Ashara woke with tingling lips and tears streaming down her face. She sat up, looking around for Eolande. Her handmaid lay a few feet away, on her belly, snoring softly. Thank the goddess. She’s asleep… Ashara wiped her tears on the back of her hand, hiding it under her cloak.

Her throat closed with the beginnings of sobs. Hot tears stung her eyes. Ashara clamped a pale and over her mouth, attempting to muffle her sobs. Her nose ran, dribbling over her hand and down her chin, dripping onto the soft material of her cloak.

“Goddess! It hurts so bad! I was so happy with him…” Ashara shivered, stifling her cries when Eolande muttered something in her sleep, turning on her side. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, watching the black hair of her dearest friend fall over her face like a black waterfall.

Maybe I can find my way to the Unseelie court on my own. If I keep walking surely I’ll come across the border forest. She’ll be better without someone who doesn’t listen to her woes and will only drag her into danger. I can’t do that to her anymore.

Silent tears dripped down Ashara’s face as she stood. She made no move to wipe them away. Ashara took one last look at her friend. I’ve always been alone in this, haven’t I?

“Maybe it was selfish of me to drag you along like this… I’m so sorry. When I get back I’ll make it up to you somehow, Eolande, I promise!” Promises were dangerous things in Faerieland. With the oath still warm on her lips, Ashara turned away.

Small twigs and fallen leaves crunched under her bare feet as she walked away. The forest was alive with birdsong and sunshine that peeped through the trees.

After a few hours of walking Ashara reached a village with thatch and wood tiled roofs. Ashara clutched the folds of her great cloak around her as she walked. Her head whipped back and forth, watching the slow shuffle of villagers in the mid-morning light with slight panic.

She relaxed, watching the myriad of people take no notice of her. What glory it is to be invisible. The steadily growing crowds wove around Ashara, and she turned in slow circles, watching faeries, halflings, and even the odd human or two make their way through the village, and doing daily tasks.

Ashara’s stomach growled loudly. She blushed, pressing a hand to her abdomen. She looked around, her eyes catching on a wooden sign that read ‘bakery’. I need food. Almost instantly the scent wafted towards her on a sudden gust of wind. Ashara’s stomach growled, louder this time.

Her feet carried her, almost against her own volition, toward the bakery. The outer walls were made of stone, a rarity for buildings that weren’t castles. Ashara watched a portly man, human by her own estimation, push a flat wooden door into a steaming oven. She breathed in, taking the scent of freshly baked bread into her lungs and letting it linger.

For a few more moments Ashara watched the man pour water over the glowing embers, snuffing out their low, orange light. The man walked to the other side of the bakery, picking up a small wooden barrel, opening it. He scooped out several handfuls of flour before reaching for a brown jug and pouring a small measure of water.

Ashara watched the man search for a bowl and pour water from the jug beside him and sprinkled brown powder into the water, stirring it with a bundle of straw.

A gentle memory stirred in her mind, one from long ago, when the world was kinder.

“There. Fold it and press it with the heel of your hand, m’lady.” George’s voice was gentle at her ear, his ands draped around her and his hands on top of hers, moving her own just so. She smiled. The lump of dough folded itself under her hands with George’s careful guidance.

“Now we whisk the egg. This’ll give the bread a lovely golden brown coat,” George said, guiding her hands once more. Once the egg was thoroughly whisked, George set the bread on top of the paddle, a long handled wooden tray.

“Now take the whisk and brush the egg over the bread.” Ashara picked up the whisk, dipping it into the egg and water mixture, and slathered it over the bread. George raked out the oven, scattering embers and ashes on the floor below the oven. He took the handle of the paddle, raising it up and shoving the bread into the oven and setting it to the side. He then grabbed the small wooden door and stuffed into the the opening, closing off the heat of the oven.

The memory faded, making Ashara smile softly. That was one of the first things I’d learned how to cook. After that… he taught me how to make more than just bread. Her belly warmed at the image of George’s hands.

When her eyes flickered back to the baker, he was attending to the bread, kneading it back and forth over a section of the floured table, his hands dusted with it.

A figure bumped past Ashara, striding into the bakery with hurried steps. The boy wore olive green and had dark hair. “Do you have the flour for the princess’ pastry?” The boy’s voice was anxious. The baker nodded.

“I got it last night. There’s not much to be had. Only enough for a practise attempt and the one the princess herself will taste.” The cooks voice shook, his hands working the dough harder than he ought. I’d nearly forgotten… Dandelion and I are to make trips to each village after… Ashara was unable to finish the thought, biting her lip.

She left her perch beyond the bakery door, flirting through the village, watching the people go to and fro about their business. The sky was a beautiful shade of blue above her, clouds floating like wisps of silk. A field stretching far beyond the village lay ripe with golden grain, dancing in the soft wind.

A bright grey castle stretched into the sky, dark blue and periwinkle banners snapping in the breeze. Ashara’s mouth formed an ‘o’, hanging open. The castle of the Duke of twilight. He’ll have horses... and food. Ashara’s stomach growled loudly as if to add an exclamation point to her thoughts.

She stared up at the fortress atop the slowly sloping hill, surrounded on one side by a field of wheat. The turrets peaked up behind the battlements, their color a dark blue of the evening. I remember running amok with Dandelion when Aunt Tatiana would travel to visit with Lady Violet.

Ashara scrunched up her nose, and put one foot in front of the other.