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sjsmith56 · 3 months

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Time For Love - Chapter 34, Lord Buchanan

Summary: With the safe arrival of Quin’s mother and sisters in the kingdom the Buchanans travel to the palace to prepare for the wedding of the young prince and his bride-to-be.

Length: 5.5 K

Characters: Lord and Lady Buchanan, Quin Torres, Baroness Blackstone, Queen Camilla and Quin’s sisters.

Warnings: Minors - DNI. Frank discussion of sexuality as Buchanan enlightens Quin about the source of a woman’s sexual pleasure. While not suitable for readers under the age of 18, it would be something an enlightened parent should prepare their son or daughter for. Some reference made to the possibility of death from the coming war.

Author’s notes: This chapter sees the introduction of a new minor, but pivotal character. Hilda, Queen’s Guard commander is this universe’s version of Valkyrie. Unlike that character, Hilda is of First Nations’ descent, Sioux from the Dakotas. She is a warrior, having fought against the Mad Titan, and lost her lands and her people in the process. As a woman she already proved her worth by being commander of the Queen’s Guard, having to do it again in front of Buchanan when some of the lesser commanders don’t respect her abilities.

<<Chapter 33

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Eight days after Fury's departure, word was sent that Quin's mother and sisters had arrived at the palace, the ocean winds having been favourable on their journey north. After three days for her and the princesses to rest at the King's palace the wedding would take place at the palace cathedral where the priest Erasmus would conduct the service. Since Quin and his family were still members of the old church a request was sent for the Bishop to return and consecrate the marriage for their benefit. He had agreed, curious to see if the kingdom still stood without the support of the old church. The word was sent to the Lords to bring their volunteer troops with all of their field equipment to amass under the Prince's banner in a space near the palace. The Lords would attend for the wedding of Prince Arthur and Baroness Blackstone while their troops would begin learning how to work with each other. They would continue training while the Prince and his bride took a short honeymoon then, upon his return, would begin the long overland journey to Quin's homeland.

On the morning of their departure both Buchanan and Ileana kissed Livia tenderly, charging Mary with her care. They mounted their horses along with Quin and led out the party, followed by Bren, Coulson, and the 250 men of their combined force, all under the new banner of Prince Arthur, still insisting on being known as Quin Torres. Bruce would make his own way to the port where the super computer had been unloaded, then return to the palace for the wedding. When they passed through the ravine and came up alongside the lands of Sir Archer Barton he met them in his archer's uniform, his bow slung on his back with 30 archers in formation. He bowed before Buchanan, Ileana, and Quin.

"These are all free men and women, not affiliated with any lord, except by friendship," he announced. "But all of them have felt the sting of an unjust master before. You go to fight for the good of all us, Prince Arthur. Allow us to join your forces. Lord Buchanan can verify our skill and dedication."

Quin looked at Buchanan who nodded his approval. "Thank you, Sir Archer Barton," he replied. "You honour me. Until we defeat my father's cousin I will not use my title. You may call me Torres as my soldiers do until the time when I take my rightful place as my father's heir."

Barton led the archers into a formation behind the assembled column and they continued on their way to the King's palace. As expected it was already full of Lords who had arrived with their volunteers. Outside of the palace walls a large contingent of tents was already set up with a large space nearest the palace walls still empty as it was reserved for Buchanan's contingent. As their force set up their tents Barton stood beside Buchanan and Ileana.

"Lila will not be joining us on this venture," he said. "She and William are expecting their first. I hope to return before she has my first grand child."

Both of them expressed their congratulations to the man, long considered a good friend. His small force of archers was unexpected but most welcome. Quin approached them, having seen to the disposition of the force from Buchanan's estate.

"I seek my mother and sisters," he said. "Would you come with me to meet them all properly? As my foster parents I wish my mother to know you have acted in my best interests at all times."

Buchanan and Ileana accompanied Quin into the castle but first appeared before King Steven and Queen Peg. Quin repeated his thanks to them for offering their assistance but even they could see he was anxious to see his mother and sisters. He was excused while Buchanan and Ileana stayed longer to give him some time with his family alone. A servant did arrive, advising them of Prince Arthur's request for their presence and they followed him up to where Quin and his family were. As they entered the suite, Quin brought his mother forward.

"Lord and Lady Buchanan, I would like to formally introduce my mother Queen Camilla Lucia de Torres Walker," he said. "Mother, my foster parents who I owe everything to."

She smiled kindly. "Lord Buchanan, words cannot express my gratitude for your kindness to my son," she said. "Lady Buchanan, thank you for being a mother to Quin when I could not. The change in him is readily evident. Now he is to be married to a woman he loves and who loves him back. I only wish he would stay with us during the war but I see he has acquired your sense of honour and feels he must go to fight at his father's side."

"I will accompany him your Majesty," said Buchanan. "My honour demands I continue what I started. He is a fine man, and with luck and right on our side he will someday be a fine king."

The Queen smiled then gestured to her daughters to come forward. "My daughters," she said. "Princesses Sophia, Marianne, Luisa, Vivienne, and the baby Constance."

The four older sisters curtsied as Buchanan bowed his head to them and Ileana did a small curtsy. The baby gurgled happily in the arms of her nursemaid. As Quin related much of what he had experienced during his stay in the kingdom Buchanan could see that the Queen had difficulty keeping her attention focused on her son's voice. During a break Buchanan suggested that Quin find Baroness Blackstone as she must have arrived. Ileana, who had noticed the Queen's discomfort, stood up and asked if the princesses would like to see the Queen's Guard in person. The Queen gave her permission and the four older princesses went with Ileana gladly as they wished to be outside. Left alone with the Queen, the nursemaid and the baby, Buchanan cleared his throat.

"You may speak openly in front of Nina," said the Queen, referring to the nursemaid. "She has cared for all of my children and heard much. Often she has been my only confidant."

"How was the situation when you boarded the ship?" asked Buchanan.

"Hostile," said the Queen. "The Duke issues daily invectives against the King, calling him an agent of the devil for allowing the modern ones to live in the country. What is worse is that my own family has become split with some backing the Duke and some backing the King. The ones that back the Duke are the same ones who arranged my marriage to him. They call him out for his use of mistresses yet they knew of it when the negotiations were made. Hypocrites."

"Quin is not his father," said Buchanan, "at least not in that respect. He has stayed unsullied, wishing to save himself for his bride. The men under my command respect him greatly. From the moment they volunteered Quin has lived, trained and eaten with them exclusively."

The Queen smiled fondly. "I am glad," she said. "He has changed so much. His father also changed, especially after your visit. He sent his mistresses away shortly after Fury left, compensating them for their "service" to him. Then he begged my forgiveness for being a weak husband. It was unexpected and we did spend time in each other's company that was pleasant before he sent us away as well. When David received Quin's letter about finding his own suitable bride he was surprised but when he learned you were a mentor to the Baroness he put aside his prejudices and saw it as an opportunity to begin a long overdue change to his court. Perhaps that is also why the talk of war sprung up so fast as many of those deposed courtiers went to the Duke."

"Quin told me of those courtiers," said Buchanan. "Change is never kind to men like that. They fight it to keep what they see as theirs and theirs alone."

At that moment Quin arrived with Baroness Blackstone, introducing her with obvious pride to his mother. Isabella, having been noble born, gave a deep curtsy to the Queen, then was welcomed with a warm kiss on the cheek by her. After a few minutes listening in to the two women becoming acquainted Buchanan excused himself to return to the tent, telling Quin to stay a while longer.

Out in the courtyard Ileana was returning with the princesses, along with Sarah and Win, the two foster daughters of King Steven and Queen Peg. The two sisters were talking quickly in the way young girls sometimes do, extolling the virtues of one thing after another. The princesses seemed amused and entranced by their commentary.

"How was the visit to the Queen's Guard?" he asked. "Princess Sophia, Princess Marianne, you are both of an age you may begin training in the use of weapons. Most young women of your age, whether noble or common born engage in weapons training. The Baroness who marries your brother is an accomplished fighter and I know would be willing to share her knowledge with you."

"It isn't permitted in our kingdom," said the oldest, Sophia, with a glint in her eye. "But then, we aren't in our kingdom anymore, are we? Certainly, the ones in the Guard are fearless warriors. Is it true a company of them will go with you into battle?"

"It's true," said Buchanan. "In times of war all must be prepared to fight for what is right. Now, if you go up to your mother's rooms the Baroness is there. I am sure you all wish to meet the one who has agreed to marry your brother."

They excused themselves, running back to the rooms with Win and Sarah guiding them. Buchanan turned to his wife.

"They have lived such a repressed life," she said, watching them until they were gone from view. "Riding was all that was allowed and that was by side saddle only. They are frightened of the war. By their accounts the Duke is not a man to be trusted."

"The Queen said the King began changing the structure of his court and many were insulted by it so they threw their support to the Duke," replied Buchanan, who then sighed. "I meet with the commanders soon. Quin should be joining me. It will be very dull for you in our tent, full with men talking war, and one woman, the Queen's Guard commander. I would have much rather spent these days alone with you, my dearest love."

He caressed her face and neck, looking softly at her, then they were both hailed by Quin. With an apologetic smile he left her there and went to his tent with the young prince where most of the other commanders were waiting. As Buchanan looked over them he was pleased to see some battle hardened veterans of previous wars. They, in turn, gave strong greetings to him for agreeing to lead their force with the prince. The woman commander, a tall dark haired woman whose heritage of the first peoples was evident gave every indication of being fully able to handle herself. A few questionable comments were made in Hilda's presence and before Buchanan could say anything she threw one of the offending men down on the ground and held him there with the admonition that she was a warrior trained from birth, in the style of the Amazons. After her Queen was murdered and their lands plundered by the Mad Titan she had worked as a mercenary until finding her place with the Queen's Guard. After he yielded to her skills, she offered him her hand to stand up. The man held her forearm in his for several moments in a gesture of respect for her abilities.

"Your lands now, is there a queen in place?" asked Buchanan, who was interested in knowing what drove this woman.

"No, there is no one, except a few who can scrape out a living in the pockets of farmable land scattered throughout," she said, drawing herself up to her full height, equal to his own. "Thanos scorched the earth so that no one can rule over it ever again. I found a home here but I am willing to help fight in any just cause."

