Chapter 1

Maerwyn leaned breathlessly against the crumbling stone wall, her cheeks flushed. A soft, sensual warmth had enveloped her, and the air about her seemed to dance, spurred by the pounding of her heart.

Callum had kissed her soundly, his large hands tangling in the long waves of her hair. She had let him, giving herself over to the rush of feelings his presence inspired. There was, inexplicably, something effervescent to his nature, an enchantment which drew her as a moth to flame. Perhaps it lay in the strength of his arms as they enveloped her, or the teasing, seductive glint in his eyes. Regardless, it was evident he understood her weakness, for his charms had snaked repeatedly through the lines of her defense. It was this vibrancy that had beguiled her, promising intrigue without end.

It was why she now stood hidden, silent and flustered beneath the shadow of the church eaves, as Callum stood before her. He was watching the hot summer wind blow through her hair, the long golden strands fluttering gently in the breeze. He caught a lock of it, holding it reverently between his fingers.

"The prettiest curl in the land," he whispered. Maerwyn batted the hand away, allowing herself a giggle.

"It's the truth," he murmured, his eyes roving over her. "You've a head fit for a Queen."

Maerwyn blushed, and the warmth within her hummed. "Your queen?" She teased.

"Mine, and only mine," Callum responded. "Close your eyes."

"Why?" She demanded impishly, unable to contain her grin.

"Maerwyn," he prodded, his handsome face pleading.

She laughed lightly, and closed her lids. There was a rummaging in the grass, and the sound of snapping stalks. Then a soft hand pressed into her own.

"You may open them."

She looked down at her haphazard wildflower bouquet, several errant daisy petals fluttering gently to the ground.

"Thank you," she said softly.

He smiled as his arms slid back around her waist, his lips touching her throat. His palms were curving against her hips, slowly pressing against the cloth of her dress. She shivered, and felt herself grow shy.

"Callum..." she began uncertainly, her cheeks hot.

"What is it?" he answered huskily, his breath stirring several tendrils of her hair.

Maerwyn paused. She did not know what she meant to say, only that her heart both raced and soared, as though wavering on some indeterminable precipice, ready to fall.

"Callum," she began a second time, the words heavy in her mouth. "I..."

His head had lifted from its place at her neck, and he regarded her steadily. She gazed back at him, puzzled over her unease. As he waited for her response, a squawking broke loudly into the silence, heralding the arrival of travelers on the dusty road before them. Immediately, Callum stiffened, his shoulders straightening wearily.

"It's only Stefan's chickens," Maerwyn teased, grateful the pause had been broken by humor. She could not explain the sudden, unexpected hesitance which had welled up at his touch.

"He will have brought his sons," he answered quietly.

Maerwyn smiled, taking his hands gently into her own. "And his cows," she grinned, referencing Stefan's practice of taking his animals out to graze. The chickens, a local amusement, had made it a habit to follow him.

"Don't be foolish," Callum answered impatiently, pulling sharply away from her. "You know very well what I mean."

She recoiled instantly, stung by his dismissal. His aura had changed, as it always did, growing darker and less kind.

"It's only gossip Callum," she whispered.

"Maerwyn, gossip is never idle," he replied irritably.

"Yes," she began, her heart racing, "but perhaps-"

"You know the truth, and it is an unavoidable fact that we must conceal it."

"What is there to conceal?" Maerwyn demanded, her reserve snapping.

"Everything that you are," he answered simply.

She felt her chest tighten. "And what am I?"

"A miller's daughter," he retorted, the delivery of his blunt words piercing her. "Don't play the simpleton," he continued, unmoved.

She felt her eyes prick. "Will you disown me beneath every prying gaze?"

"We have discussed this before. I thought the matter was clear." He sighed, shaking his fair head impatiently.

"Will you?" She persisted, her lips trembling.

"The decision is not mine," Callum answered exasperatedly. "My father would have my head, and you know very well Lady Elota is my betrothed."

He leaned closer, taking her chin within his hand, so that her gaze was level with his own.

"That does not mean I cannot affirm you every evening," he whispered silkily, "for your maidenhead shall be my wedding prize."

For one brief, searing moment, the arrogance of it stunned her. Then she struck him, her eyes blurring with tears. He tensed, gingerly touching his cheek. The mark there blazed red, and his fingers grazed it slowly. She held her breath, suddenly afraid.

"I must go," he said abruptly, effectively dismissing her. "We will see each other tomorrow at noon." He leaned down, placing a swift, fleeting kiss upon her brow. Then he was gone, disappearing into the shadow of the trees. She gazed after him, a familiar sense of revulsion flooding her in his absence. How was it that he always wooed her enough to forget?

