Chapter 1: The Hero and the Laundry
The heavy oak doors of the Obsidian Spire didn't creak open with the groan of ancient hinges. They slid open with a sharp click because Elara had recently oiled them.
"Vile enchantress!" a voice cracked from the foyer.
Elara didn't look up from her cauldron. She wasn't brewing a Draught of Eternal Sleep; she was trying to get a stubborn beet stain out of her favorite tunic. "Wipe your boots," she called out. "I just waxed the flagstones."
Sir Julian of Oakhaven, a knight whose armor was so shiny it was legally a traffic hazard, marched into the kitchen. He drew a sword that looked like it cost more than Elara's entire education. "Release the Princess of Oakhaven at once, or face the wrath of—"
"She's in the garden," Elara interrupted, finally looking up. She wiped a smudge of soap suds off her nose.
The knight blinked. "Locked in a cage of thorns?"
"No, she's weeding the kale. It's therapeutic." Elara sighed. "Look, Sir Julian, is it? Princess Mirella is hiding from her father because he's trying to marry her off to a Duke who smells like wet ham. She's paying me three gold pieces a week to tell everyone I've cursed her. It's a business arrangement. Do you want tea? I have chamomile, or I have 'The Tea of Utter Despair,' which is just chamomile that I accidentally burnt."
Julian lowered his sword, looking deflated. "But... the rumors. The black fog? The screams in the night?"
"The fog is a dehumidifier for my herb garden. And the 'screams' are just Mirella. She's learning the bagpipes. It's... a process."