"I have heard of your land," said Buchanan. "For that alone the Mad Titan deserved death. I am glad you are with us, Hilda of the Stone Lands. Your ancestors were mighty warriors."

She nodded her head in assent and took her place beside the others, impressed that Buchanan knew her origin as a descendent of the native peoples who lived and hunted on all lands for thousands of years before the ancient ones. After the calamity that affected all of them her people had reassembled far to the west in lands heavily marked with mountains and hills of stone. They guarded it well as it had rich mineral deposits, as well as plentiful game. They lived as their ancestors did, were masters of the horse, and skilled bow hunters. Led by warrior queens they were a formidable force until the Mad Titan decimated them by treachery. Then he turned them into slaves, forcing them to extract the valuable minerals by any means which ruined their waterways and lands, leaving them unable to sustain life. Hilda obviously equated the Duke with the Mad Titan, in his zeal to mark the Western Plains as his.

Buchanan quickly went through the session with the commanders outlining what he had learned about the conditions they would fight in. Quin also spoke about the lawless ones and the dangers they presented. Two hours later all the commanders knew what they were going into. The next two days would be spent out in the country, learning to coordinate themselves as a force and giving the recruits who made up almost half of their numbers the opportunity to become used to the sounds of battle. The third day was to be Quin's wedding. There would be practice skirmishes in the morning but the afternoon would be free, with beer provided by way of celebration. While Quin took three days with his bride Buchanan would continue the training. On the day of his return they would make preparations to leave. On the following day all would ride the overland route to the Kingdom of the Western Plains.

After an evening feast for the lords and their ladies, to become acquainted with Queen Camilla and her daughters, most of the nobles retired to their tents. Buchanan, as the Right Hand of the King did have his own suite of rooms in the palace but chose to stay in the tent already erected as befitting the general of the force that would go out. Quin stayed in a small tent shared with his friends Liam and Edward, needing their light heartedness to keep from brooding about the coming war. The fact they used the time to tease him about his wedding night had him second guessing his decision but he couldn't stay irritated at the pair for long and eventually the three young men slept. When they prepared to ride out to the country after a hearty breakfast, along with the assembled force, he and Buchanan assumed what Ileana referred to as their "game faces."

"It is not a game we prepare for, my love," admonished Buchanan. "It is deadly serious. Men, and women, will die." She looked at him fearfully for a moment, making him regret his choice of words. "I do not intend to die on the battlefield. If I am fortunate, I will be an old man, surrounded by my children and grandchildren, with those friends I love close by, to see me off to the next world. Perhaps you will already be waiting for me, perhaps not, but we will not be separated for long. Once we are together again, we will spend our days in the garden of paradise, no fears or sadness in our existence, young once more and full of the vigour of our youth."

She had placed her hand in his at that moment, which he raised to his lips. Then he mounted his horse and she watched as he rode with the force to where they trained until almost sunset, returning long enough to bathe, eat, and stumble into bed, his arms curled protectively around her. The second day passed the same as the first.

On the day of Quin's wedding the sun rose into a cloudless sky. Buchanan and Ileana could hear the sounds of the camp awakening all around them but their attention was only on each other. She had awakened him before the dawn with tender gestures, and now laid under him as he satisfied her desire gently with many soft words and caresses. Then he spooned behind her as his hand cradled her growing belly. It was too soon to feel the movement of the baby within but the changes in Ileana's body had already become noticeable. Buchanan felt a sense of loss that he possibly wouldn't be there for the birth, fearing that this war would be long and bloody. Until he left, the nights were devoted to her needs just as the days were devoted to preparing for battle, even though his exhaustion plucked at him.

By the time they rose, bathed and dressed for the morning's breakfast they were joined by Quin, Bren, Coulson and Bruce, who had arrived the evening before from the port town where the super computer had been relocated. Baroness Romanoff and Silas Brenson were also present, having arrived the day before. It was a very lively breakfast as Quin described the imbibing of spirits, acquired by his friends Liam and Edward. They sat out in the night air, looking at the stars and talking about their young lives while sharing the bottle of replicated Tennessee whiskey. The topic of the wedding night had come up and both Liam and Edward had admitted they had no clue what they would do with a woman in their bed. Quin filled them in, admitting that his father had at least talked to him about the process of it, if not the finer points. As Buchanan listened to Quin joke about his friend's reactions to the process he made a note to speak privately with the young prince himself, knowing that a memorable first experience in the marriage bed would be something to cherish for both him and his bride. He found that opportunity less than an hour later when Quin himself asked if he would ride with him briefly to speak frankly on several topics. When they were well away from the ears of others Quin turned to Buchanan.

"It is true my father told me the process but I know nothing about actually pleasing a woman," he said reluctantly. "Beyond the kissing and caressing I feel ill prepared for my wedding night. It has settled on my brain that I will be a disappointment to Isabella. I have heard you and Lady Buchanan, and I can see by how you look at each other that you have joy in your marriage bed. Please tell me how to please Isabella."

Buchanan took in a deep breath. As much as he intended to give Quin as much information as he knew, the first time was going to set the stage for all of it. It was a daunting task that would have been easier if the boy had at least lain already with one woman.

"The first time is always more difficult for most women because it usually hurts," said Buchanan. "She may bleed as you will be breaking her maidenhead. For some women it is very painful but for others it is of no consequence. Until you try you won't know which it will be. For the first time, be gentle. Don't go into her like you have seen your father's horses or bulls breed. Go slow, caress her, talk sweetly to her, kiss her. Above all else, don't give into your own body and allow your release to happen before hers does. Before you even go into her you can prepare her by caressing her entry gently with your fingers, even your tongue on her spot if you wish to try that."

Quin looked at him with surprise. "You can do that?" he asked. "Your tongue? What spot?"

Buchanan smiled. "It is pleasurable to every woman I have ever been with," he said. "For the first time it might be too much for the woman to accept as it is intense for them, especially in combination with your fingers inside of her, curling up towards her front. The spot is harder to describe, found just above her entry. You will know it if it becomes hard or swollen during her arousal. It is the source of much of a woman's pleasure. As you become better at finding her spot your own body can stimulate it during your thrusting. That is the best of both worlds."

Buchanan smiled mysteriously as he spoke and Quin listened to him in awe describing the perfect melding of lust and love in the joining of two bodies and two souls in the marriage bed. He broke his reveries and looked at the young prince.

"My first time I was as unknowing as you were," he said. "I convinced one of the kitchen maids of the Lord of our lands to lay with me after I delivered vegetables to the kitchen. She was not a novice at it and took pity on me, instructing me where to touch and I barely thrust three times before I spilled my seed, outside her body for she pushed me away so as not to conceive a child. I was so ignorant I didn't even know that much. I learned some through trial and error, more of the latter. It wasn't until I found my first wife, Elena, a modern woman, that I learned most of what it takes to please a woman. She was not afraid to tell me what pleased her and what didn't. Encourage Isabella to be free to enjoy her body and yours, to be truthful to share what pleases her. The best joinings are those when you give yourself completely to her as she should to you."

"What if I fail?" asked Quin. "What if my manhood fails to perform or she laughs at me?"

"These first few days may seem like you are under pressure to conceive your heir," soothed Buchanan. "Don't worry about it. If it is meant to happen it will. As for the laughter, well, she may be nervous herself and that could be her reaction to the situation, not to you. She has wanted to lay with you since seeing you under the falls. Ileana told me. She is probably having this same conversation with Ileana. If she laughs then laugh with her, put her at her ease. You have the rest of your married life to get this part of your marriage right."

Quin considered everything that Buchanan had told him, realizing the older man was right. In many ways he was fortunate having found the right woman at so young an age. It meant they would have many years together. Buchanan had only found Ileana two years previous after being alone for ten years before that. When they rode back to the palace the word came that it was time to prepare for the wedding and he gave thanks to Buchanan for the much-needed talk. Now he felt truly ready to marry his bride.

Shortly after Quin entered the palace to begin his preparations King Thorn and Queen Jane arrived along with 250 men. Although he and his queen had been expected, the 250 men were not. He dismounted his horse, helped his queen off hers then watched as she entered the palace before turning to Buchanan.

"I had planned to bring just 100 men," said Thorn. "Then word reached me from one of the overland coffee pedlars. Another southerner who helped my brother has entered the fray on the side of the Duke. He had provided refuge to the sorcerer, using him to enrich himself. My men are yours Buck. All are battle tested and will not let you down. Their commander, Heimdall, is one of my most trusted warriors."

Heimdall came forward then and Buchanan recognized him as one of the first warriors to break free from the spell that kept them in the dungeons of Thorn's castle. His will was strong and they clasped arms together in recognition of each other's strengths. He, along with Bren and Coulson would be his three commanders as their force was now 1500 strong. For the few days after the wedding while Quin was with his bride they would learn to be a unified force.

As Heimdall, Bren and Coulson took it upon themselves to get the large group set up, Buchanan returned to his tent to get dressed for the wedding. He found Ileana already there, ready to go in a garment that drew his breath out of his body at the sight of her. She had seen one of the master weavers in his lands and now wore a dress made from his latest creation, a rust coloured fabric of the finest weave. Along the front panel were gold embroidered flowers with the trims in either fine black or gold lace. The corset part was left deliberately loose to accommodate the child growing within her. Her hair had been swept to one side and cascaded down her chest in dark chestnut curls, with small gold fabric roses pinned to her hair.

"My Ileana," he said as he raised her up by offering his hand. "You are a vision, my Lady. I will hasten my preparations for I want all to see your beauty for the longest time before the nuptials."

She smiled and sat back down, telling him as he dressed about Isabella requesting a conversation with her, away from listening ears. He told her of having the same conversation with Quin. Exiting from his dressing area he quickly put his jacket on, one made of grey, gold and bronze brocade, trimmed in black and gold. His breeches were soft grey leather, as were his boots. The vest was solid grey as was his silk shirt.

"James," she whispered loudly as she rose from the seat. "How will I ever keep another woman's eyes off of you for you look magnificent."

