A seven-year-old girl twirled through her family’s house, her jade green eyes sparkling with the kind of carefree joy that only a young child can possess. Crisp white flakes of snow were melting in her tousled black curls, and her alabaster cheeks had been colored a rosy pink from the time she'd spent outside. Water ran down her neck, leaving ice cold rivulets on her skin. Even her small brown snow boots were soaked; they left wet footprints across the antique floors as she danced through the halls. Laughing, she dodged the disapproving maids who reached for her as she darted past. They would only scold her, and it wasn’t her fault it was such a glorious Christmas morning.

“Miss Raget!” one of the younger maids shouted after her. “Do not disturb your father! He is very bu—“

Too late: Alyce Raget burst through the tall oak doors that led to the cluttered study and squealed, “Daddy! It’s snowing!”

The thin, dark-haired man sitting at the desk turned towards her and managed a strained smile. He brushed a few leaves of paper aside, allowing him to focus entirely on his daughter. “I can see that, dear one,” he said, beckoning her forward with one long-fingered hand. “You are dripping all over my paperwork.”

Alyce glanced down at herself. Sure enough, the snow that had fallen on her was melting in the heat of the study and running down her clothes in little rivers. And dripping onto the neat stacks of papers piled on the floor nearby. The ink ran where the drops struck.

“Sorry, Daddy,” she mumbled, taking a few steps backwards. “I can leave.” She didn’t know exactly what the paperwork was for, but she did know it was important. Everything in the study was, even if it had to stay on the floor because there was no room on the desk.

Nathaniel Raget smiled again, but it was much softer this time. “Don’t leave, love, just come away from there.”

Alyce shuffled forward, eyes downcast, and stopped just in front of him. Ever expecting a reprimand, she gave a shocked gasp that turned into a giggle when he lifted her up and sat her on the desk before him.

“Don’t worry about the paperwork, angel,” he said. “It is not of great importance. I have something for you.” He kissed her forehead once, then reached under the desk and withdrew a package. It was rectangular and elegantly wrapped in gold paper, with thick red yarn tied in a loose bow on the top.

Alyce’s eyes widened in delight; she’d thought she’d opened all her gifts earlier that morning, when she’d unwrapped several sparkly hair clips, a golden-haired doll, and the chocolate-colored snow boots she wore now. She clapped her hands eagerly and grabbed the box from his hands.

In no time at all, the golden paper lay in shreds on the desk around her, and the yarn was coiled up in a ball at her side. The box she held now was reddish-pink in color, sizable but just small enough to fit in her lap. Alyce made to take off the lid but her father’s pale hand came down to stop her.

“Easy now, love,” he said quietly. “You must be careful with this. It was very special to your mother.”

Properly cautioned, Alyce removed the lid gently, taking care not to jostle the package. A mass of thin white paper lay inside. A small frown creased the space between her eyes; the contents of this gift had to be fragile, if her father had taken such great lengths to protect it. That meant she couldn’t play with it. What did he mean by presenting her with something she couldn’t even play with?

Her hesitation lasted so long that her father took it upon himself to part the paper. Alyce’s dissatisfaction vanished immediately upon seeing what lay inside the box.

“Oh!” she gasped, almost dropping the gift in her shock. Nathaniel smiled once more, the softest yet, and slowly, reverently, reached into the package and withdrew the beautiful porcelain doll.

“This was your mother’s most prized possession,” her father explained, voice incredibly tender. “Her daddy had it made just for her when she was your age. She always intended for you to have it.”

“She’s so pretty!” Alyce said breathlessly. The now-empty box hit the floor with a dull thud as she reached forward and took the doll. Her father released it without hesitation, but watched his daughter carefully as she held it.

“Your mother thought so too,” he murmured.

Alyce glanced up at him, green eyes sparkling. “Thank you, Daddy. I’ll take good care of her.”

“You promise?”

She looked down again and ran her fingers through the doll’s chestnut curls, over the pale skin and the clear blue eyes that twinkled up at her. She traced the gentle curves of the ruby red lips, the rosy circles painted on the fair cheeks, the perfectly shaped eyebrows…Everything was perfect, even the dress: a simple red in color, printed with silver leaves on the hem and a single pink rose on the left side of the skirt. It would be a sin to harm such a beautiful creation. Alyce met her father’s eyes once more and, in a strong voice, said,

“I promise.”
**************************

Snow was falling outside Alyce Raget’s bedroom, but the seventeen-year-old no longer found any enjoyment in watching the cold whiteness falling from the sky. Instead, she sat at her desk, her back to the window, and stared at herself in the mirror on the wall.

The face looking back at her bore no resemblance to the lively seven-year-old who had burst into the study that Christmas morning. There was no color to be found in the once-rosy cheeks; they were pallid, ashen, borderline lifeless. Her green eyes, once so alight with childish joy, were now dull, tired, and bloodshot. Bruise-like circles marred the skin beneath them.