"Maerwyn!"

She turned, startled, to see Stefan approaching her. A number of cows plodded languidly on the path behind him.

"Lass, your father is looking for you," Stefan called, his brown eyes softening with concern. He craned his neck toward her, his expression curious. "Have you found something here, behind the church?"

"A kiss, no doubt," his eldest son Laughlan snickered.

"Only flowers," Maerwyn said quickly, wiping subtly at her eyes. "What of my father Stefan? Is he ill?" Her heart quickened at the thought, for her father had been lamenting an ache in his shoulders every evening by the fire.

"Not ill, but not well," Stefan answered gravely.

"As always," Laughlan grinned.

Maerwyn felt her cheeks redden, as she always did when the townsfolk made mention of her father. His mouth spun more lies than truth, weaving stories so fanciful even the children laughed. His was a talent both lauded and reviled for it was only in the tavern, surrounded by the drunkards, that he found his exploits venerated.

"My thanks to you, Stefan," she said softly. "I will see to him." She walked stiffly down toward the path, aware of Laughlan's eyes following her. He winked at her as she passed, his expression one of lechery. She shuddered and hurried on, her steps quickening. Her face burned with shame, both for her father and for herself.

She was Maerwyn, the miller's daughter, pretty enough to be kissed by a Lord's son but not worthy to be seen in his presence. Callum had sung praises of her beauty, yet his fear of discovery seemingly denouched her as the lowliest of women. She reddened, realizing his honeyed words had trapped her, luring her in with their sweetness.

She paused at the gate before their cottage, her eyes roving over the land she had known all her life. Her father's fields were set apart from the rest of the village, their isolation once enclosing an idyllic paradise. She remembered it vividly-the apple blossoms of the trees which had lined the walkway,the burbling stream which had meandered through the grass. There had been a pretty pond which housed the milling wheel, its surface glittering in the afternoon sun. As the wheat was ground, it churned up waves which rippled outwards, lapping gently against the grassy banks. The wildflowers grew there in clusters, interspersed with the rushes that had swayed in the evening wind.

Now however, the mill and its sagging thatch roof reflected only a remant of the past. The trees stood bare, the stream empty. It had run dry during the drought, leaving the pond to cloud over and thicken with algae. The milling wheel had rotted and weakened within it, heavily submerged in the reeds which had gradually choked its path. It brought a pain to her heart to see it so, a feeling which deepened when her father emerged from the door, wearied and bent.

"Maerwyn," he called roughly. Her heart started at the sound of her name on his lips.

"Yes, father?" She answered, hurrying to meet him. His form moved with a familiar sway, one that spoke of a visit to the tavern. She caught him just as he fell, leaning heavily into her shoulder. She staggered, struggling beneath his weight.

"Father, why do you do this?" She murmured, attempting to raise him.

"Maerwyn, I have wronged you," he whispered feebly, his voice breaking. The alcohol swirled from his breath, and she turned her head away from it.

"Father, must you go to the tavern every evening?" She asked wearily, leaning him gently against the wooden door frame.

"I did not go to the tavern," he answered, attempting to clear his voice. "Oh Maerwyn, I have wronged you." A strangled cry broke suddenly from his throat, and his head fell into his hands.

"What is it father?" She demanded soothingly. "Is it money you owe? Have you run a bill again?"

"The mill can no longer sustain us Maerwyn," he rasped, "the wheat fields are dried. There will be another drought. There is no bread...no money to be made."

"I will find work with Stefan again," she answered patiently. "He will allow me to help his wife with the spinning, and pay us in wool as he did last year."

"The spinning!" Her father cried, taking her hands into his own. He raised both to his lips, kissing each fervently. "What I would give to see such glory! That your hands might truly spin such beauty! May God bless you!"

She pulled her hands away, frightened. "Father?"

"I could not pay the tax," he moaned. "Our last coin was spent on the eve before last. It was all I could do, Maerwyn, all I could do."

"Do? What did you do?" She demanded, staring at him. His eyes had grown wild, and a strange, dancing light blazed within them.

"The King!" He whispered. "The King took mercy upon us."

"The King?" Maerwyn repeated, startled.

"I did not pay the tax," her father continued. "Our land was to be forfeit. But the truth fell from my lips, and we were saved."

She grasped him as he sagged against the door frame again. "Father, did you not pay the tax today? Have we been fined?"

"Saved," he repeated deliriously, "by gold from straw."

"Father, answer me," Maerwyn repeated desperately. "Have we been fined? Will they take the mill?"

"No Maerwyn, it is not the mill they want," he whispered. "It is you."

She dropped her hands from his shoulders, and he sank roughly to the ground.

"What have you told them!" Maerwyn cried. "What have you said?"

