The Mage Queen Book 1: The Princess

Rowen loved sunny days. The sun would kiss his tanned skin every morning as if to gently wake him up. It would greet him with a sparkling ruby red road which was once a dull brick red. The sun also gave him a chance to admire the Crystal Asters that bloomed in the gardens of Xychosia’s town plaza.

But for today, he wasn’t fond of the sun.

He still appreciated the sun’s warm glow. What he didn’t appreciate was the humidity that came with it. His light ochre hair, matted with sweat and dust, clung to his scrawny face. He blinked to rid himself of the stinging sensation in his light brown eyes. Then, there was the urge to scratch. The more humid it was, the sweatier he was. And if he was sweatier, all the more the dust kicked up by the horse-drawn carriages clung to his skin.

It didn’t help that he had to swim through the bustling crowd in Xychosia’s General District. The pungent scent of their sweat forced him to snort every few seconds. He sneezed as a passing noblewoman’s faux fur scarf brushed his nose. Rowen’s cough from the perfume fell on deaf ears. All the more he choked when a large white curl of cigarette smoke was blasted at his face.

“Humans are such weird creatures,” he murmured. “Doesn’t anyone notice who they’re bumping as they walk?”

His scrawny and short stature didn’t make it any easier. Especially for shopping errands, being short meant being forced to ask for help. Sometimes, he would use a stool or a ladder. Other times, he’d just climb the cabinet much to the merchant’s dismay. He could’ve used his magic too, now that he thought about it. But he remembered his captain’s words:

“No magic in public, Sprout. Remember the last time ya revealed yer magic?”

Rowen bit his lip. He still remembered what the cold, hard wooden floors felt like underneath his shackled feet. He shivered for a moment but the sun reminded him where he was now. He looked up towards the sun and stared. A smile curved up his lips as the winds from the sea cooled him down a little. His joy didn’t last long however when someone shoved him, causing him to fall flat on his grocery sack.

“Look what we have here!” someone sneered. “If it isn’t the little Sprout!”

Rowen shook away the shock and turned around to see someone in standard Xychosian armor: the blue knitted shirt under an iron breastplate with the plate having an eagle engraved on it. He gulped at the sight of the soldier. Diedrich Edrahn, he thought.

“Stealing from the butcher again, sea mutt?” Diedrich sneered with a mischievous twinkle in his bright blue eyes. “You lawless strays have nothing better to do but harass the good people here.”

But I paid for this, his mind screamed. But Rowen knew better than to speak his mind. He sealed his lips and glared instead.

“So the little sea puppy thinks he’s a big dog now,” sneered Diedrich.

Rowen inhaled sharply. Not a peep, he repeated in his head. Not a single peep.

Diedrich grabbed him by the lapels of his white tunic. “Let me show you the difference between you and me.”

The moment Diedrich drew back one of his fists, Rowen snapped his eyes shut. As the darkness closed around him, his body went limp. His limbs dangled loosely as if they had no bones. His hair stood on its ends as a hot breath licked his ear.

“You’re no sea dog. You’re a common weed,” Diedrich hissed.

Weed.

The word echoed in his mind with a sneer. Rowen’s throat burned. He hated that word. He tried to speak to no avail. His fingers spasmed but refused to do anything else. Rowen knew Diedrich was right. He was nothing more than a common weed.

Rowen waited for the blow. Suddenly, there was a gunshot. He heard gasps, murmurs, and Diedrich’s enraged cries. His body then dropped to the ground with a soft thud. Suddenly, his limbs twitched back to life. He could feel his lips curve into a smile. As he opened his eyes, he saw a howling Diedrich cradling his bleeding hand. Behind him, the crowd parted like the sea to reveal a young black-haired man with a glimmering blue blade pointed at him.

“Cap,” relief filled Rowen as he choked out a laugh. “S-sorry, I couldn’t...”

The one called Cap shook his head. “It’s alright, Sprout” – his lavender eyes flashed with fury – “I knew something was up when you weren’t back in ten.”

His nickname for him was “Cap” for he found his whole name to be a mouthful. He also found it weird calling him by his first name despite the other male telling him to do so. Marick Hawthorne, Rowen recalled his name. He saw that the crowd recognized him. Who couldn’t? Not many people had bronzed skin and lavender eyes.

“I–”

“–Keep yer mouth shut for a bit. I want this scallywag ta hear everythin’ I’m gonna say.”

Rowen weakly nodded.

Diedrich, still cradling his bleeding hand, glared at Cap. “Captain Marick Hawthorne, you bastard! You can’t just go around shooting whomever you please!”

Marick scoffed. “Rich coming from someone who wanted to punch a kid half his size.”