He gently caressed her face then offered her his arm and they walked through the encampment to the nods and smiles of many into the palace. Outside the cathedral many had already gathered, dressed in their finery. When both King Thorn and King Steven arrived with their Queens they were seated first, in the front row of the pews on the left side. Lord and Lady Buchanan were seated on the second row of the pews on the left side. Other Lords, with connections to either Quin Torres or Baroness Blackstone were seated accordingly behind them except for the two front rows on the right. When Rhodes, Wallis, Liam and Edward arrived they were placed in the second row as the closest friends and associates of the young prince. All were dressed in a military dress uniform that Buchanan had quickly arranged the construction of, leaving it for them to find in their quarters. Wallis would return to the garrison immediately after the wedding whereas Rhodes would return with Ileana after the force left for the Kingdom of the Western Plains. Liam and Edward were already part of the volunteer force but would have no curfew on this night of celebration. They were joined by Bren and Coulson, also in a military dress uniform that both seemed to find uncomfortable. Quin had insisted that all of them have a place of honour in the cathedral as they were the best of men after Lord Buchanan.

The final persons to be seated were Queen Camilla and four of her five daughters, the eldest had been asked to stand with her future sister-in-law. She came regally down the aisle trailed by her daughters to join the nursemaid who already sat in the front right pew with the baby in her arms. The sounds of organ music began and the procession of clergy walked down the aisle. The Bishop, dressed in his finery, had originally demanded that he walk in first but the priest Erasmus had correctly pointed out it that the ceremony was of the new church. The Bishop's presence was required only to bless the union for the sake of the church in the prince's homeland. When they had taken their place at the front of altar Silas Brenson walked out to the murmurs of many who had never seen him before. Dressed regally for the occasion he brought proud smiles to his wife and his father as he strode confidently down the aisle to his spot. Everyone rose for the entrance of Quin and if there had been any doubt of his being a prince before there was no doubt when he walked down the aisle. Dressed in gold brocade made with real gold threads and trimmed with silver he wore his official crown of gold as the heir of his father's kingdom. Everyone was asked to remain standing for the arrival of the Princess Sophia. Gracefully she walked down the aisle carrying a single white calla lily. When she arrived at the altar it was the Baroness' turn to make the long walk. She made the decision to walk herself down the aisle to show her independence and to verify that as a Baroness in her own right she did not need permission from a parent to marry. Her dress was made of silver brocade, trimmed in gold and she carried a single white rose. On her head was a silver crown trimmed with gold, gifted to her by Quin. As she reached his side he held his hand out to her with a smile and she took it.

The service was brief, to the dismay of the Bishop, but he still blessed it so as not to lose face. He signed the register as the official celebrant of the old church making it a legal marriage in the eyes of both churches. When Quin kissed Isabella the organ player played the recessional music with gusto bringing smiles to everyone there. The couple walked happily down the aisle followed by Silas who offered his arm to the Princess, then Quin's mother came out of her pew with a relieved smile followed by her other daughters. The rest of the attendees filed out in turn. Everyone was directed to a large pavilion erected on the other side of the palace where food and drinks had already been laid out. There was music and everyone was in a mood to celebrate.

As the afternoon evolved into the evening the servants came out and turned on the battery lamps which had been enclosed in different coloured coverings giving everything a soft multicoloured glow. Speeches were made and the couple thanked everyone for making the event a success. Then the musicians began playing a soft lovely tune that many of the modern women recognized and began to sing along to; Something by the Beatles. Quin took Isabella's hand and danced with her so gracefully and lovingly that many of the wives took their husband's hands in their own watching the young couple with tears in their eyes. After that the dancing was opened to everyone and the floor became crowded. Even Quin's friends Liam and Edward got up their courage to ask the Princesses Sophia and Marianne to dance. After receiving an assenting nod from their mother they accepted and were soon smiling broadly as the two young soldiers in their dress uniforms proved they were up to the task. At approximately 10 pm the cake was brought out and the couple delicately fed each other a piece. Word was given to the Prince that the bridal boudoir had been prepared. After visiting individually with their friends and Quin with his family they bade good night to everyone and were escorted to the same room where Lord Buchanan and Ileana had spent their wedding night. Changes had been made to the room since that night as a bathing room had been added as well as soft furnishings and bedding. A guard was posted at the bottom of the stairs to protect their privacy from those who would eavesdrop. The guard did report to Lord Buchanan several hours later that pleasurable sounds had been heard, both male and female. Buchanan slipped him a gold coin and thanked him for his discretion.

Chapter 35>>

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #medieval bucky #bucky barnes au #james buchanan barnes au #joaquin torres #alternate universe #young love #wedding night

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conquerthenight · 7 months

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Lydia de Winter headcanons sorted by the all the AU’s of Say My Name I’ve written.

TW: Discussions of depression, suicide, death, and child abuse

Say My Name (sans “Your Clone”)

- Her date of birth is December of 1915

- Yes, I realize that means she was born (and conceived) during WWI, but we’re gonna get around that by saying Maxim was summoned to the war either during Rebecca’s pregnancy or shortly after Lydia was born.

- She was named after Lydia Bennet from Pride and Prejudice because Rebecca liked the Lydia/Wickham subplot more than the other love stories.

- She attended a seminary for girls in London from the ages of 6 to 9, after Rebecca’s death she was educated by a governess, tutors, etc. I realize that absolutely none of that features in my fics other than brief mentions but it is happening.

- Some time during the events of Rebecca, Lydia stops referring to Rebecca as her mother and transitions to calling her Rebecca. Maxim doesn’t give a fuck about it.

- Maxim also doesn’t give a fuck period. Lydia doesn’t forgive him for his neglect for a while, but acknowledges that he’s at least remorseful (post confession). Things are very awkward between them until well into the exile period and they didn’t truly become close until after Ellison and Katherine were born.

- Lydia briefly resented Ellison and Kate because they had the childhood she never got, but she got over it due to bonding with them and the maturity that comes with adulthood.

- Ellison and Kate were the prime age for playing with legos when they were first invented in the 30’s. Lydia stepped on a few once and it hurt so from then on whoever she got mad at someone she always threatened them by saying she hopes they step on a lego.

- She once muttered this during an argument with Maxim. Maxim immediately started laughing because he thought it was a creative threat.

- Lydia is bisexual, even though she does end up with a man, @eeleeisgay’s OC Anthony Helencourt.

- Ileana immediately approved of Anthony. Maxim took a bit of convincing because he wanted to be certain that Anthony wasn’t just with Lydia because he wanted Manderley.

- Even after the events of Rebecca, Lydia struggled with putting a lot of pressure on herself, putting on a brave face, and asking for help from others, as well as bouts of depression for the rest of her life.

- The thing that won Maxim over with Anthony and Lydia’s relationship was that Anthony had a positive effect on Lydia’s mental health and he was able to help bring her back down to earth. Basically Anthony is best husband and a supportive king.

- Lydia hyphenated her last name when she married Anthony partially to compromise with her parents and her in laws but partially because “Helencourt-de Winter sounds beautiful anyways, I’ll just take both names”. Anthony did the same.

- Strangers sometimes mistook Lydia and Ileana for sisters instead of a stepmother and stepdaughter once Lydia hit puberty and thus had her growth spurt. Ileana also looked young for her age until she reached middle age so that along with their 11 year age gap didn’t help either. It led to some very awkward conversations.

- Favell and Beatrice both taught Lydia to curse at a very young age, separately of course.

- Maxim made allowances for Beatrice when she did that, he often sighed and said things like “that’s the last time I let you around my child” but never really meant it. However he openly badmouthed Favell for doing the same thing.

- Lydia only curses when she’s really pissed or emotional. In normal conversation sometimes she’ll let a few “damns” slip, but nothing more.

- Post blackmail, Lydia wants nothing to do with Favell because she realizes that he’s too similar to Rebecca but he just hides it better and isn’t a dick to children.

- While Lydia does initially feel betrayed when she hears Danny burned down Manderley, during the de Winters’ exile she realizes just how bad Danny’s mental state was and forgives her for it.

- Being away from Manderley also made Lydia realize that Danny never intended to make Lydia uncomfortable by bringing up or praising Rebecca in front of her. She comes to the conclusion that while Danny did hurt her by doing that, it was Danny’s way of coping with her loss and she can’t bring herself to fault her for that.

- Ileana understands Lydia’s sympathy for Danny, Maxim doesn’t. This is a source of tension between Lydia and Maxim, particularly once they decide to rebuild Manderley until shortly after they move back in.

- During the exile, Lydia knows not to talk about Manderley in front of Maxim, but she does sometimes do so with Ileana.

- When Ellison comes out to Lydia as lesbian, Lydia is immediately supportive of her sister. She even refers to Ellison’s longtime girlfriend, Anne, as her sister in law.

Your Clone, Your Strange Creation (SPOILERS AHEAD, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED)

- Lydia was never sent to school in London and was educated from home from the start. This is why she was home to witness Rebecca’s murder.

- Despite the positive relationship between Ileana and Lydia, Lydia never ends up referring to Ileana with any maternal terms (mother, mama, mum, etc). After everything she’s dealt with she doesn’t really feel right putting a concrete label on it.

- Lydia also never stops referring to Rebecca by her given name. No one has a problem with it, even Danny understands why she does it.

- A similar thing happens with Maxim as well. In the first few chapters she refers to him as Papa, then she transitions to Father (if you read the Beatrice side story you’ll have the full context), and eventually after the trial she’ll refer to him as Maxim because she’ll finally feel like she’s allowed to denounce him for everything he did (and didn’t do) since Rebecca’s murder.

- She’s a full on queer ally. Full on doesn’t even think twice about the fact that Ileana and Danny are both women when she figures out they’re in love.

- Danny feels very strongly that she has to redeem herself for viewing Rebecca through a rose colored lens and somewhat projecting that onto Lydia.

- Lydia forgives her for it immediately following her disclosure about the murder and her role in it due to Danny admitting that not only did Maxim fail her as a parent, but so did Rebecca.

- Although Lydia knows Danny’s first name from chapter 12 onwards, she doesn’t use it and opts to keep calling her Danny. Danny is chill about it because she knows how awkward it would be for them both if Lydia used her first name.

- Lydia affectionately teases Ileana and Danny about them being awful at being subtle about their relationship.

- As soon as they’re able to forgo the whole housekeeper/charge relationship, Danny is a lot more openly affectionate with Lydia.

- Lydia has never seen Danny with her hair open before so when she does for the first time she goes 😱 and Ileana giggles and says she had a similar reaction.

- Lydia never forgives Rebecca or Maxim for being the worst parents ever, but she does eventually understand that the fact that she shares traits with them doesn’t need to be a bad thing.

