The princess leaned in the dirt, setting stones as the chants of the Brothers reminded her of all the things she knew to be right and wrong in the world. The fairy circle formed before her, rising from the placed pebbles and rocks. They were nothing but a plea. A great shout into nothing with little answer.

Estefania was twenty-one years old today, and no one seemed to remember. Not that there would be a party at the monastery. The Brothers didn't believe in frivolity or fairies either. They thought magic corrupted, and the tradition of setting a wish ring was practically sacrilege.

Not that it mattered. 

The fairies were all gone. Their empire was nothing but a crumbling isle. There was no one left to grant any more wishes.

She didn't know what possessed her to set up the stones. Maybe it was just a faint bit of hope kindled in her soul. Her mother had wished for great wisdom. It was what attracted a prince to her door.

Still, in all of her mother's gifted forethought, she hadn't seen the fall of the fairies. Or her own demise giving birth to her third child.

The princess knew that fairy magic was powerful. The Fairy Empress had blessed Estefania's birth and sealed her with a magical kiss, which was the highest honor from a fairy. She was the rightful heir of the kingdom of Sahar, except Estefania hadn't stepped into Sahar since she was a toddler. Not since that dreadful prophecy started echoing from the destruction of the fairy isle.

Estefania set the last stone in the ring and drew the lines in the dirt to connect the rocks. The dusty ground clung to her tan finger. She wondered if this magnificent desert was anything like her home, Sahar.

The monastery was difficult to reach. The blistering sand cut her off from her homeland. The sun beat down to bake anyone who tried to cross without sufficient supplies, and since the demise of the fairies, it had only grown more inhospitable.

The exile was intentional. Her grandmother, the queen, was certain that her grandchildren could not return to Sahar until the curse was lifted. She'd sent each of her grandchildren away to a different, safe location.

Estefania knew her baby sister Avangelique was securely in the court of their neighboring kingdom, Cyra. She'd received a dozen or so letters over the years from Avangelique detailing her adventures with the younger prince of Cyra.

Her brother Bastien was safely ensconced in the neutral city of Nene, away from politics. He wrote more letters than Avangelique, but they usually arrived all at once every four months with the monastery's supplies.

She hadn't seen more than portraits of her siblings since she was four years old. She still remembered the night her mother died and her grandmother called her into the throne room. The queen blessed Estefania and put her hand in the Reverend Father's before they were whisked off on horseback.

Her grandmother's eyes still haunted her dreams. Honey-colored pools full of love and worry begged Estefania to stay safe.

Estefania worked hard at the monastery. The Brothers made sure she was well-educated, and her grandmother's advisor, Vizier Solomon, had taught her all the skills of a queen.

Still, she longed to return home. Her grandmother wouldn't live forever. Her father had made that clear in his last visit a year ago. Since then, Estefania begged Solomon and the Brothers to allow her to return to Sahar.

They claimed it was too dangerous, and they could not defy the queen of Sahar. Estefania had tried to brave the desert herself, but she couldn't carry the supplies needed to reach Sahar or Cyra alone.

The stones circled in front of her, making a perfect circle. Her lines drew a wheel and an oval around a stack of stones in the center of her shrine. She'd sanded the final stone into a heart to place on the top of the stack.

Estefania touched the stone with two fingers and then touched her forehead, where the mark of the fairy empress was still red, like a birthmark, and then her lips. She'd never seen this ceremony performed, but she'd read up on it in the library, so she hoped she was doing it right.

She called out with her hands held high to the sky and the dust below her bare feet. There had to be some drop of magic left in the lands if there was indeed a curse on her house. If there was one thing Estefania wanted, it was a way to save her home.

In the days before the collapse of the fairies, each adult was allowed a wish to be granted on their twenty-first birthday. They'd set the ring, say the words, and make their request.

Her hands shook. The Brothers would call her a fool if they saw her leaning in the dirt begging for magic. Still, if there was a chance, she had to try.

The words came out of Estefania like a fountain. "I wish for a chance to break my family's curse and return home."

She'd read that the stones glowed as a fairy would appear to grant the wish and bestow a blessing. Estefania sat before her stones, plea in the open, but nothing happened.

The princess pushed away her disappointment and stood. She dusted off her shirt and kicked aside the rocks to hide the evidence of what she'd done.

She made her way to the wooden door of the monastery and pushed it open. The singing inside went from an echo to a symphony.

