Chapter One:

Dagmar never felt at ease in a full gown, with her hair twisted into braids on top of her head, her feet pressed into shoes. She loved her parents and would do anything they asked of her. She knew she owed them very much indeed. But she was conscious at every moment of the eyes that lingered on her, and the looks shared that said—she does not belong. She is no princess. She is only a peasant’s daughter without an ounce of magic in her blood.

“I can leave your hair loose, if you like,” said her maid Anafried. “Is it pinching you or feeling too heavy in that style?”

“It’s fine,” said Dagmar. She did not want to put Anafried to any more trouble. She appreciated her maid and if they were not exactly friends, they were as close to it as Dagmar had. She knew that at a ball like this one, Anafried would sleep only a few minutes at a time, in snatches between the dancing. And afterward, when Dagmar lay in bed, Anafried would be smoothing out velvet cloaks, repairing tiny rips, freshening the scent under the arm, and washing what pieces could be washed, all before morning when it would all begin again.

So it was when the castle had important visitors from throughout the kingdom and beyond. The festitives lasted for days on end, until even King George and Queen Marit began to droop with exhaustion and plead for time to themselves.

“And your shoes? Do you prefer the lower heels? I could shine them for you. Or if these are too big, I could put some cotton into the toe,” said Anafried.

“The shoes are fine.” Dagmar’s toes wiggled inside them and wished to be free. She went barefoot when she could, which was less often now that she had turned sixteen and was considered of age for attractive young noblemen of the kingdom to come and gawk at her and make her wonder if they thought her worth asking to marry.

Anafried pinched Dagmar’s cheeks and smiled at her widely. “Come, Princess. Smile back at me. Your smile is the most beautiful feature you have to use on men.”

Dagmar thought this only a commentary on her less the beautiful other features. Her nose was too wide. Her complexion was marred by the pox she had suffered ten years ago, as a small child. Her parents had not suffered from it, nor any of the nobility in the castle. Only the servants. And the princess.

Dagmar had fine teeth, however, and she opened her lips enough to show them when she smiled. She wondered if it looked like a cow’s smile, or the smile of a wild hound. But no one would say such a thing to her.

She allowed Anafried to lead the way down the stairs, watching to be sure that she did not catch a heel on the hem of her gown. It was a new one, made of silk overlay with an itchy underskirt to give added fullness to her figure. Dagmar was quite thin and if not for such a gown, might easily have passed for younger than her true age.

The music was already beginning. Dagmar stopped a moment, her hands picking at the lace around her waist.

Anafried pulled them away and tucked them flat to her sides, then held them there calmly with her own cool fingers. “Nothing to worry about, Princess. Everyone always says how kind you are, how thoughtful.”

More words to disguise the truth.

I will speak clearly tonight, Dagmar promised herself. I will not let my words be tangled up in fear.

She nodded to Anafried, and they moved close enough to the doors that the uniformed guards, in the green and black full dress uniforms that were newly designed for elegance, stood at attention and then led her in.

Anafried patted her on the back, and then Dagmar was moving forward into the grand ballroom. There were candles lit everywhere and the falling red sun was caught in the glass of the windows ahead of her, like a painting.

Everything was so perfect.

Dagmar looked back a moment, but Anafried was gone.

She felt her heart beat against her ribs and there was a catch in the base of her throat with every breath she took. She was not dizzy, but she almost wished she were, so that she would have an excuse to sit down, to not move forward, to do nothing at all.

But there was her father, King George, motioning to her with an elegant hand. His hair had begun to go white at the temples in the last year and his groom had tried to darken it with a mixture of sap and tree bark seeped in horse urine. The king had declined the offer, insisting that he finally felt as if he looked a king, and had no wish to seem the puppy who had inherited the throne sixteen years before at his father’s untimely death.

He was dressed in layers of velvet and ermine, far more than could be comfortable for him. And he wore the crown on his head as if he were not at all afraid that it would fall off if he bent the wrong way.

Dagmar had had dreams about this very thing happening to her.