- Danny is the reason she comes to that conclusion in the first place.

- Lydia deals with nightmares, mostly of the night of Rebecca’s murder, Maxim coming after her for spilling about the murder, and Danny and Ileana leaving her.

The Ones They Left Behind/Mama’s Boy (LIGHT SPOILERS AHEAD, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED)

(Established with help from @alicesbread)

- Lydia and Rudolph are both unreliable narrators when it comes to the other’s relationship with their parents.

- Maxim up and leaving Manderley to hop around Europe during the year after Rebecca’s death caused Lydia to develop a fear of abandonment. She blames herself for him leaving because she thinks she either did something wrong or hindered his ability to move on.

- Bea, Giles, Danny, and even Frank try to assure her that this isn’t true but Lydia doesn’t really believe them.

- When she shuts down due to her mental state, she only ever talks to Rudolph (and in rare cases Bea, but that takes a lot of coaxing).

- As with the other two AU’s, Lydia is supportive af when Rudolph comes out to her.

- Neither of us have delved into Lydia’s relationship with her brother Elliot (also @alicesbread’s OC), but Lydia is very much relieved when he’s born because that means Manderley won’t be her burden to carry. Won’t say much else because it’ll be a major spoiler.

- She lovingly makes fun of Rudolph for falling for Elliot because “I guess it runs in your family to fall for a de Winter”.

- Rudolph probably finds something to lovingly tease Lydia about as well but I’ll leave that one to alicesbread.

- This is specific only to TOTLB, but when they were children (post Rebecca’s death, pre costume ball) Anthony didn’t like Rudolph because Rudolph defended Rebecca. Not sure if the boys ever actually met, but even if Lydia didn’t like that either, she didn’t tolerate Anthony badmouthing Rudolph.

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@boopboopboopbadoop if you’d like to see the rest of them :)

June 2022’s 38th Win A Commission story is Wildwood Dancing, by Juliet Marillier! I’ve adored this story since I was nine, ever since I ‘accidentally’ wandered into the teen section at the library lol. If you’d like to see the first chapter, see the rest of my art, and my notes, please

Wildwood Dancing will take you to another time and indeed another world. For proper pronunciation of names and for details about select Romanian terms, please read this first section. (End of original note by the author)

It is not the full version, as I’ve only included terms that appear in this chapter. Also, to those using screen readers, it is unlikely your readers will pronounce everything as it should be - sorry. There is also a character who speaks without quotation marks or words like ‘said, replied, shouted,’ etc etc. Visually, I’ve made his speech different, but I’m unsure of how to audibly apply this difference without changing the text. If you have any ideas or think it would ultimately be better to post a screen reader friendly option, please let me know.

Also, should I start doing image IDs for my illustrations within the stories? I rarely change a scene described in the story, and I often go into artistic choices within the notes. Is that too inaccessible? Thanks for any feedback! (End of note by me, the following is the pronunciation dictionary for the Romanian terms.)

Braşov A merchant town in central Transylvania. Pronounced Brah-shove

Ciorbǎ Traditional Romanian broth. Pronounced chor-buh

Constanta A trading port on the Black Sea coast. Pronounced Kahn-stahn-tsah

Piscul Dracului Devil’s Peak. Pronounced Pis-kul Drah -koo-looy

Tara Romǎneascǎ A region south of Transylvania, also known as Wallachia. Pronounced Tsah-rah Roh-muh-neeyes-kuh

Taul Ielelor Lake of the Iele. Iele are female spirits who lure folk to their doom. Pronounced Tah-ool YeHeh-lor

Tuicǎ Plum brandy. Pronounce tswee-kuh

Vǎrful cu Negurǎ Storm Heights. Pronounced Vur-fool koo Neh-goo-ruh

Voivode The head of a Transylvanian territory; princeling. Pronounced voh-yeah-vode

Anatolie Ah-nah-toh-yeeah

Bogdana Bohg-dah-nah

Cezar Cheh-zahr

Costi, Costin Koh-tee, Kohs-teen

Dräguta Druh-goo-tsah

Florica Flo-ree-kah

Gogu Goh-goo

Grigori Gree-gohrree

Ileana Eel-leh-ah-nah

Iulia Yoolee-ah

Jena, Jenica Jeh-nah, Jeh-nee-kah (J pronounced like g in mirage)

Marin Mah-reen

Nicolae Nee-koh-lie-eh (lie & sky rhyme)

Paula PowHah

Petru Peh-troo

Salem bin Afazi Sah-lem bin Ah-fah-zee

Sandu Sahn-doo

Stela Stel-ah

Tati, Tatiana Tah-tee, Tah-tee-ahrnah

Teodor The-oh-dor

I’ve heard it said that girls can’t keep secrets. That’s wrong: we’d proved it. We’d kept ours for years and years, ever since we came to live at Piscul Dracului and stumbled on the way into the Other Kingdom. Nobody knew about it—not Father, not our housekeeper, Florica, or her husband, Petru, not Uncle Nicolae or Aunt Bogdana or their son, Cezar. We found the portal when Tati was seven and I was six, and we’d been going out and coming in nearly every month since then: nine whole years of Full Moons. We had plenty of ways to cover our absences, including a bolt on our bedchamber door and the excuse that my sister Paula sometimes walked in her sleep.

I suppose the secret was not completely ours; Gogu knew. But even if frogs could talk, Gogu would never have told. Ever since I’d found him long ago, crouched all by himself in the forest, dazed and hurt, I had known I could trust him more than anyone else in the world.

It was the day of Full Moon. In the bedchamber our gowns and shoes were laid out ready; combs, bags, and hair ornaments were set beside them. Nothing would be touched now, until the household was safely in bed. Fortunately, it was rare for Florica to come up to our room, because it was at the top of a flight of stairs, and stairs made her knees hurt. I did wonder how much Florica knew or guessed. She must have noticed how quiet we always were on the night of Full Moon, and how exhausted we were when we stumbled down to breakfast the next morning. But if she knew, Florica didn’t say a thing.

During the day we kept up our normal activities, trying not to arouse suspicion. Paula helped Florica cook fish ciorbă, while Iulia went out to lend a hand to Petru, who was storing away sacks of grain to last us over the winter. Iulia did not enjoy the hard work of the farm, but at least, she said, it made the time go more quickly. Tati was teaching Stela to read: I had seen the two of them ensconced in a warm corner of the kitchen, making letters in a tray of wet sand.

I sat in the workroom with Father, reconciling a set of orders with a record of payments. I was good with figures and helped him regularly with such tasks. The merchant business in which he was a partner with his cousin, whom we called Uncle Nicolae, kept the two of them much occupied. Gogu sat on the desk, keeping himself to himself, though once or twice I caught his silent voice—the one only I could hear.

You’re upset, Jena.

“Mmm,” I murmured, not wanting to get into a real conversation with him while both Father and his secretary, Gabriel, were in the room. My family didn’t truly believe that I sometimes knew what Gogu was thinking. Even my sisters, who had long ago accepted that this was no ordinary frog, thought that I was deluding myself—putting my own words into the frog’s mouth, perhaps. I knew that was wrong. I’d had Gogu since I was a small girl, and the things he told me definitely didn’t come from my own head.

Don’t be sad. Tonight is Full Moon.

“I can’t help it, Gogu. I’m worried. Now hush, or Father will hear me.”

Father was trying to write a letter. He kept coughing, and in between bouts he struggled to catch his breath. Tomorrow he would be leaving on a journey to the port of Constanţa, in the milder climate of the Black Sea coast. His doctor had told him, sternly, that if he tried to get through another winter at Piscul Dracului in his present ill health, he would be dead before the first buds opened on the oaks. We five sisters would be looking after the place on our own, right through the winter. Of course, Uncle Nicolae would help with the business, and Florica and Petru with the house and farm. It was not so much the extra responsibility that troubled me. Father was away often enough on business and we had coped before, though not for so long. What chilled me was the thought that when we said goodbye in the morning, it might be forever.

At supper we were all quiet. I was thinking about what Father had confided to Tati and me earlier. Up till then, none of us had mentioned the possibility that Father might die of this illness, for to say that aloud would be to put the unthinkable into words. But Father had wanted his eldest daughters to be prepared for whatever might happen. Should he die before any of us girls married and bore a son, he’d explained, both Piscul Dracului and Father’s share of the business would go to Uncle Nicolae, as the closest male relative. We were not to worry. If the worst should occur, Uncle Nicolae would see we were provided for.

Uncle Nicolae’s family home was called Vǎrful cu Negurǎ: Storm Heights. His house was quite grand, set on a hillside and surrounded by birch and pine forest. He ran a prosperous farm and a timber business, as well as the trading ventures that had made him wealthy. When we were little, we had lived in the merchant town of Braşov, and Vǎrful cu Negurǎ had been a place we visited as a special treat. It was hard to say what I had loved best about it: the dark forest, the forbidden lake, or the excitement of playing with our big cousins, who were both boys.

But there was no doubt at all what Father had loved. Next door to Vǎrful cu Negurǎ was Piscul Dracului, Devil’s Peak. Father had first seen the empty, crumbling castle, set on a high spur of rock, when he was only a boy. Our father was an unusual kind of person, and as soon as he clapped eyes on Piscul Dracului he wanted to live there. There’d been nobody to inherit the ruin and the tract of wildwood that went with it; perhaps the many strange tales attached to the place had frightened people away. The owner had died long ago. Florica and Petru had been custodians of the place for years, looking after the empty chambers and eking out a living from the small farm, for they were hardworking, thrifty folk.

Father had waited a long time to achieve his dream. He had worked hard, married, and fathered daughters, bought and sold, scrimped and saved. When he’d set enough silver aside from his merchant ventures, trading in silk carpets and bear skins, spices and fine porcelain, he’d quietly paid a large sum to an influential voivode, gone into partnership with Uncle Nicolae, and moved our family into Piscul Dracului.

