The early morning was quiet, the world still dressed in a silvery veil of mist. Avelina stood beside her aunt, Rhoswen, just outside their house. Her heart pounded like a distant drum as she stared at the carriage that had just pulled up in front of them — a sleek, black coach drawn by two powerful horses, their coats glistening like oil under the pale light.
A few feet away, her cousins glowed like polished diamonds.
Iridessa wore pale gold, the sleeves lined with lace and gems that shimmered in the soft sunrise. Calla was in a blush-pink dress, flaring out perfectly at the hips. Their hair was curled and pinned with crystal flowers. They laughed loudly — not at any joke, but simply because they could.
"Lady Rhoswen and daughters," he announced.
Rhoswen offered him a tight smile and motioned for her daughters to enter.
"Keep your head down. Speak only when spoken to," Rhoswen muttered as she adjusted Avelina's plain brown cloak, making sure it fully hid the green silk peeking out beneath. "You are my niece — yes. But at the castle, you are a servant."
Avelina gave a small nod. "Yes, Aunt Rhoswen."
The coachman, a tall man with gloves and a blank expression, stepped down and opened the door. "Rhoswen of Eastvale?"
"Yes."
He gave a curt nod and motioned for them to enter. Avelina hesitated for a heartbeat, then climbed in after her aunt. The door shut behind them with a dull finality.
---
The Journey to Raventhorne
The road curved through dense forests and wide hills wrapped in fog. Shadows moved between the trees — not animals, not people… just shapes. Avelina tried not to stare.
Inside the carriage, Rhoswen stayed silent, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the window. Avelina's fingers itched with energy again. She felt that strange hum in her veins — the kind that usually came before her magic reacted.
She pressed her palms together, whispering softly — "Animum sedare"
A spell to calm the mind
A tiny glow sparked between her hands. Hope flared in her chest.
Then — pfft. It fizzled. The light died, smoke curling upward from her fingertips.
"Damn it," she whispered under her breath.
Rhoswen turned sharply. "What was that?"
"Nothing."
Her aunt narrowed her eyes. "You're not still trying to— Avelina, you can't afford to be foolish. You don't know who might be watching at that castle."
Calla scoffed..."she doesn't even have magic and if she does...her magic doesn't want or choose her"
Avelina bit her lip and looked away, ashamed. The rest of the ride passed in silence.
---
Arrival at Raventhorne
Raventhorne Castle was even more terrifying than she had imagined. Spires clawed at the sky, walls dark and ancient, built from midnight-colored stone. Crows circled above in eerie silence. Magic clung to the air — cold, thick, heavy.
A line of guards waited at the grand gate. One of them, tall and sharp-eyed, stepped forward as the carriage door opened.
"Rhoswen," he said with a bow. "Welcome back."
Rhoswen stepped out gracefully. "This is my niece, Avelina. She's here to serve."
The guard barely looked at Avelina before nodding. "We'll call for her when needed. She's to stay in the servant quarters."
But when another guard — a younger one with chestnut hair and kind eyes — was assigned to escort her, he paused as he studied the name on his parchment. "Avelina of Eastvale?"
"Yes," she replied cautiously.
"Right this way."
He led her up the marble steps and through a hall filled with golden candlelight, stained glass, and whispers. Then — to her shock — they stopped at a carved oak door. The guard opened it, revealing a warm, beautiful room. A velvet bed. A window with silk curtains. A tray already waiting on the table.
She froze. "I think there's a mistake. I'm just a servant."
He gave her a small smile. "I know, Miss Avelina. But my orders are clear. You're to stay here."
And with that, he turned and left.
---
The Room of Surprises
Avelina stood alone in the golden light of the room. The bed looked too soft. The rug too clean. Her boots didn't deserve to touch it.
Then her nose caught something.
She turned to the tray beside the bed.
There it was — the most beautiful meal she had ever seen.
A roast pheasant glistening with honey glaze, surrounded by candied apples and spiced carrots. A golden goblet filled with what looked like cherry wine. A slice of cake layered with cream and sweet berries. The scent was dizzying — warm, sugary, buttery.
She stared. This is not for me… this can't be for me.
But her stomach growled. Loudly.
She sat on the edge of the bed, unsure. One bite, she told herself. Just one bite to calm my nerves.
The moment the roast touched her tongue, her eyes widened. It melted in her mouth — soft, tender, seasoned to perfection. Her mouth flooded with warmth and comfort.
She took another bite.
And another.
Then reached for the goblet.
Whatever was happening… whatever game Raventhorne was playing… at least tonight, the food was magic.