"Straw from gold, and gold from straw, this is what the miller saw," he sang, the light in his eyes still dancing.

"Gold from straw?" Maerwyn repeated.

"They will come today," he answered weakly. "There has been an announcement."

"Who? Who is to come?" Maerwyn demanded frantically. The light in her father's eyes dimmed suddenly, and he slumped dejectedly to the ground.

"Father!" She cried, falling to her knees before him.

A trumpet sounded in the distance, and the pounding of many hooves echoed throughout the garden. Maerwyn turned to watch a dust cloud billow on the path from which she'd come, the glint of armor blinking beneath the sun.

"What will they do?" She cried again, shaking her father desperately. "What have you told them?"

The trumpet sounded a second time, and seven black horses thundered toward her, drawing to a loud halt before the gate. Maerwyn shrank back against the cottage wall, fear flooding her watched the largest of the knights dismount and walk stiffly toward her.

"Are you Maerwyn, daughter of Ifan?" He demanded.

"Yes," she whispered. She watched his eyes rove over the slumped form of her father, and then the dilapidated state of the cottage.

"It appears your gift has been sparsely spent," he smiled, his lips twisting with mirth.

"I have no gift," Maerwyn whispered. She dropped to her knees, her shoulders shaking. "I beg of you, take mercy on my father. I will pay the debt."

"Then pay," the knight answered.

"I cannot pay it now," Maerwyn stumbled, "if you might only grant me a day, I would pay it-"

"Then you will attend court, by order of his majesty, the King."

"You do not understand," Maerwyn cried desperately, "I am no sorcerer, I cannot-"

"Rise!" The knight thundered, dragging her to her feet.

"My father is a drunkard, he was only spinning tales," she begged, tears filling her eyes. "Please, take mercy on us."

"You will be silent. Your debt is to be repaid."

He lifted her roughly by the waist as she wept, forcing her onto his horse. She felt the cold wall of his armor press against her as he mounted, pulling sharply at the reins. The horse reared, then broke into a gallop, the other six riders falling swiftly into line behind it. She understood, then, what her father had meant when he'd told her there had been an announcement. Villagers poured from their homes as the knights rode past, their curious faces probing her own. Some jeered while others gazed on in sympathy, shaming her further.

It was the sight of Callum's shocked face, standing among the crowd, that brought fresh tears to her eyes. His father, Lord Augustin, stood beside him, his dark eyes regarding her contemplatively. She looked away, humiliated. She would be a laughing stock when she returned, mocked for her fathers cowardice and taunted for her inability to clear his name.

The village houses sped past them, and the sea of faces melded slowly into one, a blur of eyes which followed her mercilessly, spurring the terror in her heart. Would she be killed when the truth was uncovered? Hanged as punishment for her deception? Her thoughts raced, searching desperately for a way to to make amends. But there was no answer she could find, and the helplessness of it stilled her, bringing her racing heart, to full, startling awareness. She would die.

The words pealed in her thoughts like a bell, echoing their horror. It was then she fell into a stupor, losing herself within the deepest recesses of her mind as she struggled to accept their enormity. The horses sped on, and time began to fade. She did not know how long they had been riding when the landscape suddenly changed, turning from the brown of the fields to the green of the moors. It was only the sight of the castle, appearing from within the fine, gray mist which had flooded the land, that brought her back to sudden alertness.

The horses drew to an abrupt halt before the moat, pawing the ground impatiently as the drawbridge was lowered. A soldier standing at the watch tower waved them through, and they began their steep ascent of the hill on which the castle rested. Maerwyn allowed herself a brief moment of wonder, gazing in astonishment at the height of the turrets and the scarlet banners which fluttered from their peaks. Iron creaked loudly as the gate which sealed the inner courtyard was lifted, and the horses plodded through.

The knight dismounted and pulled her roughly from the horse. She swayed, her limbs aching from the ride, and gazed about her fearfully. There was a strange sort of silence growing around them, a curious, wondering stillness that lifted the eyes of every man, woman, and child to her own. She felt a sickening sense of dread engulf her, as sudden understanding descended. It was evident, by the look on their faces, that her father had sung her praises, embellishing her supposed talent to the utmost degree. She felt her heart pound. She had aroused the interest of every soul in the palace, and just as they watched her attempt the impossible, they would be there to watch her fail.

"Girl," the knight barked. "This way." She was led forcefully through the courtyard, gripped tightly on either side by a guard to prevent escape. She felt her feet become leaden as they walked, each step drawing her closer to a fate her father had set. How could he have been so foolish?