I think Mother would have preferred to stay in Braşov, for she feared the tales folk told about the old castle. It looked as if it had grown up out of the forest, with an assortment of bits and pieces sprouting from every corner: tiny turrets, long covered walkways, squat round towers, arches, and flagpoles. The eccentric nobleman who had built it had probably been someone just like Father. People seldom ventured into the forest around Piscul Dracului. There was a lake deep within the wildwood, a place unofficially known as the Deadwash, though its real name was prettier: Tǎul Ielelor, Lake of the Nymphs. Every family had a dark story about the Deadwash. We got ours soon after we moved into the castle. When I was five years old, my cousin Costi—Uncle Nicolae’s eldest son—drowned in Tǎul Ielelor. I was there when it happened. The things folk said about the lake were true.

Before Father became so ill, Tati and I had scarcely given a thought to such weighty matters as what might happen to Piscul Dracului, with no son to inherit our father’s property. My elder sister was a dreamer, and I had a different kind of future in mind for myself: one in which I would work alongside my father, traveling and trading and seeing the world. Marriage and children were secondary in my scheme of things. Now—with Father’s cough ringing in our ears, and his white face regarding us across the supper table—they had become a frightening reality. I remembered Aunt Bogdana saying that sixteen was the ideal age for a young woman to wed. Tati was already in her seventeenth year; I was only one year younger.

Father went off to bed as soon as the meal was over; he’d hardly touched his food. The others disappeared to our bedchamber, but I waited for Florica to bank up the fire in the big stove and for Petru to bolt the front door, and for the two of them to retire to their sleeping quarters. Then it was safe, and I ran up the stairs to our chamber, my worries set aside for now, my heart beating fast with an anticipation that was part joy, part fear. At last it was time.

The long room we sisters shared had four round windows of colored glass: soft violet, blood-red, midnight-blue, beech-green. Beyond them the full moon was sailing up into the night sky. I put Gogu on a shelf to watch as I took off my working dress and put on my dancing gown, a green one that my frog was particularly fond of. Paula was calmly lighting our small lanterns, to be ready for the journey.

With five girls, even the biggest bedchamber can get crowded. As Tati fastened the hooks on my gown, I watched Iulia twirling in front of the mirror. She was thirteen now, and developing the kind of curvaceous figure our mother had had. Her gown was of cobalt silk and she had swept her dark curls up into a circlet of ribbon butterflies. We had become clever, over the years, in our use of the leftovers from Father’s shipments. He was good at what he did, but buying Piscul Dracului had eaten up a lot of his funds and, even in partnership with his wealthy cousin, he was still making up for lost ground. I saw the books every day—he had been unable to conceal from me that finances remained very tight. We sisters had to improvise. We made one new dancing gown anytime a cargo contained a little more of a certain fabric than the buyer had requested. I wore Tati’s hand-me-downs; Paula wore mine. Iulia, with her fuller figure, did rather better, because she could not fit into either Tati’s clothes or mine. All the same, she complained; she would have liked a whole wardrobe of finery. Tati was clever with her needle, and adjusted old things of Mother’s to fit her. Mother was gone. We had lost her when our youngest sister was born. Stela was only five—easy to dress.

Paula had finished lighting the lamps. Now she crouched to bank up the fire in our little stove and ensure its door was safely shut. One year Iulia’s junior, Paula was our scholar. While I was good at figures, she shone in all branches of learning. Our village priest, Father Sandu, came up to Piscul Dracului once a month to provide Paula with private tutoring—I shared in the mathematical part of these lessons—and went home with a bottle of Petru’s finest ţuicǎ in his coat pocket. Most folk believed education of that kind was wasted on girls. But Father had never cared what people thought. Follow your heart was one of his favorite sayings.

“What is it, Jena?” Paula had noticed me staring at her. The heat from the stove had flushed her cheeks pink. Her dark eyes were fixed on me with an assessing look. Tonight she was wearing dove-gray, with her spectacles on a chain around her neck, and her brown curls disciplined into a neat plait.

“You look pretty tonight,” I said. “So do you, Stela.” Stela, our baby, was rosy-cheeked and small, like a little bird, maybe a robin. Her hair, the same ebony as Tati’s, was wispy and soft, and tonight it was tied back with rose-pink ribbons to match the gown Tati had made for her. She was standing by the oak chest, jiggling up and down in excitement.

“What about your hair, Jena?” asked Tati, doing up my last hook. “It’s all over the place.”

“Never mind,” I told her, knowing nobody would be looking at me while she was anywhere near. My elder sister’s gown was a simple one of violet-blue that matched her eyes. Her hair rippled down her back like black silk. Tati didn’t need jewelry or ribbons or any sort of finery. She was as lovely as a perfect wildflower. It always seemed to me a generous fairy must have presided over her christening, for Tati was blessed with the kind of beauty that draws folk’s eyes and opens their minds to dreams.

I didn’t make a big effort with my appearance. When people commented on our family of sisters, Tati was always the beautiful one. If they noticed me at all, they called me sensible or practical. I had bushy hair, brown like Paula’s, which refused to do what I wanted it to, and eyes of a color somewhere between mud and leaf. My figure was a lot more straight-up-and-down than Iulia’s, even though I was two years her elder. The one special thing about my green gown was the pocket I had sewn into it for Gogu, since he needed a safe retreat if he got tired or upset. Tonight the only ornament I carried was the frog himself, sitting on my shoulder. You look lovely, Jena. Like a forest pool on a summer’s day.

Tati darted across to make sure our door was bolted. Then, by the shifting light of the lanterns, we moved to the most shadowy corner of the chamber: the place where we had once sat playing games by candlelight and made the most astonishing discovery of our lives.

We dragged out the heavy oak chest from against the wall and set our lanterns on it so their light was cast into the little alcove where the chest had been, an indentation that wasn’t even big enough to store a folded blanket in.

“Come on,” Iulia urged. “My feet are itching for a dance.”

The first time we had done this, in our earliest days at Piscul Dracului—when I was only six, and Stela was not yet born—Tati and I had been amusing the younger ones by making shadow creatures on the wall: rabbits, dogs, bats. At the moment when all our hands had been raised at once to throw a particular image on the stones, we had found our forest’s hidden world. Whether it had been chance or a gift, we had never been sure.

It made no difference that we had done this over and over. The sense of thrilling strangeness had never gone away. Every Full Moon, our bodies tingled with the magic of it. The lamp shone on the blank wall. One by one, we stretched out our hands, and the lantern light threw the silhouettes onto the stones. One by one, we spoke our names in a breathless whisper:

“Tatiana.”

“Jenica.”

“Iulia.”

“Paula.”

“Stela.”

Between the shadows of our outstretched fingers, a five-pointed star appeared. The portal opened. Instead of a shallow alcove, there was a little archway and a flight of stone steps snaking down, down into the depths of the castle. It was dark, shadow-dark.… The first time it ever happened, back when there were only four of us, we had clutched one another’s hands tightly and crept down, trembling with excitement and terror. For the others the fear had dissipated over the years; I could see no trace of misgiving in any of them now, only shining eyes and eager faces.

I was different. The magic drew me despite myself; I passed through the portal because it seemed to me I must. There were eldritch forces all around, and the only thing sure was that the powers of the wildwood were unpredictable. It was curious: from the first I had felt that without me, my sisters would not be safe in the Other Kingdom.

Lanterns in hand, we made our way down the winding stairway, holding up our long skirts as our shadows danced beside us on the ancient stone walls. It was so deep, it was like going to the bottom of a well. Gogu rode on my shoulder down the twists and turns of the stair, until we came to the long, arched passage at the bottom.

“Hurry up!” urged Iulia, who was at the front of the line.

Our slippers whispered on the stone floor as we glided along under the carved extravagance of the roof. Here, there were enough gargoyles and dragons and strange beasts to decorate the grandest building in all Transylvania. They clung to the corners and crept around the pillars and dripped from the arches, watching us with bright, unwavering eyes. Subterranean mosses crawled over their heads and shoulders, softening their angular forms with little capes of green and gray and brown. The first time we saw this Gallery of Beasts, Tati had whispered, “They’re not real, are they?” and I had whispered back, “Just nod your head to them, and keep on walking.” I had sensed, even then, that respect and courtesy could go a long way to keeping a person safe in a place such as this.

As we passed now, I felt something jump onto my shoulder—the one not occupied by Gogu—and cling there, its needle claws pricking my skin through the soft fabric of the green gown. It was doing its best to look like a frog, rolling up its long tail and bulging its eyes, while casting surreptitious glances at Gogu.

The frog tensed. Interloper.

The little creature poked out a forked tongue, hissing.

“Lights out!” ordered Iulia, and we each covered our lanterns in turn. As our eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, a pale expanse came into view ahead of us: the mist-wreathed waters of a broad lake, illuminated by the moon. Through the vaporous cloud we could see the bobbing torches of those who were waiting to escort us on the last part of our journey.

“Ooo-oo!” Iulia called in a falling cadence. “Ooo-oo!”

The little boats came, one by one, out of the tendrils of mist—high-prowed and graceful, each shaped in the form of a creature: swan, wyvern, phoenix, wood duck, and salamander. In each stood a figure, propelling the craft by means of a slender pole: push and lift, push and lift. The response to Iulia’s call came in five voices, each different, each as uncanny as the others. Our guides were what they were; the only human creatures in this midnight realm were ourselves.

The boats pulled in to the shore. The boatmen stepped out to help us board. The next part, my frog didn’t like. He began to quiver in fright, a rapid trembling that went right through his body. I was used to this; he did it every time. I held him against my breast and, as I climbed into the boat, I murmured, “It’s all right, Gogu, I’ve got you. We’ll be there soon.”

Tǎul Ielelor: the Deadwash. This was the place where Costi had drowned. Our mother had warned us about it, over and over: we should never go there, for to do so was to risk harm at the hands of the vengeful fairy folk who had robbed us of our cousin. And yet, since the very first time the portal had opened for us, the realm that lay beyond had shown us warmth and kindness, open arms, and welcoming smiles. I was still cautious; I did not have it in me to trust unconditionally. All the same, it was impossible to believe that the person who had drowned our cousin was one of those greeting us on our nocturnal journeys.

The folk of the Other Kingdom had their own name for this expanse of shining water—at Full Moon, they called it the Bright Between. The lake waters spanned the distance between their world and ours. Once we set foot in their boats, we were caught in the magic of their realm.

Time and distance were not what they seemed in the Other Kingdom. It was a long walk from Piscul Dracului to the Deadwash in our world—an expedition. Gogu and I had made that forbidden trip often, for the lake drew us despite ourselves. At Full Moon, the walk to Tǎul Ielelor was far shorter. At Full Moon, everything was different, everything was upside down and back to front. Doors opened that were closed on other days, and those whom the human world feared became friends. The Bright Between was a gateway: not a threat, but a promise.

