The Mage Queen Book 1: The Princess
Royal Parley

Marick plopped down onto the beanbag, sighing. He sank deeper into the worn beanbag before glancing at the corner. At that corner, there was a young woman who was sleeping on the rug. He groaned and hung his head back, staring at the wooden beams. How in the world did he get involved in this mess?

He raked his fingers through his greasy black hair and before burying his face into his calloused palms. He groaned. His back ached. His limbs flopped onto his side as Marick sunk deeper into the beanbag. Even though the sun blazed through the ratty white curtains, his body demanded sleep.

He could barely lift his arms. His arms felt shackled as if a cannonball had been tied to each arm. Marick tried lifting his legs with not much success. He groaned. If each of his limbs had a voice of their own, he was certain he would be in for an earful.

Suddenly, the scent of Apple Cider tickled his nose. He sniffed and sat up, smiling in relief when he found Rowen offering him a piping hot mug filled with it.

“Thank you, Cap, for allowing me to take her home.” Rowen smiled and handed the mug over.

Marick chuckled. “You don’t normally take home pets.”

“She’s not a pet. She’s a nice magoi who helped me.”

He took one glance at the young woman’s clothes. The sheen and fall of her light yellow dress spoke volumes. Her cloak barely had folds and creases. The shoes didn’t look like something off the rack. They appeared to be custom-made. Most of all, he noticed how her toes and the balls of her feet were covered with blisters.

“A noble and spoiled magoi that is,” mused Marick. “Nobody just gets the Dark Knight - especially the Corpse Queen - as a servant.”

“Maybe they met years ago?”

“Probably. But even then, when and where? And shouldn’t the Corpse Queen be dead?”

Rowen shook his head. “I’ve heard stories that because she’s killed so many people, even Death didn’t want her.”

“Obviously. Death wouldn’t want to dismiss their best reaper.”

“I don’t believe she is a Reaper. Wouldn’t that mean she’s a ghost?”

“I meant that figuratively, Sprout.”

Nodding, Rowen sat down next to him. “So, what do we do now?”

Marick pursed his lips while drumming his fingers against the mug. He looked at the young woman and then noticed something glittering under her. He squinted his eyes a bit. What was that thing on her neck?

“Hold this for me.” He passed his mug to Rowen.

After Rowen took his mug, Marick rolled off the beanbag and made his way to her. He crept towards her, making sure the wooden floorboards wouldn’t creak at his steps. Once close, he squatted down in front of her. As Marick slowly stretched out his hand, he noticed now that a pair of astonished grey eyes were staring at him.

“Uh...” Marick’s words trapped themselves in his throat.

The young woman, screaming, jumped up in fright and kicked his face. Marick managed to put both his arms up last minute to soften the blow. But it still sent him tumbling back. He slammed into Rowen, cracking the mugs and spilling all the apple cider on the floor and his back.

“Stay away from me! Where am I?” The young woman gasped and pulled her cloak over her body. “Are you traffickers?”

Marick groaned, wincing. “Lass, if we were traffickers, we would have thrown you into a barge and you’d be at sea.”

The young woman frowned. “Liar! You’re just keeping me here until you’ve found a good buyer!”

“Lass, what would I gain from lying to you?”

“My trust and it’s easier to sell me!”

Marick, sighing, pinched the bridge of his nose. She had a valid point. Pirates did do that. But didn’t she think that he would have done that earlier?

“Ma’am?” Rowen piped up from behind him.

The young woman’s terrified expression softened. “You’re… that boy from the alley…”

Rowen nodded. “Don’t worry, Cap doesn’t get involved with the slave trade. You’re safe here.”

The young woman nodded stiffly. But she froze again. “How…?”

Marick raised an eyebrow. “How what?”

“How did you defeat her?”

“Her?”

“Erkalla.”

Marick shrugged.

“He didn’t defeat her, ma’am,” piped Rowen up from behind him. “You did.”

Marick glanced back at Rowen who shrugged. He then turned back to the young woman who paled at Rowen’s words. He had heard of magoi being powerful. Leveling mountains, turning lakes into craters – but hurting someone who was considered unkillable was an impressive feat.

Her face paled. “I… did?”

“Your hands suddenly started glowing white and then your hair turned white too. After that, there was this bright light that consumed everything. She started screaming and her skin started to burn.”

How did she manage to burn Erkalla?

Her heart sank. She stared at her fair palms. Anastacia didn’t know she had that much magic! If she did, why did it take so much effort to create the illusion of her in her room? Her vision swirled. She wanted to collapse right after. She barely managed to walk normally out of her room!

“... I can’t believe it...” Anastacia slowly hugged herself tight. “I... hurt her...”

The boy shook his head. “It was self-defense. She tried to cut your head.”

