THE ONLY PRINCE [High Fantasy Quest Adventure w/ Fae Romance]

Chapter Three

AS I SLIP past the threshold, the song of the men grows louder, and the bell tower of the lighthouse chimes like a siren call luring me. 

With my eyes trained to the sky, I scan for any hint of a storm, but the azure above me is uninterrupted. The sun beats down with a confident radiance. Not even a whisper of a cloud.

The meadow outside becomes a smear of bushes under wildflowers in shades of lilac purple, honey yellow, and apple red as I run. Even as the crunch of dirt under my feet echoes into the golden afternoon, I can still taste the lingering scent of salt and sage in the back of my throat.

The path to the village is a well-trodden route. Every pebble and crevice imprinted into memory. Roughly a 20 minute walk, but I want every second I can get.

The familiar sights of the woods start to blur together in a green mosaic as I enter the forests edge. Shafts of sunlight pierce through the canopy above, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor with each step I take, carefully avoiding the occasional fallen branch or gnarled root. 

My breath comes in quick gasps, filling my lungs with the crisp air scented with pine and earth. 

A graceful fawn, its coat dappled with sunlight, darts away into the undergrowth, followed swiftly by the protective figure of its mother. They pass me, effortlessly bounding, headed deeper in the woods.

I keep a steady jog, cutting the journey down to just 5 minutes.

The dirt underneath me quickly changes to slimy moss-coated cobblestone, as if the ocean has deposited all of its seaweed onto the path, so I begin to slow my pace, my sandals skimming over the slippery surface as I enter the village.

Narrow cobblestone streets wind like rivers, leading to their pools of hidden courtyards that bloom with cascading bougainvillea, and charming small plazas where, normally, children would be playing beneath the watchful gaze of weathered stone statues.

But today is Storm Rites. Almost everybody is in the main square.

I pass by the empty cottages. Many have been crafted from the solid embrace of cobblestone, but most use the repurposed hulls of ancient ships, the outside walls adorned with huge intricate mosaics of sea glass. 

Their vibrant hues reflect the sun's touch with colors that dance and play, casting vivid, ever-shifting shadows onto the paths. 

Art patronage, my father calls it. 

The people here are so well taken care of, artisans of all kinds can have their craft nurtured and encouraged. Many take to the sea glass so often found on our shores.

As I jog, I pass by Aunt Elora's favorite.

A mosaic picturing the gentle sway of a dandelion, as if being blown from a wish. Twinkling intricate sea foam green and jade form the dandelion's stem, it's frothy crown sparkling with tiny fragments of glittery silver that catch the light like diamonds in the sun.

Racing by gives the illusion of a grand wind sweeping the seeds along side me, carrying them off into the breeze.

My father's favorite is one of a mermaid. 

Curled up on a bed of azure shards, her tail unfurls in a cascade of molten silver, each scale shimmering as if kissed by the moon. The mermaid's eyes, made of tiny chips of emerald and sapphire, seem to follow as you pass by, a silent guardian watching over the village. 

It was made from the image of my mother. But I don't have time to pass her mosaic today.

The sounds of haggling and laughter fill the air as I round a corner and finally reach the main market square. Merchants call out their wares, enticing potential customers with promises of the finest silks, spices, and exotic fruits. The aroma of freshly baked bread and roasting meats wafts toward me, mingling with the chatter of eager townsfolk. 

Red ribbons, supposedly protective against rain and storms, flutter in the breeze, tied to trees and shops, creating a vibrant canopy overhead. The stands have been decorated with similar streamers, flowing garland, and blooming flowers. Children dart between legs, their faces smeared with fruit juice and sticky sweets. The sight tugs an impossibly wide smile on my lips, and lightens my steps.

There's no point in getting the rowan wood first if I plan to stay, unless I'm trying to have it as my dancing partner. Just one hour, then I'll head back. When I had riden Solaris into the village as a child, I had been gone just over an hour, and nothing bad had happened. No vicious rain, or threatening lightning. As long as I'm back home before it's dark with Aunt Elora's rowan wood, I'll be fine.

As I walk, various familiar faces in the crowd grin at the sight of me, and I wave back, just as surprised I'm here as they are. The town healer, Eustace, an old man with a bald head and a thick beard who is a particularly close friend of my fathers, gestures for me.

I veer toward him, dodging a group of children playing tag.

"Tempting the storm, are you?" Eustace chuckles in a low voice, his breath smelling faintly of herbs as I greet him with a hug. "Why, I haven't seen you in the village for Storm Rites in 12 years!"

"I'm just here for some rowan wood for Aunt Elora," I reply, trying to sound nonchalant. But Eustace raises an eyebrow, his bushy beard twitching with amusement. He knows me too well to be fooled by any pretense of indifference for Storm Rites.

"Oh, just the rowan wood then?" he teases, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Well, be sure to pick the finest pieces. You know how particular your aunt can be about her rituals. Might even take you a good while to find a some decent ones. Just be sure to get back before it's dark, now. Can't have your aunt worrying herself sick over you again."

"I'll keep that in mind," I pull away to grin at him, before he sends me off with a proud clap to the back. 

It's not long before I catch sight of Jovanna's distinctive red curls bobbing amidst the crowd. On the sidelines watching, stands my other best friend, Circe.

The sea of faces momentarily parts, revealing a clear view of Jovanna, spinning in her vibrant green dress, her infectious laughter rising above the music. Her porcelain skin glows with new freckles and a pinkish tint, probably from having been in the sun more than usual these past three days for Storm Rites. If I think her smile couldn't get any brighter, Jovanna meets my eyes.

"Kaia!" Circe's voice pierces new volumes as she also catches sight of me. Her arm, heavy with iron bangles, waves frantically above the crowd. Her dark hair swings as she begins to run, cascading down her back in intricate braids, tied throughout with red ribbons that match her dress. 

Circe in a dress! Only on Storm Rites.

"Happy Birthd-" Jovanna cuts me off, rushing towards me, before pulling me into a twirl of a hug and cheering into my hair, "Your Aunt let you out!"

Circe joins us, smashing into our embrace.

"Managed a brief escape," I say, my lips curling into a grin as we step back, all still holding onto each other. "But only an hour."

"Then let's not waste it! Come on, let's get you some food," Jovanna declares, hooking her arm in mine and steering the three of us toward a stall brimming with pickled delights.