It was all too easy to lose track of time in the Other Kingdom—to forget where you were and where you had come from. This might be the familiar forest, the same one in which Petru farmed our smallholding, and Uncle Nicolae harvested pines to sell for timber, and Cousin Cezar went out hunting in autumn. It was the same and not the same. When we crossed the Bright Between, we entered a realm that existed at the same time and place as ours, with the same trees and hillsides and rocks. But it was not open to humankind, except for those lucky few who found a portal and its key. And the folk who lived there lived by their own laws, laws not at all like those of the human world. Any aged man or woman with stories to tell knew that. There were tales about men who’d gone through a portal and spent a night among the forest folk, and when they’d come back again, a hundred years had passed, and their wives and children were dead and buried. There were stories about people who had visited the fairy revels and been driven right out of their minds. When they returned to the human world, all they did was wander around the forest in a daze, until they perished from cold or hunger or thirst. There were still more accounts of folk who had gone into the forest and simply disappeared.

So, although we believed such misfortunes would never befall us—for we were constantly assured by the folk of the Other Kingdom that they loved and welcomed us—we had made a set of rules to keep us safe. If anything went wrong, the others were to come to Tati or me immediately: they were to do as we told them, without question. There was no eating or drinking while we were in the Other Kingdom, except sips from the water bottle one of us always brought from home. There was no leaving the glade where the dancing took place, however tempted we might be to wander off down beguiling pathways into the moonlit forest. We must keep an eye on one another, keep one another safe. And when Tati or I said it was time to go home, everyone must go without argument. Those rules had protected us through nine years of Full Moons. They had become second nature.

The boats swept across the Bright Between. As we passed a certain point, the air filled with a sweet, whispering music. Swarms of small bright creatures that were not quite birds or insects or fairy folk swooped and rose, hovered and dived around us, making a living banner to salute our arrival. Underwater beings swam beside our craft, creatures with large, luminous eyes, long hands, fronded tails, and glowing green-blue skin. Many dwelled in or on Tǎul Ielelor: ragged swimmers resembling weedy plants, their gaze turned always up, up to the surface; the beguiling pale figures of the Iele, from whom the lake got its name, reaching out graceful white arms from bank or islet or overhanging willow. Should an unwary man from our world be passing, they would seek to entice him from his path forever. As we neared the opposite shore, an assortment of tiny folk rowed out from the miniature islands to join us, in a bobbing flotilla of boats made from nutshells and dried leaves and the discarded carapaces of beetles. We reached the far shore, and my escort—who was three feet high and almost as wide, with a scarlet beard down to his boot tops—handed me out. He made a low bow.

“Thank you,” I said as the gargoyle made a flying leap from my shoulder, then scampered off into the undergrowth.

“Delighted to be of service, Mistress Jenica. I’ll expect you to return the favor, mind.”

“You shall have the first dance, of course, Master Anatolie,” I told him.

The dwarf grinned, revealing a set of jeweled studs in his front teeth. “I’ll match you step for step, young lady. You’ll find me a more satisfactory partner than that slippery green friend of yours. He’s shaking like a jelly—wouldn’t know a jig if it jumped up and bit him.”

Gogu stopped shivering instantly. I could feel bunched-up irritation in every part of him.

“You’ve upset him,” I said. “Frogs have feelings, too, you know.”

The dwarf bowed again. “No offense,” he said, his eyes on Gogu. “It should be an interesting night. We’ve got visitors. Night People from the forests of the east.”

A bolt of horror shot through me and I stopped walking. Ahead of us, my sisters and their assorted escorts were disappearing along the broad, leaf-carpeted track that led away under tall trees, following the sweet call of a flute. The branches were festooned with colored lights shaped like birds and beetles and flowers. “Night People?” I echoed, and heard the tremor in my voice. Fragments of dark stories crept into my mind: tales of blood and violence, of evil deeds and terrible retribution.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Anatolie offhand.

“Yes, it is!” I protested. “Florica, who works for us, says they come at night and bite people in their beds. She says the only thing they drink is human blood.” My sisters were too far ahead to be called back.

“This would be the same Florica who said all dwarves were liars and thieves?” Anatolie asked, feet planted apart and hands on hips. His cloak was ankle length and lined with what appeared to be bear skin.

“Well, yes,” I said.

“The same Florica who told you not to go too close to the Deadwash or you’d be scooped up in the magic fishing net of Drǎguţa, the witch of the wood?”

“Yes, but … but Night People, everyone says—” I stopped myself. Anatolie was right. If I had never met one, it was unfair to judge on the basis of stories.

“You and your sisters are quite safe here,” the dwarf said as we started walking again. “Hasn’t the forest queen herself allowed you to visit her revels these nine years of Full Moons? Believe me, if her protection did not stretch out over the five of you, you would not be here now.”

“I don’t like the sound of that at all,” I said, wondering whether he meant we would have met the same fate as the foolish folk in the stories: dead, mad, or vanished.

“The Night People will not touch you while Ileana is queen of the wildwood,” Anatolie said. “You have my word.”

“Thank you,” I said, but I was full of doubt. I could not remember hearing a single good thing about the Night People, and I had no wish to meet even one of them. They’d never been to Dancing Glade before; at least, not when we were there. I thought about garlic, and silver crosses, and everything else folk used to keep such dangerous forces at bay. I hadn’t brought a thing to protect myself or my sisters.

When we reached the glade, the festivities were in full swing. A circle of autumn-clad trees sheltered the grassy sward, their branches hung with still more lanterns. These cast a warm light over the brightly clad revelers, whose gowns and masks, robes and jewels filled the open space with a swirling mass of color. Above them, creatures performed aerial dances of their own, some borne on delicate, diaphanous wings, some on leathery, creaking membranes. Some of the guests were tall enough to bump their heads on the lanterns; some were so tiny, one had to take care not to step on them. I saw my gargoyle perched on the branch of a holly bush, waving its paws in time with the music and beaming beatifically.

The musicians sat on a raised platform at the far end, under the biggest oak. The instruments were the same as the ones in the village band—flute, drum, goat-pipes, fiddle—and yet they were not quite the same. Each possessed a strangeness that set it apart. What ordinary drum cries out poetry when beaten? What flute plays three tunes at once, each blending perfectly with the others? As for the goat-pipes, they had something of the voice of the creature whose skin had provided their air bag, plaintive and piercing. The fiddle soared like a lark.

The sound of this band was intoxicating to the ears, the kind of felicitous blend a village musician aspires to and may achieve once in a lifetime. It made feet move faster, pulses race, faces flush. It set hearts thumping and coaxed smiles from the most somber mouths. It was a music we would keep on hearing in our dreams, days after Full Moon was over and we were gone from the Other Kingdom.

Iulia was already out there, dark hair flying, her face wreathed in smiles. Tati danced more sedately, her hand in that of tall Grigori, an imposing figure with long, twisted dark hair. It was said he was a kinsman of Drǎguţa, the witch of the wood.

Paula was not dancing, but had gone straight to her usual group of friends, a clutch of witches, astronomers, and soothsayers clad in long, raggedy robes and swathing, vaporous cloaks. All wore hats—I saw tall pointed structures decorated with stars, and scholarly felt caps, and here and there a mysterious shadowy hood. They were gathered around a table under the trees, deep in debate as always, their arguments fueled by a continuous supply of ţuicǎ. Paula was seated among them, waving her hands about as she expounded some theory.

Stela was with the smallest folk, down near the musicians. There was a double ring of them, weaving in and out and around about in a dance of their own. Some had wings, some horns, some feathers, and some shining, jewel-bright scales. They were chattering like a mob of little birds as they pranced to and fro, and still managing to get every step perfect. We’d all started here; as we grew older, we had been welcomed by different folk, collected by different ferrymen, and permitted to mix more widely. Dancing Glade had its own set of rules.

“Hello, Jena!” my little sister called, waving wildly. Then she plunged back into the circle.

The pattern of the night was always the same. The revels would begin with chain dances, circle dances, devised so everyone could join in, the big and small, the clumsy and dainty, side by side. We sisters had been part of this since the first time we came across to the Other Kingdom, when kindly folk of all shapes used to take our small hands and guide us through the steps. We needed no guidance now, for we were skilled in all the dances. The first was always done with our boatmen by our sides—it was their privilege to lead us onto the sward. At some point in the evening the queen of the forest would hold formal court; this was the opportunity for newcomers to be greeted, petitions made, questions asked. Later on, the music would change, and with it the mood of the crowd. That was the time for couples to dance slow measures in each other’s arms, floating in their own small worlds. By then my youngest sisters would be getting tired, and we would all sit under the trees and watch until it was time for the last dance—a grand gathering of the entire crowd, in celebration of Full Moon. Then we would pass across the Bright Between once more, and go home to another month of hard work and dreaming.

The music was making my feet move even before I trod on the sward. I took the dwarf’s hand and we threw ourselves into a jig. The drumbeat made my heart race; the goat-pipes seemed to speak to something deep inside me, saying, Faster, faster! You’re alive! Anatolie gripped my hand tightly as we ran and jumped, as we turned, and swayed, and pointed our toes. Gogu had retreated to the pocket, where he was safe from falling and being trampled by the multitude of stamping, hopping, kicking feet. When the dance was over, I fished him out and set him on my shoulder once more.

“All right?” I whispered.

If you could call being shaken about like a feather duster “all right,” I suppose so.

I was looking around the glade as my heartbeat slowly returned to normal. “Where are the Night People?” I asked Anatolie.

“They will come. Wait until the moon moves higher; wait until you see her between the branches of the tallest oaks. Then you’ll catch a glimpse of them, around the edges.”

“Don’t they dance?”

Anatolie grinned. “I’ll bet you a silver piece to a lump of coal that you can’t get one of them to step up and partner you,” he said. “They stick to their own kind, those black-cloaked streaks of melancholy. They don’t come to enjoy themselves, but to observe—to take stock.”

