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Logline
An Indian immigrant joins forces with the handsome, alienated prince of Cascadia to undergo a quest to collect the ingredients for a mystical potion that will bring his lover back from the dead.
Blurb
Everyone knows the elite and the working-class don't mix. Royal princes and noble ladies wed and fall in love all the time. But even look at a commoner for too long, and both parties can risk losing more than a title.
During the 1920s, while escaping from his once-idyllic hamlet in rural India, Neil loses the only person who mattered to him. Rescued by a hunter, he molds himself into one of the best warriors of Cascadia. Impressed, the queen gives him a direct order to kill a traitor to the kingdom; the crowned prince, Dove. As a reward, he is offered a potion which was a way to bring back his lover from the dead.
Despite being the sole heir, Dove has been relegated to the role of a servant by his stepmother. Neil could not bring himself to complete the task when their paths cross. So, they join forces facing challenging quests to collect seven items required to make the potion. The only catch? They need to do so before the last shard of the mystical glass painting falls as the potion would then expire. As the clock ticks, Neil is left to make a choice. Will he betray the young prince and become the hero of the kingdom or try to complete an impossible task with the risk of facing a lifetime of cruelty in the dungeons?
First 1,000 Words
A young girl lay in the middle of the bed, trembling. A sheen of sweat glistened on her upper lip and forehead. Dove picked up a handkerchief from the nearby table and wiped her sweat. His hands trembled while doing so. He wanted to ease his sister's pain but he could do nothing. He could only sit beside her and watch.
His gaze roamed across the heavy emerald tapestries hanging on the walls. The gold support rods bore the heads of Basilisks. Their sapphire eyes glinted in the light--light that came from a single candelabra on a priceless table. The flames cast jagged shadows across the dingy stone walls.
"What are you drawing brother?" She made a weak gesture toward the drawing tablet on his lap.
"A bird," he said, though the truth was, he wasn't drawing at all. Nothing could hold his attention. Not his art, not the tapestries. A hot breeze crept through the window slats. It pushed open the balcony doors with its shining platinum frames and thick glass panels.
"You always draw these tweety little birds. Is it because mother named you Dove?"
"Partially, but it's really because I like them."
"Why?" His sister arranged herself. Her head nestled in the pillow and the sunlight sifted through the drawn shades to shine upon her cheeks. Her beauty made it easy to believe some magic would occur.
Soon, though, her strength would fail, and she would take her rest and nap like an infant of two. Dove couldn't stop a sigh from escaping his lips. If only magic would turn them into birds with great, powerful wings.
"Birds can fly as high and as far as they want. They can travel anywhere they want. I wish we could do that too," he said.
The corners of her eyes were crinkled. "Oh, can we be born as birds in our next life? And travel across the world together?"
"Do you still want me as your brother in your next life?" The little boy asked. He set his quill and tattered parchment aside on a table nearby.
His sister squeezed her eyes shut and her lips moved upwards to form a crescent on her pretty face. She seemed to have lost conspicuous weight, her face was now bone-thin and the chestnut hair that hung down her back had also lost its shine. When her dark lashes fluttered open, it was her father's green eyes Dove saw.
"Of course, you're the best brother I have," she said.
The tension that had formed in his shoulders quickly melted away. "Really? I hope you don't regret your decision later."
"I won't." She let out a small yawn and stretched her hands in the air.
A creaking noise drew his gaze towards the door.
A royal guard barged inside the room without knocking. He placed his large, meaty hands on the doorframe leaning for support, and then sucked in deep breaths of air. "Your majesty has requested your presence, Grace."
Dove leaped up from his chair, and the girl's worried eyes trailed his every movement.
Dove reached out and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'll be back soon." Then he followed the guard outside the chambers and through the long dank hallways until they stopped, just outside of the royal room.
While they waited outside the hall, his trained ears heard the chatter of the maids coming from the kitchen adjacent to the room.
"Wavy raven hairs, ivory pale skin, lips as red as roses, and a pair of azure eyes behind those thick lashes. I would kill to have those features. Such a pretty boy." A maid mumbled.
"Too bad he takes after his mother. He looks like our enemy. How can he ever be one of us?" Another one mumbled.
Dove remembered how these remarks used to affect him before. He would look at his people's disappointed faces, and then something inside him began to die.
He hated that he had to be tested several times to show his patriotism. Back then, before going to bed he looked in the mirror above the bathroom sink and saw only himself; his flatter face, almond-shaped eyes, and wide cheekbones - and understood that it would always be this way. Back then, he would sob and make high-pitched noises like a crazed animal, trying to scratch out the face in the mirror.
He heard the queen's high-pitched voice, "Dove, come in," he stepped inside. Only his stepmother and the royal advisor were present
Inside the room is a table, the queen scribbled something on the parchment. She finished with a flourish and then set her quill aside. Then her eyes fell on Dove. Her eyes pierced right through him which made him nervous. Her eyes were bewitching. She had bee-stung lips and they were lava-red. Her pencil-thin eyebrows moved upwards and she immediately lowered her glasses to examine him which Dove found ironic.
The advisor was strange, always tapping his fingers to the silent music of an invisible orchestra. He looked ancient in Dove's eyes. He had lost most of the hair on the top of his head, and he wore thick glasses and had eyes that always looked bored as if staring into nothingness.
The queen spoke without preamble, "I'm no longer paying for your sister's bills. She will be discharged today. I treated her long enough. The kingdom can't afford to deplete its treasury so soon."
Dove threw himself to the ground and his knees crashed onto the floor. He groveled in front of the queen. "Please don't do this. Rosalyn won't survive without medical care. I'll do whatever you want, I'll pay you back the money in any way that seems agreeable to you. Please don't discharge her."
"I'm afraid Dove, that wouldn't be possible. You need to let go of your sister."
Dove's body started trembling as he processed his stepmother's words. The queen rolled her eyes seeing his childish tantrums while he crawled toward her. He encircled his arms around her leg and begged. "Please don't do this. She'll die. She's all I have left."