Only her hair remained the same. The black tresses were as wild as ever, but, at Nathaniel’s request, the maids forced it to lay flat with uncountable hair clips that never lasted the day. Often they just fell out, but sometimes Alyce would remove them herself. It was the one thing she could do to rebel against her father.

“Miss Raget?”

The nervous voice came from the doorway. Alyce half-turned, mouth pressed into a thin line, and met the eyes of the maid standing there. It was the same woman who had called out to her all those years ago and warned her not to disturb her father. A decade previously, when the maid was twelve, Victoria had been rather bossy and rude. Now, at twenty-two, she was only timid.

“What is it?” Alyce asked wearily.

“Your father requests you meet him in his study,” Victoria mumbled. She seemed to have found something of interest on the floor near her left foot. “I apologize for disturbing you, but he says it is urgent…”

Alyce exhaled irritably. “Urgent,” she scoffed. “Of course it is urgent. When is it not? Tell him I will come, but in my own time.”

“Begging your pardon, miss, but he bid me bring you immediately—“

“I do not care!” Alyce snapped. “I expect he wants me to accompany him to another banquet or something equally trivial. I will come in my own time. Tell him that.”

“Yes, miss.” Victoria gave a hasty curtsy and retreated immediately.

Annoyed, Alyce turned back to the mirror. Her eyes were no longer dull, but smoldering as if the very fires of Hell burned behind them. The nerve. Nathaniel could not expect her to drop everything and answer his call whenever he saw fit to give it. She was his daughter, not his servant.

How things had changed in the last seven years! Gone were the days when Alyce believed Nathaniel Raget could do no wrong. Now she was beginning to wonder if he could do anything right.

For a moment, she considered refusing to leave her room. If this matter was really urgent, Nathaniel could tear himself away from his work and come to her—it was only a few flights of stairs, after all, nothing too strenuous. But then she realized how petulant she was acting and forced herself to stop thinking in that way. No matter how much he irritated her, he was still her father, and she still had to treat him with respect.

Sighing, Alyce stood and straightened her black cloak on her thin frame. She checked herself in the mirror once more before she left the room, bare feet making no noise on the thick carpet. Nathaniel’s study was four floors below her bedroom; Alyce had traveled these halls for so long that her feet carried her through them automatically. She passed portraits, life-size sculptures, stained glass windows without even noticing. Before she knew it, she was descending the main staircase to the ground floor—and then she was approaching the oak doors that opened to the study. She didn’t knock, but threw the doors open and strode in just as she had always done.

“You called,” Alyce said shortly.

Her father, seated behind his mahogany desk as always, looked up when she spoke. She found that rather odd; he hadn't reacted at all when the doors flew open, only when she announced her presence. Her voice was not nearly as jarring as the crash of the doors.

“Hello, love,” he greeted her, smiling and struggling to his feet.

Her heart melted at the term of endearment. He hadn’t called her “love” in so long, not since she was eight, when he started spending more time in his study than with her.

Before she could protest, he was crossing the room. He limped heavily, as he had done since a riding accident had shattered his left leg six years before. Walking had been painful for him ever since—but at that moment, he seemed to be ignoring it entirely. Alyce relaxed and allowed him to pull her into a tight hug; it felt like forever since he’d shown any kind of fatherly affection for her. Generally, the extent of their daily interaction consisted of her “Good morning, Father” when she passed him on her way to break her fast and him completely ignoring her and brushing past, muttering to himself all the way.

Her father pulled back much too soon and went on: “There is a box for you. I’ve received a last-minute request from the Tagen for you to join me at the banquet tonight. Their, ah, leader wishes to meet my daughter.”

A cold wave of realization crashed down over Alyce the instant the word “Tagen” left Nathaniel’s mouth. Of course. Of course that was all he wanted. For her to attend another stupid banquet with him. It was just as she had predicted when Victoria had come to fetch her from her chambers.

In any other instance, Alyce would have responded with a curt “Yes, Father,” taken the box, and departed. This time, though...once the initial annoyance wore off, she noticed something about the way he'd said “leader”—or spat it, rather—and it made her frown. “You sound oddly hostile. It is not as if I have never come to a banquet with you before.”

“Yes, I know. But the Tagen…are not my favorite people, and we are not theirs. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t ever expose you to their kind. I wouldn’t even expose myself, if avoiding it were possible.”

Alyce’s frown deepened. It was very unlike Nathaniel to speak ill of anyone, let alone an entire race. He was usually very mild-mannered, and the spite lacing his voice was unfamiliar. And very, very disturbing.

Catching sight of her face, Nathaniel sighed. “Sit down, love. I believe it’s time I tell you about my work…”
**************************

That was the day everything changed.

Alyce, now twenty-one, sat stiffly in her designated seat at the rectangular dining table. Nathaniel was late; the maids were setting the table and Nathaniel’s high-backed chair stood empty, unoccupied at the end opposite Alyce. Again.

Their relationship as father and daughter had begun to crumble with the first step Alyce hard taken out of his study four years ago after hearing his slew of revelations. That one ill-fated day had set in motion the agonizingly slow, painful splintering of a bond that was never meant to be broke and had before been unshakeable. It had been strained, of course, but it was still there.