Out of long habit, because I was the sensible sister, I checked on the others, one by one, to make sure they were safe. Over at the far side of the sward I saw Stela, now playing a chasing game with her bevy of small companions. Those that could fly had a distinct advantage. Iulia was with a circle of young forest men and women. When I had first seen such folk, I had thought of them as fairies—though they were far taller and more elegant than the tiny figures of my childhood imagination—with their garments constructed of leaves and cobwebs, vines, bark, and feathers, and their features unsettlingly not quite human. There was no sign of Paula, but she would still be at the scholars’ table.

There was a ripple of movement. A fanfare rang out and the crowd parted before an imposing figure clad in a gown that seemed fashioned of iridescent gossamer. It was Ileana, the hostess of these celebrations and queen of the forest people, sweeping across Dancing Glade. Folk said every bird of the wildwood had given one feather to make up her crown, which rose from her head in an exuberant crest. Her golden-haired consort, Marin, was a step behind her. This grand entrance was a feature of every Full Moon’s revels. Walking behind the queen and her partner tonight was a group of folk I had never seen before.

“That’s them,” Anatolie hissed. “Sour-faced individuals, aren’t they?”

I did not think the Night People were sour-faced, just rather sad-looking. They were extremely pale, their skin almost waxen in appearance, their eyes deep set, dark, and intense. All were clad in jet-black. The pair who led them was especially striking. The woman’s lips were narrow and bright crimson in color, whether by nature or artifice I could not tell. Her fingernails had been dyed to match. Both she and the man had bony, aristocratic features: well-defined cheeks and jaws; jutting, arrogant noses; and dark, winged brows. They made a handsome couple—he in billowing shirt, tight trousers, and high boots, she in a formfitting gown whose plunging neckline left little to the imagination.

I spotted Tati, standing in the crowd close by Ileana, her dark hair shining under the colored lights of the glade. The forest queen beckoned; my sister stepped forward and dropped into a low, graceful curtsy. A moment later Tati was being introduced to the new arrivals. I felt a sudden chill. If Ileana singled out anyone for this kind of attention, it was not the little human girls from Piscul Dracului but the most formidable of her own folk, such as the tall Grigori or the most powerful of the soothsayers. I saw the black-booted stranger lift Tati’s hand and kiss it in a cool gesture of greeting. Then the Night People seemed to drift away into the shadows under the trees.

Ileana and Marin were not the real power in the Other Kingdom. They presided over the revels and sorted out minor disputes between the forest folk. They made sure the daily life of the wildwood went on in its usual pattern. The folk of the Other Kingdom were often less than forthcoming when questioned about their realm and its rules, but Paula had picked up a great deal at the scholars’ table. We knew that the one who was the heart of it all—the one who held the ancient secrets and wove the powerful magic—was Drǎguţa, the witch of the wood. Drǎguţa had been in the forest since before the castle of Piscul Dracului sprang to life in the imagination of the eccentric voivode who built it. She had dwelt in the depths of the woods since these great oaks were mere sprouting acorns. Drǎguţa did not come to Full Moon dancing. She stayed in her lair, somewhere out in the wildest and least accessible part of the woods. If folk needed to ask her something, they had to go and find her, for she wouldn’t come to them.

Once, I had questioned whether Drǎguţa really existed at all. Only once. A chorus of horrified gasps and hisses had greeted my doubt—“Don’t say that!” “Shh.”—as if the witch were everywhere, watching and listening. Drǎguţa was real, all right, and folk’s fear of her was real fear. In our world, Florica spoke her name in a trembling whisper, and Petru crossed himself every time he heard it. For every boy or girl from our valley who had perished in the forest or drowned in the lake, there was a story about Drǎguţa and her minions, about hands coming up out of the water to drag the hapless under. For every crucifix the villagers had erected on the outskirts of the Piscul Dracului forest to keep evil spirits at bay, there was a tale about someone who had ventured too far and walked into the witch’s net. Perhaps it was not surprising that our castle had stood empty for so long.

The forest queen had finished introducing folk to her black-clad guests. Calling for the music to start up again, she moved out onto the sward with her hand in Marin’s. I danced with Grigori, whose alarming appearance tended to mask the fact that he was a model of courtesy. I danced with a forest man who had ivy twists for hair, and another clad all in cobwebs. The music wove its way into my blood and made my feet agile and my limbs supple. My head was full of colors and lights: I smiled at nothing in particular and felt that I was beautiful. Only when the earlier dances came to an end and folk stood about the edges of the sward while the band had a rest did I remember that Father was leaving in the morning. Once my mind escaped the lure of the dancing, once my body stopped bending and turning and swaying to the music’s enchantment, I found that I was thinking only of the long winter ahead, and how we would cope without him.

Something of my worry must have shown on my face. Grigori came over to ask what was troubling me. Anatolie offered the opinion that I must be unwell. Gogu showed his own awareness of my unease, snuggling up to my neck, under my hair. It’s all right, Jena. I’m here. It helped that he was close, for I felt suddenly cold and, surrounded as I was by folk making merry, curiously alone.

While we waited for the band to commence the slower, more beguiling music that signaled the start of the couple dances, platters of delicacies appeared: tiny, gaudily hued cakes; creatures fashioned of spun sugar; strange vegetables carved into castles and trees and giants; and mounds of gleaming fruits that in the real world would not appear until next summer. Flasks of ţuicǎ and elderberry wine made the rounds. Little glittering goblets were borne on trays that floated conveniently at waist height.

There was no need to keep watch over my sisters. Tati and I had drummed our rules into the younger ones time after time over the years, and they abided by them without question, even when the music had them in its thrall. The rules helped us remember who we were and where we belonged. Dancing Glade was our sanctuary, our joy, our bright adventure. But we did not belong in the Other Kingdom. We were here as guests, through luck, not entitlement. Besides, as Tati had once pointed out, if you had a party every day, parties would soon become a lot less exciting. We were mortal girls, and every one of us would want a mortal life. For most of us that would mean a husband and children.

I frowned, remembering what Father had told us. To be pushed into marrying early in order to provide an heir for Piscul Dracului would be horrible. It would mean not being able to choose properly. It could mean spending the rest of your life with someone you hated. Our father had married for love; he had made his choice with no regard for what folk expected. I did not think we would have that luxury, not until one of us had produced the required son. I shivered as I gazed out over Dancing Glade. We had been lucky so far. We had had the best of both worlds. I hoped it wasn’t time for our luck to change.

The music struck up again, and the folk of the Other Kingdom began, languidly, to form couples and move out onto the sward. Gogu nudged me with his cold nose and I felt my skin prickle.

Look. Over there, under the oaks.

I looked over to the spot where the Night People had retreated into the shade of the trees some time before. I did not see the dashing, black-booted man or his crimson-lipped partner. But there was somebody else there. His eyes were as dark and deep as theirs. His face was as pale—though this was an ashen pallor, white rather than waxy—but the somber lips were more generous in shape. He was young, perhaps our cousin Cezar’s age. He wore a black coat—high-collared, long-sleeved, and buttoned in front, sweeping down to his ankles. What struck me was his intense stillness. He hardly seemed to blink, he barely seemed to breathe, and yet the eyes were intent, keenly focused as he stared out into the moving throng. I followed his gaze, and there was Tati, moving across the sward to join the dancers.

Now that my sister had turned sixteen, it seemed that Ileana had granted her permission to participate in these far more grown-up dances. Tati was hand in hand with a big, blunt-faced figure: the troll, Sten. Her cheeks were flushed with delicate rose. Her hair, stirred by the dancing, spilled over her shoulders like a dark silken cloak. Her gown was modest in design, yet under the lights of Dancing Glade, its plain cut emphasized her perfect figure. Many eyes were on her.

But these eyes were different. The person in the black coat was looking at my sister as if he were starving. He didn’t need to move a muscle for me to read the hunger on his face, and it chilled me.

As I watched my sister dancing—first with Sten, then with Grigori, then with a young man clad in what looked like butterfly wings—my unease grew stronger. I made a decision. We would need to be up soon after dawn to see Father off. We must bid him farewell with looks of cheerful confidence on our faces. That would be impossible if we were exhausted from a night with no sleep.

“Gogu,” I murmured, “we’re going home early.”

He shifted on my shoulder, bunching up his body. I’m ready to go. Don’t worry, Jena. We’ll look after things, you and I.

I gathered up my sisters and we made our formal farewells to Ileana and Marin, thanking them for their hospitality. I cast an eye around, seeking the Night People, but could see none of them, only a group of solemn-looking owls, perched on a branch of the nearest oak.

Ileana said, “Our guests were impressed. Human girls are not bold enough to visit such revels in their part of the world. They asked for your names and commented on your beauty.” Her gaze wandered over all five of us as she spoke, which was unusually polite of her. Almost certainly the compliment referred to Tati, or possibly Iulia. Stela was too young to be called a beauty. As for Paula and me—whichever fairies had offered blessings over our cradles, they had clearly valued brains before looks. We were, in a word, ordinary.

We made our way back to the boats, accompanied by a bevy of folk jostling to hold our lanterns for us. But only the designated boatmen took us across the water, through the mist, back to our own world. In my hands Gogu trembled with terror, and I soothed him with gentle fingers. As my feet touched the home shore, I felt the surge of relief that always filled me at this point. We’re back again. I’ve kept them all safe.

Then it was along the Gallery of Beasts—the gargoyle’s scuttering feet could be heard behind us until he reached his own archway—and up the long, long, winding staircase to the portal.

No shadow play here, just a simple laying of hands on the stone wall. I was last. As my fingers touched the rough surface, the portal swung open, admitting us to the warmth of our bedchamber.

The younger ones were asleep the moment they laid their heads on the pillow. Tati gathered up the gowns they had shed and laid them over the oak chest, while I helped Iulia take the pins out of her hair. By the time I had scrambled wearily into my night robe, she was no more than a gently breathing form under her mounded quilt.

“Jena?” Tati’s voice was quiet as she sat up in bed, brushing out her dark locks.

“Mmm?” I was filling Gogu’s water bowl from the jug, making sure he would be comfortable for what remained of the night. He sat, watching solemnly—a shadowy green form on the little table next to the bed that Tati and I shared.

“Did you see that strange young man?” my sister asked. “The one in the black coat?”

“Mmm-hm. I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“I wonder who he was,” Tati mused, yawning.

Once the water dish was ordered to Gogu’s liking, I got into bed. The warmth of the goose-feather quilt was bliss over my tired legs. In the quiet of the chamber I could hear little splashing sounds.

