deceiving me.”

“I know not what you speak of,” Fyren stammered, and struggled to get to his feet.

“Why would you have her kill me?” Brenn asked. “Why would you eat my heart? After years of playing the part of my father, why?”

“Please.” Fyren fell to his knees, groveling before the prince. “Have pity on me. I was but a poor cook in your father’s kingdom. I would be condemned to death or servitude if not for you.”

“It was for the wishes, then, wasn’t it?” Brenn asked. “You’ve been holding me captive for my powers all this time. Has everything you told me been a lie? Are my parents even dead?”

“I do not know what became of your parents,” Fyren told him.

“Then what good are you to me? You are nothing but a mangy dog, begging for scraps at my feet,” Brenn said. “It’s time you took your true form. I wish you to become what you truly are—a mangy black dog, starving and unable to ever feel full, no matter how much diseased flesh and burning coals you might eat.”

Fyren cried out, but quickly, his cries turned to that of a howling dog, and he changed into a thin dog, with patches of black fur missing all over his protruding ribs.

“This is why you sent me away?” Brenn turned to Dianthus, his gray eyes filled with worry.

“I had to protect you,” she told him.

“Now it is my turn to protect you.” He took her hands in his. “I will take you away from this dark castle to my parents’ kingdom. I was a prince there, and when we return, you will be at my side, as my princess.”

“Your kingdom? That’s so very far away, past the mountains and rivers and forests,” Dianthus said. “We could stay here and make this castle our own.”

“The journey won’t be that long. We can make it,” Brenn promised her. “I must return. My parents might still be alive, and I have to see them and tell them where I’ve been.”

Dianthus knew that Fyren was a faulty storyteller, but not everything he’d told her had been a lie. Many things were, but certainly some of them had to be true. And what reason did Fyren have to kill his wish maker unless he was right? If Brenn left the top of the mountain, all his wishes might come undone—meaning Dianthus would cease to exist as a person, and instead return to the carnation form from which she’d come.

By the look in Brenn’s eyes and the way she felt in her heart, she was certain he would stay if she asked him to. If she refused to leave the castle, then Brenn would refuse to leave her. But in all their years together, she’d heard hundreds of stories about his parents, and he loved them so much. She couldn’t deny him a chance to see them again.

“I’ve never left the grounds before, and I’m afraid I’ll slow you down on the journey back to your rightful kingdom,” Dianthus told Brenn finally. “Why don’t you wish for me to return to my carnation form? Then you can carry me in your pocket, and I’ll always be with you.”

“If that’s as you wish,” Brenn said. “As soon as we get to the safety of my kingdom, I will make you be human again.”

She smiled at him with tears in her eyes. “Of course.”

Before he made his wish, she kissed him and held him tightly to her. So softly that Brenn couldn’t hear, Dianthus told him goodbye.

CHAPTER 6 The Faraway Kingdom

The prince had arrived at the peak of the Graulumberg Mountains as a frightened young boy, but he left as a strong young man with a flower pressed in his pocket and a mangy dog at his heels.

It had been a very long time since he’d been outside Fyren’s castle grounds, and he’d forgotten how cold and treacherous the mountain was. He managed to make it down, but even darker trouble was lurking for him in the Verzanfrost Woods.

Brenn was careful not to use his powers of wishing, as there were too many people inhabiting the woods. They were all dark, evil folk, and they would do anything to get their hands on a power like his. He had to keep it secret, even when the wild beasts chased after them.

At night, when he would sleep in a thicket made in the roots of the trees, he would pull out the carnation, twirling it in his fingers, and that would give him the strength to make it through another day.

In the cold waters of the Eisenfluss River, Brenn was nearly swept away. But he pulled himself to shore, gasping for breath and ever more determined to finish his quest home.

When Brenn finally arrived at the gates at the edge of his kingdom, it was several months later. His clothes were tattered and worn, he was bruised, scarred and dirty, but he was stronger and better for the journey.

The flags flying high over the gates still bore the emblem of his father. His parents were still in power. The first knight Brenn found, he demanded to take him to see the king.

“A filthy beggar like yourself will not be granted audience with the king,” the knight told him. “Take yourself and your mangy beast and get out of here.”

Instead of listening, Brenn bolted and ran as fast as he could toward the castle, outrunning all of the king’s men. He snuck past the guards outside the palace, and Brenn pushed his way inside, racing right up to the king’s court.

As soon as he saw them—the king and queen seated in their thrones—Brenn knew they were his parents. They’d aged some—his father thinner than he remembered, and his mother much grayer.

A guard ran over to grab him, but Queen Rose was already to her feet, tears flowing down her cheeks.

“Do not touch a hair on that boy’s head!” the queen commanded. “That is your prince, and if you hurt him, I will send you to the dungeon myself.”

She ran over to Brenn, embracing him tightly to her, and King Elrik soon hugged him, too. They asked what had happened to him, and Brenn began to tell the story of Fyren and how he’d held him in the mountains for all those years.

Then he thought of Dianthus, and seeing that it was safe in the kingdom, Brenn pulled the flower from his pocket. The pink petals had browned and wilted. The flower had been crushed over time, and it was so fragile that it felt like it might turn to dust in his fingers.

“Wherever did you get that?” the queen asked as Brenn set the flower on the floor.

“Dianthus, I wish for you to return to your human form,” Brenn commanded.

His heart pounded desperately, and his stomach churned. Throughout his travels, he’d known the flower was growing worn, and every night since he’d left the mountains, Brenn had thought about wishing Dianthus back to life. But it was not as he’d promised her, so he’d waited.

But now that the moment was at hand, he’d begun to fear that perhaps the flower had become too damaged. Perhaps Dianthus would be unable to return, or if she did, she may be injured. He’d tried with all his might to protect the pink, but the journey had been arduous, and it had taken its toll on the precious flower.

In moments that stretched out to eternity, Brenn was certain that his greatest fears had come true. He’d been unable to keep his one true love safe, and she would not return to him. And then finally—blessedly—she appeared.

Dianthus was curled up on the floor in her finest gown, and she appeared even more beautiful than when he’d seen her last. Surprise and joy lit up her face as they embraced.

“I was afraid I’d never see you again,” Brenn admitted, brushing her golden hair back from her face.

“And I you,” she said, sounding awed to be in his arms again. “I love you so, my prince.”

“I love you, my princess.” Brenn kissed her, more passionately than he should’ve in front of his parents, but he couldn’t help himself. He had just been reunited with his love.

With the prince returned, the kingdom rejoiced, and Brenn and Dianthus were married within the week. With the help of Brenn’s and Dianthus’s leadership, the kingdom began to prosper again. The king and queen doted on their son and his new bride, making up for all the time they had lost.

They loved Dianthus like she was their own daughter, and she loved them in return, for they were the parents her heart had always wished for. Queen Rose and Princess Dianthus spent much time together in the wilds of the garden behind the palace, and the queen often remarked that the pink carnations had never been more radiant.

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