RAVETHORNE🐺

BLACK ROSES Adelaide Nightvale. I was late. Not fashionably late. Not the sort of late that could be excused with a graceful smile and an apology. I was dangerously late. The silver clasp of my ceremonial gown had caught on the embroidery just as I was leaving home, and by the time Eudoria finally freed it with her nimble fingers, precious minutes had already slipped through my hands. I had run all the way to the Ancient Temple of Veryrfall. It had not been enough. The moment I stepped beneath the temple's towering archways, hundreds of eyes turned toward me. I stopped. For one humiliating heartbeat, I wished the floor would open and swallow me whole. The Ancient Temple of Veryrfall was breathtaking, even beneath the weight of my embarrassment. Black stone pillars rose toward vaulted ceilings that disappeared into shadow. Thousands of candles burned along the walls, their golden flames trembling in the cool air. Ancient carvings covered every surface—roses twisting around pillars, their petals carved as black as mourning silk. Beautiful. Sacred. And somehow, unsettling. My gaze swept across the gathered crowd until it found the one face I had been hoping to avoid. Aunt Sibylla. Her expression could have frozen the candles. Wonderful. I was going to hear about this all the way back to Yorkhaven. I lowered my head and hurried toward our section. "Why are you late?" Annora twisted around from several rows ahead, her eyes wide with disbelief. I mouthed, Later. She frowned. "Later?" she whispered, barely moving her lips. I gave her a helpless smile. There was no explaining now. The Ceremony of Roses had already begun. Every province of Kingdom H had sent its daughters to Veryrfall for this day. Girls of noble blood stood beneath the ancient arches in gowns bearing the colours and traditions of their provinces. Some were accompanied by proud parents, others by chaperones and relatives whispering last-minute advice. The Ceremony of Roses was more than a celebration. It was a beginning. A maiden was blessed before the ancient altar, her name entered into the Registry of Roses, and from that moment onward, her future could be placed in the hands of the kingdom's most influential matchmakers. Marriage. Status. Family alliances. Legacy. Everything was decided beneath the black roses of Veryrfall. Annora leaned toward me. "Do you see that girl?" I followed the direction of her gaze. A slender young woman stood several places away, dressed in pale blue. "The one from Veryrfall?" Annora nodded. "She's beautiful." "I know." "Now look at the girls from Kharrow." She lowered her voice dramatically. "Must they always dress as though they've just crawled out of the forest?" A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "I rather like their clothes." "You would." She rolled her eyes. "You find everything amusing." Perhaps I did. I couldn't help appreciating the differences between the provinces. Yorkhaven, my home, stood proudly at the heart of Kingdom H—the largest province and its capital. Its noble families possessed wealth, influence, and armies of their own. Beyond its grand estates stretched the infamous Ravethorne Forest, an endless sea of ancient trees that had frightened generations of children into obedience. Grimvale was a land of mountains and iron, where blacksmiths forged the finest weapons and armour in the kingdom. Ravaryn guarded the oldest temples and libraries, its scholars protecting knowledge said to predate the kingdom itself. Kharrow disappeared beneath endless forests and silver mist. Its people were hunters, fur traders, and healers who relied upon herbs gathered from places most sensible people refused to enter. And then there was Veryrfall. My mother's birthplace. The smallest province in the kingdom. The poorest, too. Yet perhaps the most peaceful. Waterfalls glittered beneath the morning sun. Green fields stretched toward the horizon. Farmers worked their land, fishermen returned with their catches, and livestock wandered lazily through open pastures. There was no grandeur here. No magnificent castles. No endless procession of nobles. Just peace. I had always loved Veryrfall. Perhaps because my mother had loved it first. But love was not enough to keep me here. Eventually, I would have to return to Yorkhaven. "Adel!" Annora's hand suddenly closed around my wrist. "They've opened the registry." Before I could protest, she was dragging me toward the longest queue in the temple. "The Royal Matchmaker," she whispered, practically glowing with excitement. I glanced at the line. Then at her. "I truly don't understand the fuss." Annora looked horrified. "How can you say that?" "Any matchmaker will do." "Spoken like someone who doesn't care whom she marries." I smiled. Perhaps that was true. After what felt like an eternity of questions