Solomon stood beside the door to the chapel. He wore brighter robes than the monks, and his hair was braided long rather than shaved like the Brothers. He stroked his graying beard and eyed her with suspicion.

"Where have you been, Nia?" He asked.

He was the only person who called her that. The Brothers all called her Princess Estefania or Your Highness. Solomon was different, though. He was her connection to court and one of her father's dearest friends.

She glanced at her clothes and hoped she'd dusted all the sand from her pants and blouse. Then she gave him her most practiced regal look.

"I was out getting some air, Uncle," she said.

Solomon raised an eyebrow. He wasn't a fool. Estefania knew Solomon cared for her deeply, but he would not cross his queen. If Estefania got hurt on his watch, he would pay dearly.

"Air?" Solomon tested the word carefully. "You're a grown woman, Nia. It's best not to wander about alone."

"There's no one around for leagues," Estefania said. "That's the point of this place. The next trading caravan isn't even coming for two full moons. There is no danger."

"You are cursed, Nia," Solomon said. "There is always danger."

There it was. She'd never leave this place. Her family thought isolating her would keep her from whatever destiny awaited her. She supposed it was better than being locked up like a maiden in a magic fable, but it was rather torturous.

They rarely had company. The Brothers housed them but expected them to pitch in. On a good day, Estefania could study until the sun went down and then sleep. It was terribly dull and repetitive.

"What if I walked out the door?" Estefania asked. "I could go back to Sahar on my own."

"I can't allow you to endanger yourself like that," Solomon said. "Estefania, I promise if you have patience-"

The princess crossed her arms. "I've been patient. I don't even know this great prophecy everyone hates so much because you won't tell me the full details of the curse."

"That's for your own protection," Solomon argued.

"I'm your princess," Estefania stomped her foot. "You should tell me."

Solomon just looked at the floor, unable to meet his future sovereign's eyes. She hated it when he did this. Even the Brothers refused to discuss the prophecy.

She was about to yell at her advisor when a knock on the door behind her made her jump. Solomon frowned and pushed her behind him.

The Brothers were always in service this time of day, singing or meditating. The monastery had no neighbors, and supplies had been delivered a month ago.

Estefania frowned as the pounding on the door increased. Brother Nimitz walked out of the chapel and looked at Solomon.

"Are we expecting anyone?" He asked.

"No," Solomon's dark skin had a pallor.

Brother Nimitz walked straight to the door and opened it wide. Estefania stared as she took in the young man who stood on the threshold of the monastery.

He was dressed in desert robes, and his skin was wan unlike any of the travelers or traders. His pale green eyes took in his surroundings like a hunter stalking prey. His blonde hair was bleached from the sun, and he pushed a scarf from his mouth, revealing dry lips.

"Young man," Brother Nimitz said. "You have traveled far to reach us. Welcome to the Monastery of Saint Oscar. How can I help you?"

"Yes," the young man said. "I have news from Queen Blythe. I bear her ring and letter and am seeking her Vizier Solomon."

Solomon cleared his throat. "That's me."

The young man handed over a letter and a ring. Solomon looked over the letter and examined the paper before returning his attention to the ring.

She kept her eyes on the young man. He spoke like he was well-educated. Additionally, his bearing was more regal than any messenger she'd ever met.

"Is she truly serious?" Solomon asked. "Who are you that you would carry word from the court of Sahar? You look, Cyran."

The young man sighed. "My name is Marquis Nathaniel de Ryne. My rangers and I have traveled a long way to bring Princess Estefania to her betrothal ball."

"The Marquis de Ryne?" Solomon looked surprised.

It was a Cyran holding and title. Estefania knew them only by name. The Dowager Duchess de Ryne was the wife of the late Duke. There were rumors that her son, the Marquis, was a bastard son of the king.

"I see the seal of my queen," Solomon said. "But Queen Blythe would have consulted us before planning a betrothal to the prince of Cyra."

Estefania's heart faltered as her jaw dropped. Her grandmother had betrothed her to the prince of Cyra? Sahar and Cyra were trading partners, but no Saharite married a Cyran nobleman in five or six generations. It was absurd.

"It's legitimate," Nathaniel said. "My brother Prince Fletcher sent me to retrieve her myself. I suggest we pack quickly. We must leave in the morning to make the engagement ball in six days."

Solomon turned to Estefania. "You have your wish, princess. We leave in the morning."