WARNING: This story contains depictions of violence and depictions of sexual assault that may not be suitable for some readers.

The end of a hundred year war. Outside the castle walls, bells tolled and elves cheered in the streets, celebrating the king's victory over The Araphel—the dealers of Death magic and darkness. The relief and reignited hope of people in the city were palpable in the laughter, shouts, and sporadic singing of the war-weary citizens. But the jubilation rising in the atmosphere outside did not penetrate the room in which I stood.

All around me, dozens of children huddled on the cold floors, their little limbs wrapped tight around food-starved frames to conserve what warmth they could in the damp, drafty space. For some, being alone seemed to offer a measure of solace. Others, like me, gravitated toward the windows, staring wistfully through the warped glass panes.

I pressed my nose against the glass and wished for a little of the joy outside to slip through the stone walls, for there was certainly none to be found within them. Did the other children gazing longingly out the window wish to shout and sing with the relieved revelers outside... to see whether it was possible for them to absorb some of the joy blooming in the city as a cure to push out the sorrow that sickened them?

Pulling back from the window, I covered my nose to warm it. Did they know the truth as I did? That for orphans, there was no joy or celebration or end to suffering in the king's victory. We would be the ever-present reminder of the cost of war.

Across the room, the heavy wooden door creaked as it opened. A few of the children raised their heads in listless curiosity when a trio of women entered. Brownies from the looks of their drooping pointed ears and wrinkled hands, but their features expressed an unusual sternness for their race. Was their natural kindness another collateral cost of the war?

I watched the newcomers warily, anticipation knotting unpleasantly in my stomach. When the Orphan Snatchers collected me this morning, I went willingly despite not knowing what happened to the children they took. So far, we had been treated well enough—each child receiving a hot meal and cool water to wash away weeks of grime. They then delivered us to a pair of matronly looking women standing outside the castle who ushered us through the outer bailey and settled us in this barren room. No one else had entered the room again until now.

The child beside me, a Vixen of about five or six years old, swiveled her tufted ears toward them and bared her sharp incisors. Vixens were known for their heated temperaments. They were quick to anger and last to stand down; so, I shouldn't have been surprised by the behavior, but it was out of place in a room filled with so many downtrodden children. If her story was even half as bleak as the bleakest child's, I wouldn't fault her for cowering. Instead, her small act of defiance warmed my heart and almost made me laugh. It would be the first in as long as I could remember, which admittedly wasn't all that impressive since my memories only went back two years.

Slowly, the women worked their way through the crowd, stopping and inspecting each child. A few children were pulled aside by the smallest of the three women and hustled into the hallway. Several minutes later, she returned alone.

On and on this went until eventually fifteen of the orphans had been removed from the space and the Brownies had sorted all remaining children into an order only they understood. Even the defiant little Vixen had been put into a group, though I noticed she'd lost some of her bluster.

"Do we put her with them?" the smallest Brownie asked, tapping her nail against her leathery chin. Her round, doll-like eyes, were kinder up close, but it didn't hide the obvious calculation as she focused her gaze upon me.

"Them" was a group of girls ranging in age from twelve to fourteen. They leaned against the wall to my right in a straight line, some of them clasping hands as tears streaked down their faces.

"She is certainly pretty enough, Clara, though this dark hair is out of fashion. What do you think, Beatrice?" the Brownie on the far left asked. Her softer skin and less wrinkled hands suggested she was the youngest of the three.

Beatrice had to be the leader. Tall and imposing, she arched wiry gray eyebrows as she circled me, not even the slightest bit of warmth in her cool green eyes. Gray hair on an elf meant she was old indeed.

"The hair is certainly a strike against her."

I touched the silky black braid hanging over my shoulder. The simple move shifted my dress, exposing my shoulder. Beatrice hissed, grabbing my arm and ripping my sleeve down further. Clara and the other Brownie recoiled.

"What is your race, child?" Beatrice demanded, twisting my limb from side to side as she inspected the scar tissue covering it.

"Low elf," I murmured. A familiar shame washed over me. Being classified as "low elf" was reserved for mixed breeds who displayed no talents or affinities.

"No healing power. Explains the scarring," Clara muttered, recovering enough to inch closer and inspect my arm. "Burns?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"About two years ago."

"This was when your parents were killed?"