“You shot my hand!”

“You’re lucky it’s just your hand. If you were on my ship, I would have kicked ya off the plank and fed ya to the Mud Tigers.”

Rowen gripped his chest, taking deep breaths. He winced at the pain from his heart pounding against his ribcage. But the knots in his stomach slowly came undone. A sigh of relief escaped him. The Captain was here. That’s all that mattered.

“I should have you thrown into jail for assaulting a member of the Edrahn family!” roared Diedrich.

“And I should have made ya scrub the decks for raisin’ a hand towards my First Mate, scallywag.”

The crowd gasped as Diedrich tried to punch Marick only for the latter to weave right past him. Rowen bit his lower lip and slowly tried to rise to his feet, fighting his buckling knees. Suddenly, Marick whistled. He stopped and looked up only to see the former shake his head.

“What’s more dangerous than an experienced soldier?”

Rowen gulped. “A stupid one?”

“And he’s stupid because?”

“The power went to his head?”

Marick smirked. “Good. Now, on the count of three, run like your ass depended on it.”

Rowen nodded stiffly and hugged the bag. “Okay!”

“One. Two” —Marick whipped out another blade— ”Three!”

The moment Marick whipped out his other blade, Rowen dove into the crowd. He ignored the sound of cloth being torn and the crowd’s gasps, squeezing himself in between their bodies. Sweat stung his eyes. His chest tightened. The air burned inside his lungs. He hated running away. But he had to. Every fiber in him already devoted all their energy to his scrawny legs.

“Don’t let him get away!” He heard Diedrich’s enraged screams ring behind him.

More soldiers pursued him, forcing him to dive into an alleyway. He sailed over the rusted dumpsters, kicked down trash bags, and shoved a metal drum towards them. Rowen chuckled at the sound of their disdained cries until he slammed into a wired gate. He hissed in pain and drew back, shaking his hands. One glance at his skin burning molten red made his blood run cold.

“Of all things for a gate to be made of,” Rowen muttered. “Couldn’t they have used the lighter metal instead?”

His heart pounded as the soldiers’ footsteps grew louder. He searched around, looking for dumpsters or anything he could jump in to hide. As the soldiers’ voices grew louder, Rowen’s breath hitched. He turned to the gate and nodded. Desperate times meant desperate measures.

Biting the bag’s ropes, he threw himself against the wired gate and clambered up. His skin sizzled from the heat before he finally threw himself over to the other side. Rowen tumbled and groaned, wincing and gasping at the pain in his palms. He looked at his palm, wincing at the sight of the molten and sizzling flesh. He quickly stopped when he heard the rattling of the wired gate in front of him. Scrambling onto his feet, he took the bag out of his mouth and bolted down the alleyway.

As the soldiers’ voices and footsteps faded with the distance, Rowen’s fatigue crept upon him. His knees wobbled like freshly made jelly. The burns on his palms stung as sweat seeped into his wounds. His running reduced into a hobble. He dragged himself into the main street, still tightly holding the bag. Rowen leaned against the wall before dragging himself into the sunlight.

“I thought it would be a good day today,” Rowen murmured.

Every step he took felt shackled. His body wanted to drop. His eyes began to droop until something sent him falling to the ground. Rowen’s eyes snapped open and he tried to catch himself only to have someone grab his shirt, leaving him inches away from the floor.

“I’m so sorry!” a panicked young woman’s voice apologized.

Rowen looked up to see a hooded woman with jet black hair. She had fair hands and a golden bracelet. He also noticed her dress had a more velvet-like sheen. She’s a noble, he thought. What was she doing among the common people?

“It’s okay. Thanks for catching me though,” he managed to groan.

The young woman helped him up and saw his hands. “You’re bleeding!”

Rowen glanced at his hands. He shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“Wait, let me” —she grabbed his hands— "they can get infected!"

Rowen gawked at her. What was she doing? Didn't she know what he was? Even if he did get burned, he didn't take long to heal. All it took was a basin of cold, clean water. He saw her lips move but couldn't make out the words, only noticing her hands emit a soft white glow. A warmth pulsed through him and his wounds began to knit themselves shut. The burns slowly disappeared and his heart began to relax. He sighed in relief until the feeling suddenly stopped when a horn bellowed. The young woman paled at the sound whereas he looked up at the sound. Behind her, there was a whole battalion of soldiers scattering around the street.

“Fellow Xychosians, hear ye, hear ye!” —all the people in the crowd turned to the one he believed was the captain— "I come bearing announcements from the Queen. If you see a black-haired girl with grey eyes bearing an owl-shaped pendant, please report to us immediately! The princess is missing!"