Four years later, it was almost completely gone.

And it is all his fault, Alyce thought maliciously, glaring at the empty chair down the table. He is the one responsible. Lies are evil things, and he should have known that.

He never should have deceived her, never should have let her believe he kept himself locked away in his study of his own free will. He never should have let her tell those who asked that he didn’t work because he didn’t have to, and he never should have let those people look at her with pity in their eyes because they didn’t believe her. He never should have lied.

Nathaniel hadn’t been able to trust his only daughter with the truth; what did that say about him? Alyce had not even known he worked. She had been led to believe—by Nathaniel himself—that their fortune came from his own father, who had bequeathed it to them in his will. In reality, that money had run out years ago—Nathaniel had gambled it all away. It was only by a stroke of luck that they hadn't lost everything; Nathaniel had managed, almost immediately, to secure a position working on behalf of the human race as an ambassador. And he'd held that position ever since.

He was the one who kept peace between the humans and all the other races that called Anovas home. The Tagen, the dragon people, the centaurs, the sorcerers, the fae…Nathaniel worked with them all—and hadn’t seen fit to let his daughter in on the secret until she was seventeen.

And why?! It wasn't even something that needed to be kept secret! As a child, she would have been honored to tell anyone and everyone who would listen that her daddy watched over the entire human race. Especially when the other option was telling them he was a deadbeat who didn't work at all and lived off his own father's succhess.

A wave of something—more than dislike, but not quite hatred—washed over Alyce as she stared unseeingly at the empty chair at the other end of the table. Such was her distraction, she didn’t hear the door from the entry hall fly open, nor did she notice Victoria sprinting into the room, her hair wild and her fact wet.

“Miss Raget!” she cried hysterically, skidding to a halt in front of the table. “There you are! I have been looking for you—”

“I have been here,” Alyce said shortly, “waiting for my father to grace me with his presence.” It must be raining, she thought silently, eying the water on Victoria’s cheeks. Perhaps that is why he is so late?

Lucette, another maid, had followed Victoria into the dining room. She hovered in the shadows near the door, a somber expression on her face. Alyce cocked her head; Lucette, while many years older than Victoria, was usually more cheerful than the younger girl. The solemnity she emitted now—that they both emitted—was unfamiliar.

“Lucette?” Alyce questioned. “Has something happened?”

The squat elderly maid said nothing for several minutes, and the silence grew heavier with each passing second. By the time she stepped forward, Alyce was squirming uncomfortably in her seat.

“Your father,” Lucette started, wringing her hands, “he was…the rain…”

“Spit it out, Lucette,” Alyce snapped. Her uneasiness had dissolved with the mention of her father, replaced with the usual exasperation and irritation. She figured what Lucette was about to say would just be another of Nathaniel’s excuses.

Lucette inhaled, blinking her eyes rapidly. “M-m-my apologies, M-Miss R-Raget,” she stammered out. “It’s just…your f-father was supposed to b-b-be home several hours ago…we sent out sc-scouts to find him and th-they...found his carriage just west of here, on the b-border with the Tagen—“

Victoria’s lip quivered, and a second later she dashed out of the room. Alyce frowned at the kitchen door as it swung shut behind the maid. She turned back to Lucette, eyebrows raised, just in time to see the elderly woman’s face crumple.

“He’s d-dead, Alyce,” she said through the tears flowing freely down her wrinkled cheeks. “The Tagen…th-they killed him!” Her voice raised to a piercing wail.

The words didn’t register immediately in Alyce’s mind. She stared at Lucette, waiting for her to continue even as the maid broke down into shuddering sobs. It was only then, when Lucette’s entire body was shaking, that Alyce grasped what she had just been told.

Her teeth snapped together, her blood ran cold, and an icy hand closed on her heart. But she said nothing. The only sound in the dining room was Lucette’s sobs and the clipped tick, tock of the clock in the corner. Every muscle in Alyce’s body was taut, stiff; her hands were clenched so tightly in her lap that the knuckles were white and the tips of her slender fingers were red. It would have hurt if she could feel.

Her father was dead? He couldn’t be. She’d seen him just that morning…waved goodbye as his carriage trundled down the driveway and out the gate. He wasn’t even supposed to be on the western border; he’d said he was heading south, to meet with the cave hermits in the mountains. Another lie—only this one ended with her all alone.

Abruptly, Alyce pushed her chair back and stood, making no attempt to quell the fury rising up inside her. How dare he leave her alone? He was her father, and he was supposed to be there forever. He was not supposed to abandon her.

“M-m-miss Raget?” Lucette questioned through her tears.

Alyce said nothing, nor did she look over at the elderly woman. She swept along the table towards the door at the end, the edges of her vision fuzzy and red. At the last moment, just before she threw the door open, her foot caught on the corner of the tablecloth and jerked it out from under the dishes on the table. In a vociferous series of crashes, every last piece of porcelain struck the hardwood floor and shattered. The door slammed shut behind Alyce before the satisfying cacophony came to an end.