“One of them,” I said, my eyelids drooping with tiredness. “Night People. You know what people say about them. They’re dangerous—evil. Dead and alive at the same time, somehow. They can only come out after dark, and they need human blood to survive. I hope Ileana doesn’t let them stay. Did you speak to one of them? I saw Ileana introducing you. What were they like?”

“Cold,” Tati said. “Terribly cold.”

There was a silence, and I thought she had fallen asleep. Then her voice came, a whisper in the shadowy chamber. “I thought the young man looked sad. Sad and … interesting.”

“If you asked Florica,” I said, “she’d tell you that the only thing Night People find ‘interesting’ is sinking their teeth into your neck.”

But my sister was asleep. As the light brightened and birds began a chirping chorus outside, I lay awake, thinking about the winter to come and whether I had been foolish to assure Father that we could cope. After a while, Gogu hopped out of his bath and came to nestle on the pillow by my face, making a big wet patch on the linen. I’m here. Your friend is here. I was still awake when the sun pierced the horizon, somewhere beyond the forest, and down in the kitchen Florica began clattering pots and pans in preparation for breakfast.

Wildwood Dancing Explanation

Isn’t this story so full of imagery? Don’t you feel like you, too, are a part of swirling wonder? I was almost literally enchanted when I read this book. All of Juliet Marillier’s books I’ve read so far (she has a marvelous name) contain such splendor, but this was my first, you know? Also, to be honest, I think this one is aimed at a slightly younger audience, because it has less ‘mature’ themes than her adaptations of the Six Swans fairy tale, Sevenwaters. It also has a cool sequel (different tonally but still enjoyable) called Cybele’s Secret, so let me know what you think if you read them!

The book cover, which I love immensely (it’s very pretty and rich in detail) is unfortunately inaccurate in fashion, for both the area and the time period (medieval). Besides the embroidery patterns, and the hijabs on Tati through Paula, my drawings are actually more accurate! I should've drawn at least one with a vest on over their shirt (that style is called an ie), though - we can just say that the girls didn’t wear any so they wouldn’t hinder movement. The aprons (fotǎs) stay on because they look pretty while twirling. Also, the cover makes it seem as though the book takes place in spring or summer, not autumn.

As the religion of the family is never discussed, and yet they’re considered outsiders who value education, I headcanon that their Dad is Romanian (hence his outfit in the second picture) but their mom was Turkish Muslim. There was a lot of trade between the two countries, and as such their populations swapped a bunch. However, most of the Muslim minority was found in cities/by the coast, so in order to avoid feeling alone, it makes sense the Mom wanted to stay in their old home. But they didn’t, so the girls embroider their clothes with Turkish patterns and wear hijabs, in honor of their religion and their Mom. Stela is a bit too young, to take that aspect of the religion seriously, so she wears a maramǎ, traditional Romanian headwrap, like Florica instead. It’s supposed to only be worn by married women, but do you think a little girl who is surrounded by head-wrapped women will want to be left out? Heck no! So she has a cute little fabric flower on hers, instead of any patterns. Also, frogs are not haram except when it comes to eating them, so it wouldn’t be too weird for Jena to have a pet frog.

Each girl has a different font for her name, when they chant them to open up the portal. I was just goofing off and trying to find ones that fit their personalities and that were still legible XD. Also, for posterity’s sake, each name used to be on a different line, but it was easier and nicer looking to format them in a line, side to side.

Well, I don’t have much else to say in prelude, so let’s talk about the art!

I totally phoned it in for this title picture too. Frankly by the time the other pictures were done I knew this present was going to come to you late, and as I sat down to start on it, I felt like crying. I was very tired and pulled mostly all-nighters that week. So, I just found a font that was similar to my vision, and excused myself. I considered drawing leaves on it digitally, but it looked bad. And that was that. It’s kind of odd that I do titles last, but they’re supposed to be breathers, shrug.

Alrighty, the second picture: I actually did this second to last, lol. Wowed by my success with the Last Unicorn’s scenery picture, I decided to try something similar with the Piscul Dracului. You see, what I put out on paper isn’t often the image or vibes I imagine, partly because of my artistic limitations and because I don’t have any set characteristics in mind. It’s all very annoying. So yeah, to be honest, the castle came out bigger, less craggy and less on the edge of a mountain than in my original vague vision. But I’m satisfied with my work; it has character, perspective, and a mysterious little fox and small woman off to the side ;). I’m hoping to explore this interest in creating scenes and background in later books - I’ve often struggled with scenery and I’m tired of blank spaces.

The third picture was ridiculous, figuring out their positions, clothing patterns, and how to show their personalities. I’m not sure this is what the author imagined when she said they did a five-pointed star together. But I like the result! I wasn’t sure how to draw the portal however lol. Going from left to right, let me describe the sisters and Gogu.

Iulia - it’s clear that she has new clothes (because of her different body shape) and likes to stand out. She has a fan and different type lacework on her fotǎ, instead of a fringe, and a sardonic sort of excitement on her face.

Gogu - he’s an Agile Frog, a species native to much of Southern Europe. He’s just chilling on Jena’s shoulder. I wish I had a chance to draw him larger but I am also tired of drawing frogs.

Jena - I’d like to say her position, as sort of short and behind everybody, showcases her outer personality. She doesn’t mind tooooo much being in the shadows, watching and supporting others, being quiet and dutiful. And yet, she has a septum piercing. As the book goes on, you’ll find that there’s so much more to her ;). I put a brooch on her hijab because I saw one when I looked up Turkish hijab designs and thought it looked cool. She has the most obviously-a-flower-designs because she has the deepest connection with the forest ;). Find out for yourself, I dare you.

Stela - she’s just happy to be doing fun stuff with her big sisters. I’m sure you would know nothing about that ;). Like I said, Stela is wearing a marumǎ, not a hijab, but is otherwise dressed very similarly to her sisters. I adore the little tassels on her sleeves.

Tati - She ended up a bit tall, whoops. And when I started inking, her nose changed :(. But I love her all the same (it helps that she has such a simple pattern all over her outfit lol). She’s looking over everyone, but she isn’t really watching; you can kind of tell her head is already up in the clouds.

Paula - It feels kind of mean but we don’t ever get a good look at her. Maybe you should check out Cybele’s Secret, where she is the main character. Hint hint. Anywho, she's watching the portal open - Paula loves to study and Know things. You can’t tell me that even as a young girl, Paula wouldn’t have been questioning the phenomena.

The fourth picture was kind of a stinker to ink, but it was fun to draw! I meant to make it look more crowded, and to have a blank space around Jena (I absent-mindedly traced it ugh), but this time I tried to be respectful of my time, lol. I drew the werewolf first, in Adam’s outfit from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, in homage to my original vision for my Beast (look in your sister’s second volume). Then, I drew a big orc lady, because I thought she looked cool (she has a crush on the werewolf but he hasn’t a clue), then the dwarf (she’s what I think Cheery Littlebottom from Discworld would look like), and so on and on. I goofed off and drew the head of Garnet (from Steven Universe) at the bottom center, a couple characters described in the actual story (like Mr. Leafhair), and then the Animorphs in Andalite and bird form on the bottom right (Please check Animorphs out).

I really thought I would enjoy drawing this Jena more, but it was actually a pretty neutral experience. I added her design to this picture first, because it was big and I could reference it. I also decided to give her hooded eyes and the septum piercing while adding details, because I need practice for the first and just thought it was a cool quirk for the second. Gogu is again chilling on her shoulder. I originally meant to have his whole body sit comfortably upon her shoulder, but I wanted to draw him big. Also, while all Muslims are traditionally not supposed to show hair to mahram (non-family members), the average Muslim person would not shame another if person 2 had been dancing or doing a lot of physical activity and some hair came loose. So I did that to show that my girl has been MOVING, and showed some escaped bits of hair on the other sisters in the following picture. Also, it allowed me to show Jena’s beautifully curly hair. (Below is my initial sketch)

The last picture was the most fun, actually. The perspective for the steps was annoying, and I don’t think it’s perfect, but all the same I like how it turned out, especially since my original plan was to draw a straight one. I’m glad I challenged myself and drew a spiral one instead :D. Now, let’s go down the staircase.

Iulia is in the lead - she’s tired and self-important. So, I only show her fotǎ and foot XD.

The little winged creature and its porch - literally a last minute addition. I thought the space looked too empty.

Tati is carrying a sleeping Stela - while I think it would make more sense for Jena to carry Stela most times, I needed Jena to be free, and maybe they take turns. I really like how Tati’s face turned out in this one, also, you know if Stela’s leg was swinging free like that, she would keep accidentally kicking the back of poor Tati’s thigh, lol. I like how the clothes' wrinkles turned out in this picture. I just really hope it’s clear who is who, what with how Stela is entwined with Tati’s right arm.

Next half, Jena and Gogu: I wasn't sure what to do with her right arm but it turned out alright. Gogu is limp and tired from a long night of Being Jostled. I adore Jena’s face - it’s concerned-but-also- -amused. She’s just checking to see if Paula is there, hence the ‘OK?’ hand signal. Don’t come at me about the historical inaccuracy, at least I corrected the fashion XD.

The little gargoyle going up his own stairs; I drew him in the moist detail first. He’s the little guy who hitched a ride on Jena’s other shoulder. I originally wanted to draw him more similar

Lastly, poor Paula. I could totally see her being the last to leave, asking people a kajillion questions and observing each aspect of the night for just one last clue, some little detail that answers her queries. ANd as such, she has to run up the stairs to catch up with her sisters! That’s why shes so dramatically behind Jena and has to hold up a thumb to indicate that she’s alright. Also, that part is historically accurate :p - Roman emperors did it to indicate approval or to say ‘good’ a thousand or so years before this book is set.

Below are links to my takes on the 12 Dancing Princesses and the Frog Princess, which are more or less partial inspirations for the book :).

(The Twelve Dancing Princesses) (The Frog Princess)

#wildwood dancing #juliet marillier #win a commission #wac #the princess and the frog #the frog prince #12 dancing princesses #twelve dancing princesses #the twelve dancing princesses #Transylvania #New Zealand literature #new Zealander literature #apparently those tags didn’t exist before lol #it’s set in Transylvania Romania but written by a New Zealander #Muslim Romanians #Muslim Romanian

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