She thought her mother’s choice, however unpopular, was eminently more practical. Instead of wearing a crown, she had golden ink dabbed across her forehead in the style of a crown. She did not change it depending on what she was wearing, though there were women who copied her style and painted their faces in a circle at the temple in a way that was not quite an insult to the throne. Her gown was simple, without a stiff skirt underneath. Her strong arms were covered by long sleeves, but any movement she made showed that she was no ordinary queen.

“Dagmar,” she said, and crooked her arm around her daughter’s. “We have been waiting for you.”

“Oh?” Dagmar swallowed hard.

“Yes, there is someone who has been looking forward to meeting you.”

Dagmar stumbled, but her mother kept her moving steadily to her father’s right hand side.

The king touched her hair gently, smoothing it down as if it had come out of the tight knots that Anafriend had put into it. “You light up my heart,” he said softly. It was what he had said to her since she was very small, and perhaps he had said it before then.

Dagmar sometimes wondered if he had said the same thing to the other princess, the one who had been stolen from him when she was only a week old, right from the castle itself.

Did her father love her, Dagmar? Or did he love the fact that she was as close as he could be to Ina Dagmar? It seemed a cruel thing to believe of her father, for he had never been less than kind to her. But there were moments when she had caught him staring off into the distance, into the woods where it was said the infant princess had been taken. And she knew that he had not forgotten that she might still live, and that Dagmar was only holding her place while she was gone.

“Dagmar, this is Lord Morlieb,” said King George, and turned to the side enough that she could see his face.

It was a handsome face. He had dark hair that curled at the bottom, where it brushed against his neck. His eyes were the green of pine trees in the middle of winter. His skin was darkly tanned and he wore a rough cloak over simple trousers and tunic. His hands were well callused, when he held out one to take Dagmar’s.

Then he kissed her hand gently, and she could smell the horse and sweat and grass on him.

“As lovely as you are rumored to be,” said Lord Morlieb. “I am delighted to meet you.”

“And I to meet you,” said Dagmar. As soon as the words were out, she was astonished that she had not stuttered or had her mind go completely blank or said something that was completely inappropriate, about the man’s full lips or his intelligent look or the way that she wished he would touch her hand again, and hold it for a little longer, so that she could be close enough to take in his scent a second time.

“Lord Morlieb is an envoy from the south. He brings the good will of the king of Tirol with him. And the hopes for a treaty between our kinds, so that we can share our understandings of magic.”

“And do you have magic yourself?” asked Dagmar.

“Of a sort. None of the wild magic that your father has shown.”

“Once,” said King George. “Only once in my life. I do not know if it came from me, after all, or from the forest itself.”

“But that is the way of all magic. It does not come from inside of us. We are but a conduit for it. But there are some who are better conduits than others, depending on their characters and their willingness to sacrifice for the magic,” said Lord Morlieb.

Dagmar had gone to a few lessons on magic, purely for the sake of proving to her father that she had no talent in that area. He had not forced her to do more than a perfunctory test.

How different it would have been for the true princess, Ina Dagmar. Her father would have expected her to show even more predilection for magic than he had, for she had conditions in the kingdom now that would allow her to develop her talents openly.

But what Lor Morlieb said about magic was concise and did not make Dagmar feel as intimidated by discussions of magic as she usually did.

“Then what magic can you do?” asked Dagmar openly.

Lord Morlieb turned to her.

She wondered if she had been too forward to ask such a thing.

But he ran a hand through the air and caught a tiny insect. He whispered to it in its own language, no more than a hiss here or there, and when he opened his hand, the creature held very still and Lord Morlieb could press it from side to side and it did not move.

“Marvelous,” said King George. “I speak to animals frequently, but they do not often do as I ask them to do. I find them to be a rather fractious lot, with their own intentions. Even when I try to explain to them the importance of what I have asked—they do not always agree.”

“Ah, well, these are very small things. Gnats do not have great minds. It is no great magic to be able to sway them. I’m sure that you could learn to do it if you tried, Your Highness,” said Lord Morlieb.

King George held up his hands. “No, no. That is not my gift. I take what magic gives me and do not demand more.”

“Well, there is little I can do with such a gift. A party trick, no more than that. A paltry offering to a king—and his daughter princess.” He dipped his head in humility.