A set of wooden doors opened to them, and they entered a long hall, at the end of which stood a throne. Light poured in through high, vaulted windows, the glass panes of which depicted various fanciful exploits. Maerwyn let her eyes settle on the window nearest them, allowing herself to take on the strength of the dragon shown in its engraving. The guards stopped suddenly, and she was jerked forward, the knight who had brought her to the palace announcing her presence.

"Maerwyn, daughter of Ifan," he said, bowing. Maerwyn fell instantly to her knees, her palms slick with sweat. She could feel her pulse within her ears, and was aware of a sharp, heavy gaze sliding slowly over her form.

"You may rise," said a voice.

She came slowly to her feet, allowing her eyes to rise unsteadily to his own. A tall, bearded man sat before her, his blue eyes set deeply beneath heavy brows. He wore a long, scarlet robe, the ends of which had been trimmed in ermine. A gold scepter rested in his left hand, and rubies glistened in the crown at his temple. To his right sat three young men, each dressed in a silken tunic. They regarded her as he did-silently, and speculatively.

"So you are the daughter of Ifan," he said, his deep voice ringing within the silence.

"Yes, your majesty," Maerwyn answered, her voice trembling.

"And you spin straw to gold?" he continued.

"I-I do," she whispered, aware it would be futile to refute.

"And why have you never shared this talent?" He demanded.

"I...I thought it wise to conceal," she whispered again.

"You thought it wise to conceal from your King? Was it greed that brought you to this conclusion?"

"Not greed, your majesty," Maerwyn said quickly. "Fear. I thought it...I thought it unjust."

"Unjust?"

"Unjust to create such wealth, when others had so little," Maerwyn continued, amazed at the lies which suddenly spouted from her lips.

"A chivalrous effort," the King answered after a period of silence. "But foolish nonetheless." He made a brief motion with his hand, and a servant appeared, carrying a spool of straw on a pillow.

"Your father spoke so highly of your skill, I must ask you to demonstrate it before us." He ushered her toward the pillow. "How do you begin?"

Maerwyn felt her blood run cold, terror seizing her once more. "Y-your majesty," she stuttered. "I-I...I cannot do it here. My skill requires...a...a spindle made of oak."

"Oak?" The Kind repeated contemplatively. "Very well, I shall have nine and twenty such spindles prepared for you."

"Nine and twenty?" Maerwyn repeated, horrified.

"You will spin each to gold, and when the dawn arrives, my guards will retrieve them. Should you succeed, your debt will be repaid." He paused, his eyes darkening. "Should you fail, your father shall be hanged. I trust however, due to the utter insistence of your father over your most miraculous gift, that this should hardly prove the expected outcome. " He leaned forward, fixing her with a chilling stare. "Am I correct in this assumption?"

Maerwyn smothered the cry which erupted from her throat, and bowed her head in submission. "Yes, your majesty."

"Lucan," the King said, motioning to the dark haired young man at his right. "Escort her."

Lucan nodded and rose, motioning for the guards to follow him. Together, they exited the hall, the guards enclosing her on either side, once more barring escape. They followed the prince down a narrow corridor, then down a set of flagstone steps. All the while, the guards armor clanked, marking every footfall. Maerwyn winced at its overpowering sound, the noise seemingly foretelling her end.

Would they march her to the hangmans noose? Would she see her father die? Prince Lucan paused at a great iron door at the base of the steps. A key was placed into its lock, and it opened with a grinding sound, allowing a cloud of dampened air to escape. Maerwyn felt the bile rise in her throat as they marched on, this time down a spiral staircase. Water dripped down the walls, pooling on the steps beneath their feet.

When they had reached the bottom, and yet another iron door, Prince Lucan raised one hand. The guards fell back, and Maerwyn was motioned to come forward. She did so hesitantly, her hands shaking so heavily that she tucked them within the folds of her skirt. The prince pulled a second key from his pocket, and placed it into the lock. This door sprang open easily, giving view to a gaping, cavernous stone room filled with three piles of straw. At its center stood a spinning wheel and a wooden stool. A single candle sputtered in a holder on the ground, casting a wavering circle of light.

Three servants appeared behind them, carrying baskets which they quickly deposited on the ground beside the spinning wheel. When they had filed out, the prince pointed at them.

"There are nine and twenty oak made spindles within the baskets, as you requested. You are to spin each to gold. At dawn, we shall come to retrieve them. Do you understand your task?"

Maerwyn nodded, her heart leaden within her chest.

"We will leave you to begin," he said curtly.

He paused at the door, sending her one last, fleeting glance, before allowing it to shut. The sound of its heavy, clanging finality pierced her very soul. As the last of their footfalls died away, and the silence encased her completely, Maerwyn threw herself to the floor and wept bitterly. For it was tomorrow that her father would die.