I nodded. It wasn't a lie, but I couldn't be sure it was the truth. I had no memory of my parents...no memory of anything that occurred before I awoke, alone and disfigured, in a small cabin on the edge of the forest.

Burning was my first memory. The sound of the roaring flames, vision completely overwhelmed by thick, black smoke, and the smell of scorching flesh now lived in my mind as the cornerstone of all my memories. Pain so intense and unrelenting, it made me vomit and wish for death.

Sometimes, I would awaken in the middle of the night screaming and flailing, convinced I was on fire again only to discover it was a nightmare. But the searing ache ignited in my arm after each night terror was no dream. Beatrice looked at her clipboard, then back at me.

"Why have you just now been collected if you were orphaned so long ago?"

This was a question I could answer honestly. "A couple who lived on the edge of the Vesper took me in."

Some of the children, close enough to overhear our exchange, whimpered and trembled. Everyone knew what had happened to the villages bordering the Vesper, the forest stretching between Edresh and the Starlight Kingdom. A weeks-long battle between the king's forces and giant behemoths of shadow and ice had rendered the entire area uninhabitable. It had been the beginning of the end of the war for the kingdom, but for the villages of the Vesper, it was simply an end.

When the Battle of the Vesper broke out, the couple hid me in the cellar beneath their home. I shivered in the darkness for days, frozen by the cold and the fear in the screams seeping through the floors above without ceasing... until one day they did. True terror set in then... when the world went quiet. By the time the soldier found me covered in muck and urine, I had not heard another voice for at least two days.

The youngest Brownie's voice broke into my trance of reminiscence. "Well, what should we do with her? There is a family looking for a girl, but they will not want a low elf. And the scarring makes her useless in the pleasure halls. What about–"

"Enough, Terra," Beatrice snapped. She pulled the sleeve of my dress up. "You two stay here until they retrieve all the children. I will be taking her to the North Tower."

Clara's eyes sparkled. "That is perfect."

"Come, child."

I followed Beatrice out of the room and into the hall. Tired and hungry as I was, it wasn't difficult to keep up with her. Though she was the tallest between her companions, Brownies were known for their short stature. At only twelve, I still had half a head on her, making it easy to match her brisk stride.

Servants passed us but did not speak. They walked with purpose, forcing us to move around them to get by. I had to fight against the growing urge to ask where we were headed. If the North Tower was a terrible place, rumors of its horrors hadn't reached the locals because not a single child batted an eyelash when Beatrice made the announcement. I suspected Clara might have at least looked a little guilty if it was some place awful, but then she had just been picking out children to send to the pleasure halls.

We took so many twists and turns, there would be no way to run if the idea held any appeal to me. Of all the horrible options for orphans in the world, being on the streets was the worst. I'd seen the haggard, beaten creatures lurking in the alleys and gullies, their stares blank as our carriage sped by on the way to the markets. I could only imagine how much worse street living would be for an orphan in a war-scarred city.

Sunlight pooled through arched, glassless windows as we made our way through the inner bailey, leaving behind the outer buildings of the palace that housed the stables, kitchens and servants. This was a part of the castle I was unfamiliar with since we'd been brought in through the servants' quarters, but Beatrice's pace was so brisk I saw little more than a blur of bright green grass before we entered the castle keep.

Rough stone floors gave way to smooth marble, and tapestries appeared on the walls. Pushed against the walls were strategically placed slim, ornately carved tables, and on surfaces polished to a mirror shine sat delicate vases of grand floral arrangements with flowers I had no name for, only awe. Beatrice snipped at me to keep up, but even she could not hide her own admiration as her eyes flicked between the displays and the path ahead.

I had yet to see a lord or lady, but I keenly felt their presence in the demeanor of the attendants. We passed more servants, and like before, they did not speak to us; however, unlike before, they walked with their eyes downcast, keeping to shadows and corners as if to avoid notice. We, too, were walking closer along the edges of the broad corridor as though to avoid being present in the space.

A gust of humid air whipped through the corridor and tangled my frayed skirts about my legs. Beatrice put her hand over her head to hold her white cap in place and gasped as I pitched forward, hitting the ground hard with my knees. Teeth sinking into my tongue, I let out a whimper and tasted the coppery tang of blood.

"Clumsy child," Beatrice muttered, rushing toward me with her arms outstretched.

But it wasn't her hand that wrapped around my wrist and tugged me to my feet. "Are you hurt?"