“Would you be willing to speak at our magic school in the morning?” asked King George. “About your own gift and any others you have heard of? I would very much like to have the details logged, in case a similar magic appears in my kingdom. Then there would be something we could teach about it. And I am always interested in how the different magics fit together. It is my understanding that they all arise out of the bond that ties each species to the others. It is a way of reminding of us our origins, and them of their possibilities. Do you not agree?”

“I see things—differently. But perhaps that would take more time than we have at present to discuss,” said Lord Morlieb.

“Of course, of course. Now it is time for dancing.” King George looked to his queen and offered her his arm. In his father’s time, it had been considered bad manners for the king to dance with his own wife, but when George was crowned, he would hear nothing of it. He danced with his wife and no one else. It was when he was not dancing that others in the kingdom had a chance to catch his ear.

Queen Marit was a fine dancer. When she and the king touched each other, they seemed to fall into another world of fire and joy, a world that was only partially held within the walls of the castle. No one would had seen the two of them together would ever wish that the rule would be changed back. There was a feeling that spread through the castle, of warmth, of purpose, of fierceness. Some might call it an animal feeling, but it left all those watching breathless and wishing for more.

“I am a poor substitute for your father, I fear,” said Lord Morlieb. “But I would be honored if you would dance with me.”

“Thank you,” said Dagmar. She moved to the dance floor and he put a hand to her side and one around her shoulders.

With the first note of music, Dagmar felt as if she could feel the beat of the blood in his veins. It matched the tempo of the music, and she smoothly felt her own feet gliding along the floor next to his. She had never enjoyed dancing so much before.

It seemed only a few breaths later before the music had ended, and she was still swaying in Lord Morlieb’s arms. He smiled at her and she caught a glimpse of white teeth, with one on the side a little longer than its partner.

So, he is not quite perfect, Dagmar thought to herself. It made her smile.

“If I let go of you, do you think you will fall?” asked Lord Morlieb.

Dagmar realized that she was till holding tightly to his waist.

She blushed and let go, then stepped back.

“It was not that I minded. It was only that there were people watching.” Lord Morlieb stepped back and nodded to the other nobles, all gawking at the scene of the princess who had not looked so at ease in many years, and smiling with all genuineness.

“You are very kind,” said Dagmar.

He raised a finger in mock warning. “Now you are flattering me.”

“I never flatter,” said Dagmar seriously.

“Never?”

Dagmar shook her head.

“Does that make you a better princess or a worse one, do you think? No, don’t answer that. There are times when a man prefers to be with a woman, rather than a princess. And at the moment, you are a woman to me. There is no real compliment better than that one.”

Dagmar felt as if her head were whirling still on the dance floor. She was very warm, and she could feel a drop of sweat fall from her brow.

Lord Morlieb neatly caught it and brought the finger to his mouth to lick it.

She watched his tongue closely, then shook herself. She could not make such a spectacle of herself. She was a princess, no matter how she felt at the moment.

“I shall return you to your father now.”

“Yes,” murmured Dagmar.

“With no pleasure at all.” He made an unhappy face, which seemed only partly false.

“Will you be here long?” asked Dagmar, before they stopped moving and her father could overhear her.

“As long as is necessary,” said Lord Morlieb.

“Necessary for what?” King George had said that he was here for the king of Tirol, but not what he was negotiating for. He must want something. Dagmar hoped that he got it.

“For the future of magic and our two human kingdoms,” said Lord Morlieb.

Dagmar’s eyebrows rose. “That sounds very important.”

“It is. Oh, it is.”

“If you need any assistance, perhaps I could speak your part,” said Dagmar.

“How sweet of you to offer. But only I am authorized to speak for my king.”

“I see,” said Dagmar. She felt a little let down. Had she imagined his interest in her?

She turned to her father.

Lord Morlieb called her back, brushing an arm against hers. “Call me Rolf, Princess Dagmar,” he said. “It would make me very pleased that I had made a connection with you.”

“Rolf,” said Dagmar.

And King George, though he heard this last exchange, did not scold her for the sudden familiarity. He seemed to like Lord Morlieb almost as much as Dagmar did herself.

Only Queen Marit seemed immune to his charms. Though she said nothing negative, she did comment at the end of the evening that she liked him and had no idea why.