about my family, my bloodline, my upbringing, and my suitability for marriage, I was finally permitted to leave. By the time I returned home, the sun had begun its slow descent. The familiar scent of cedar greeted me before I even reached the courtyard. Papa was beneath the wooden awning of his workshop, exactly where I expected him to be. A small knife rested between his fingers as he patiently carved another tiny woodland creature from a piece of cedar. He looked up when he saw me. His smile appeared immediately. "You're home." I smiled back. "I am." I prepared a tray of food for him before quietly slipping two of his freshly carved wooden horses into my basket. Eudoria would love them. She always did. She claimed Papa's carvings were the closest thing to magic made by human hands. As I crossed the courtyard, I felt someone's eyes upon me. I looked up. Gwendolyn stood on the balcony. Watching. Silent. Her expression was as cold as ever. Two seasons had passed since her own Ceremony of Roses. Still, no suitor had chosen her. Every failed match seemed to sharpen something bitter inside her. Gwen blamed Aunt Sibylla. She believed that if Papa had been permitted to register her as his first daughter, respectable families would have overlooked the circumstances surrounding her birth. But everyone in Yorkhaven knew the truth. Gwendolyn had been born before Aunt Sibylla married Uncle Borron Eyre. Her father had abandoned them both. Papa had raised her lovingly alongside the rest of us, because Gwen was the daughter of his only sister—my late mother. But Mother had refused to alter the family registry. Among the kingdom's matchmakers, bloodlines mattered almost as much as character. Gwendolyn had never forgiven Mother for that. Nor Aunt Sibylla. And least of all... Me. I looked away. I had learned long ago that some wounds only deepened when touched. Beyond our home, the road curved toward Ravethorne Forest. I slowed. No matter how many times I passed it, something about those trees unsettled me. Ancient pines rose higher than any cathedral, their branches tangled beneath a canopy of black-green leaves. Even in daylight, sunlight struggled to penetrate the forest floor. Children were warned never to wander inside. Some who did became lost. Others... Never returned. People spoke of creatures living beyond the trees. Beasts with claws too large for any natural animal. Shadows that moved when nothing else did. Eyes watching from places where no eyes should have been. Most people laughed at the stories. I never completely did. Sometimes, when I stood at the edge of the forest, I had the strangest feeling that Ravethorne was not frightening because it was dangerous. It was frightening because it was lonely. "Adel." A familiar voice drifted down from above. I looked up. Eudoria was perched on the branch of an ancient oak, swinging her legs as though she hadn't a care in the world. I laughed. "One day, you're going to fall." "How could I?" She patted the branch beneath her. "This is my home." She spotted the wooden horses in my basket and immediately brightened. I handed them to her. "They're perfect," she whispered. Her eyes shone with childish delight as she turned one over in her hands. "I knew you'd love them." She carefully placed the carving beside the others Papa had made for her over the years. "So..." She settled against the trunk. "How was the Ceremony of Roses?" I shrugged. "Nothing extraordinary." I paused. "Except Aunt Sibylla is convinced I'll receive a worthy match before the next season." Eudoria laughed. "And Annora?" "Even more excited than I am." "I suppose that's what sisters are for." "I suppose." Silence settled between us. For a while, we simply listened. The forest breathed around us. A cool breeze slipped through the branches, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. Somewhere beyond the trees, a stream murmured over smooth stones. It was peaceful. Almost too peaceful. To everyone else, Ravethorne was a place of nightmares. To me... It had never felt cruel. Only lonely. Then— Rustle. My smile faded. Eudoria's head snapped toward the thicket. The bushes trembled. Once. Then again. Something was moving. I stared into the darkness between the trees. "Eudoria?" She didn't answer. Another rustle. Closer. Much closer. The birds suddenly erupted from the branches above us, their frantic wings tearing through the silence. Eudoria climbed down from the tree. Slowly. She stepped in front of me. Protecting me. Her breathing had changed. So had mine. "What is it?" I whispered. Her eyes remained fixed on the darkness. I could see fear there now. Real fear. Then something moved behind the trees. A shadow. Too tall. Too still. Eudoria's fingers closed around my wrist. "Adel..." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Don't move."