I looked into a pair of concerned, glacial blue eyes and my tongue froze to the roof of my mouth. This boy was no servant. His silk breeches and tunic were evidence of that, but it wasn't the appearance of wealth that gave me pause. It was the unspeakable beauty and raw power emitting from him in rushing waves.

The kind of beauty and power only the High Elves of Edresh possessed.

Hovering at my side, Beatrice dipped her head low. "She is unharmed, Your Highness."

Your Highness. Not any High Elf - a royal one. I could think of no members of the royal family near this boy's age, save one: the king's eldest grandson, Tievel.

"Did the fall injure her tongue, Brownie?"

"It did not," I blurted out before Beatrice earned another sharp retort from the prince. "I am fine."

"Your Highness," Beatrice hissed in my ear.

"Your Highness," I tacked on with a wince, as the honorable title somehow sounded like an insult.

The pointed tips of Tievel's ears twitched, and the threat of a smile clung to his pretty pink mouth. "Do you often fall? Will you be needing special accommodations during your stay at the palace?" He tensed, and a look akin to worry passed through his eyes. "You are staying, yes?"

"She is," Beatrice answered as I replied, "If you could fix the draft, I'm sure I'd get along just fine."

The corners of his mouth upturned slightly, and his eyes gleamed. "Noted."

"Tievel!" a woman called out shrilly.

The prince flinched before bowing. "I must take my leave, ladies. I look forward to seeing you again."

As soon as he was out of sight, Beatrice grabbed me roughly and resumed our walk, her pace doubled and her grip punishing. Knees still aching, I struggled to stay upright but feared falling might set her off or cause her to change her mind about me staying in the castle. At least our run in with the prince had revealed that much about my fate.

The last stretch of the journey took us up ten flights of narrow, spiraling stairs. A sharp stitch in my side throbbed and sweat broke out along my brow, catching stray wisps of hair I couldn't dislodge while Beatrice had a hold on me.

"Stay here," the Brownie commanded when we reached the final floor and stepped onto a small platform.

"Gladly," I puffed out as I leaned against the wall and caught my breath.

There wasn't much to see here besides a single gilded door. A simple braided rug of blue and silver covered most of the floor. On either side of the door, bronze cressets were mounted and lit, the tallow burning in the cups permeating the air with a faint animal odor.

Beatrice knocked on the door three times, then again when no one answered. Consternation pulled her features down, and she fumbled with the keys on her chatelaine, at last inserting one into the lock and twisting it until a soft click sounded. She crooked her finger at me and stepped inside.

Down the middle of the room ran a single strip of sunlight, its golden gleam muted by the hazy panes of glass in the single large arched window in the center of the outer wall. A bed big enough to sleep at least four grown Fae was shoved against the wall on the left side of the room, and in its center, beneath the blankets, a lump was visible.

"Princess Astreia," Beatrice called out, her keys jingling as she toyed with them. The lump shifted. "I've brought you the companion you requested."

My lips parted, and I stifled a gasp. For months, rumors regarding the last heir of Estrellum ran rampant. Some claimed they had sacrificed her to the ancient gods to appease their anger and end the war. Others whispered that the Shadow King had kidnapped her. I'd heard only one elder Sprite suggest she had been brought to Edresh, and those listening laughed and called him an idiot.

The covers fell away as the princess sat up. This time I could not contain my shock. The shadows swallowed her features and form, but silver specks of light flickered all over her skin, dimming to a faint glow when she stepped into the sunlight.

"Hello," she said. She addressed me, not Beatrice. "I'm Astreia."

"Well, girl, respond," Beatrice snapped after a long stretch of silence.

Astreia giggled and something friendly and inviting danced behind her eyes. Her eyes—the same silver shade as the stars in her black skin—were warm and welcoming.

I licked my lips and whispered, "I'm Morana."

Her brows raised. "Morana is not a common name among the Edreshians." Those eyes roved over my body, and I knew she took note of every detail, filing it away for later. "But, then, you are not a common girl."

"Will she do?" Beatrice demanded, shifting her weight impatiently as she clasped her hands in front of her.

I pressed my lips together, flicking my eyes between the two and praying my eagerness didn't show. Of all the things I'd imagined happening to me after being taken this morning, becoming the companion of the Starlight Princess of Estrellum was not one of them.

She stepped between Beatrice and me, her hand cupping my chin. A crease formed between her brows as she nodded.

"She'll do."