“I should’ve stayed home.”

“But why did you leave then?”

Anastacia bit her lip. Why did she leave? She had servants. The queen loved her more than her own mother. A library and teachers at her disposal — she had everything a magoi princess ever wanted! She lived in comfort and had all the time in the world to learn about magic. But her hand slowly went back to her pendant. As her fingers traced the intricate owl design, she looked up at the boy and the black-haired young man.

“I am Sofiene’s last living heiress,” she declared. She sharply suckled her breath. “I am Princess Anastacia da Sofiene.”

The young man raised an eyebrow. “So?”

Anastacia gawked, appalled at his lack of reaction. What do you mean so? “That’s why I need to head back!”

“Quite a stupid idea, frankly.”

“And pray do tell me why?”

The young man shrugged. “The place is infested with monsters now.”

She paled at his words. Sofiene? Infested with monsters? “That’s impossible,” she admonished.

“Well, it happened, lass.”

“You’re lying, you... you...!”

The young man shook his head. “Marick.”

“Marick?”

The young man chuckled. “Marick Hawthorne. You didn’t even bother asking for my name, lass.”

Anastacia frowned.

“You’re a noble alright. What kind of person just introduces themselves as a noble to a stranger?”

“You seemed normal!”

"Seemed isn’t a good argument, lass. What if I planned to ship you off to Sofiene to be food for the demons?”

Anastacia deflated upon hearing his words. ”D-demons?”

Marick nodded. “Demons, corrupted monsters, some undead here and there — the City of Knowledge is now the City of the Dead.”

Anastacia bit her lip. Was that what Erkalla was trying to stop her from finding out? She stared longingly at the owl-shaped pendant hanging on her neck. She had heard stories of cities burning to the ground. But for Sofiene to turn into a demon, monster-infested pit, something seemed off.

“When?” she hoarsely whispered.

“When what?”

“When did it become infested with monsters?”

Marick shrugged. “Last I heard, it was around two and a half years ago...”

Anastacia stiffly nodded. It was around the same time that Sofiene had fallen. The images of the scorched city flashed in her mind. Screams of the civilians filled her ears. But she couldn’t remember what they were screaming at. Their eyes were looking at something. What were they looking at?

The more she thought about it, however, the more her head began to throb. She winced and squeezed her eyes shut. Her hands trembled as she clutched her pendant. Heartbeats thundered in her ears like a gunshot. Her throat tightened. A screeching sound filled her ears until something smacked her hands together. She came to and found Marick squatting in front of her with both his hands slightly hovering away from hers.

“Welcome back to the present, lass. You’ve been spacing out.” He got up and walked back to his chair. “Anything you’d like to tell us?”

Anastacia inhaled deeply. What could she tell them? All she remembered what happened to Sofiene was the fire and the screaming. Everything else was white. She looked at her pendant and then looked up at Marick.

“Take me there,” said the princess.

Marick blinked. “Sofiene? Are you crazy?”

“I think I can restore the city.”

“With what?”

Anastacia dangled her pendant in front of him. “With this.”

Marick blew a raspberry at her. “What? You’re going to hypnotize them to death?”

“No! My pendant is Sofiene’s regalia! It has energies that are specific to Sofiene!”

“You’re expecting that waving your pendant will make Sofiene a-okay again?”

Anastacia nodded.

“Lass, that’s—”

“It’s possible,” piped up the boy. “By restoring what was natural to Sofiene, it could restore order to the city.”

Anastacia beamed. Finally, someone who understood her plan! She turned towards Marick who raked his fingers through his long greasy black hair. He shook his head.

“You’re really pushing it, Sprout,” Marick groaned. “You really think we can pull this off?”

The boy grinned. “Yeah! We once dove into the Abyss and fought the mighty Kraken! We can escort her!”

Warmth filled Anastacia at the sight of the boy’s optimism. “Thank you!” — she then realized she didn’t even know who he was — “I never got your name!”

“My name is Rowen Hawthorne, ma’am. A pleasure to meet you.” He bowed.

Anastacia nodded with a smile. “Charmed.” She turned to Marick. “Your brother?”

“He may as well be.”

She nodded. “I couldn’t help but notice. His magic—”

“—is something we don’t talk about in public. The walls may have ears, lass.”

“Oh.”

Marick chuckled and folded his arms, leaning into his beanbag. “Well, the Sprout has agreed to your parley. I will for his sake—”

Anastacia beamed.

“—under one condition," Marick quickly added. "If you want to get there, I need my ship."

"And where's your ship?"

When his lavender eyes flashed in mischief, Anastacia gulped. She hoped it wasn't what she thought it was.

"It's in the Blue Eagle, Xychosia Citadel's main hangar."

She sighed.

It was far worse.

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