Braken Queen
Before Astraya arrived in Najorne, there lived a family by the Scaled River. The husband sold the finest silks and linens in the kingdom while his wife tailored the fabrics into fantastical dresses. Their two children, Ned and Loral, were raised in the family business; Loral, the aspiring merchant, and Ned, his mother’s prodigy.
When Ned went to deliver overalls to a farm bordering the Brakenwoods one afternoon, he returned with the unexpected: Astraya Bundled in azure troll hide and copper twigs, she came ill with what later became Braken fever His parents closed closed business to care for the apparent orphan when none claimed her.
By Emma GullenOn the edge of a land, small but proud There stood a kingdom & its town But far beyond, in a wilderness so loud With stomping trolls beneath a coppery shroud
Stood three forests thick with leaves Of copper, silver, & gold to please
Yet, no man could enter Lest they wake the trolls in its center Thus these woods became a curse Of witches and trolls dispersed And
The couple loved the child until the mother passed away soon after with Braken fever. When Astraya recovered, the merchant’s love didn't and blame took root.
Ned cared for Astraya while his father couldn't. Since the children and tailor loved Astraya he couldn't abandon her. But he didn't make life easy for her either. He taught Loral his business while Ned took up his mother’s work, making Astraya run deliveries, fetching and washing fabrics, shining each coin acquired daily, cooking, and cleaning. If she failed any task, she’d starve that day her father decreed; and grateful for her bed, Astraya never objected.
Ned made some chores easier. He cleaned up after himself while he worked, and when Astraya brought new fabric, she'd find him in soapy water with them before she could start.
The day Prince Varren came, Ned changed Varren came to their workshop for seven days, disappearing with her family until dusk. Each task became her task in fullness. On the seventh day, Ned snapped. There was a soap stain on the silk. There’d been more fabric than usual, and taken longer to clean. Spotting it, Ned
grabbed her thigh-length hair, dragged her to the still-hot basin, and with the stained cloth shoved in her mouth, pushed her in. Astraya never bathed in hot water since.
xWhere are you off to?” his father called to Ned.
"Workshop."
His father stared at him from the dining table. Loral already ate and disappeared, Astraya eating breakfast in Loral's chair. The table was large enough for six but had three chairs. There’d been four once. He'd taken the fourth to punish Astraya and burned it while she watched. Since then, she’d wait and watch them eat in silence. Only when Loral finished could she sit and eat. Yet, Loral never brought a fourth chair though they owned many. He wondered if she’d forgotten she could or was afraid he’d burn it like the last
“Don’t overdo it. I need you energized tomorrow.”
Ned's brows furrowed. “What’s ‘marrow?”
“A celebration for the King’s engagement. As dressmakers for the royals, we’re special guests.”
Ned swallowed and murmured, “I see.” Then left.
For the rest of the day, he could only think about the person he’d spent years avoiding the one he’d see 'marrow.
wAstraya’s fingers were wrinkled and lifeless, the hot water of the washing basin draining the moisture from her skin. She paused to wipe the sweat from her brow, hanging the clean fabric to dry after. No matter how many she washed, the pile never seemed to shrink.
After she hung the last cleaned fabrics to dry, dusk had covered Najorne like smoke, extinguishing the vibrant colors of day. Astraya wandered along the gravel paths near the Brakenwoods, letting her sore limbs thaw and loosen on her way home, lost in thought when someone said her name.
“Astraya.”
She startled and turned. Ned was prowling towards her, expression unreadable as he stopped a few feet away. “Were you planning on going to the celebration?”
Astraya swallowed and slowly nodded. Although she had not dared ask their father about attending, the thought of a festival of celebration and laughter, with glittering jewels and exquisite gowns, mouthwatering delicacies, and dancing, was too tempting to resist. She longed for the freedom experienced during solstice revels, where she could lose herself in the crowd of music and bodies.
Ned laughed at her until his voice turned thick and hoarse from it. “How ridiculous,” he choked, dabbing beneath his eyes where tears formed. “What makes you think you’re going?”
“Wasn’t our family invited?”
He snorted. “My family was. Since when were you?”
Her throat closed, and she pictured his hand around it, squeezing the life from her.
“Please,” she pleaded, “Let me go.”
Ned’s expression relaxed as he considered her request. Then he was suddenly in front of her. His hand shot out and latched onto the end of her braid, which had been swaying around her knees. Astraya gasped as each hair follicle screamed, sending a searing sensation through her scalp and down the base of her neck. Then she heard the familiar sound of metal blades shearing wool in harsh, rough snips and
pulls while handling deliveries from the sheepherders.
A sudden yank lifted a weight from Astraya as Ned let go of her hair. She stumbled back, blinking through the stinging tears to see what he held between them. Her braid hung in his grip like a dead eel, the hair appearing rusted and dull in the darkness. The blunt edges of the remaining hair scratched unevenly against the back of her neck and shoulders.
Astraya sank to the ground, her knees unable to bear her weight any longer. She fought back tears, but her body betrayed her, and a sob escaped her lips as she saw the glint of gold in Ned’s other hand.
“You can go to the celebration,” Ned said slowly, crouching before her. The ghost of a smile danced across his lips. “But first, you must do one thing for me. Just one little chore. Surely you can do that?”
Astraya nodded. Now that smile manifested as the braid fell into her lap. Ned unfurled to his full height. “If you can weave the most exquisite scarf from this so that no one could recognize what it truly is by midday ‘marrow, then you can join us. If you cannot, don’t dream of going.”
yAstraya silently wept as she sewed. Her fingers shook with the needle pressed between them, her hair the thread. Dried blood crusted the edges of her nails from where her hand shook too much with the needle.
After endless hours of tedious weaving, her hair looked unchanged. A sob broke through her. There was no point anymore. Despite all their hours together huddled over fabrics and needles, scissors and looms, she couldn’t sew like him. He taught her to mend holes but never had the time for anything else. She knew that, and so did he a cruel reminder this was of that.
“Sweet girl,” a gentle masculine voice whispered in the darkness, and Astraya nearly jumped right off the dock ledge she sat on and into the river. “Why do you cry, child of Braken?”
Astraya glanced down at the water at where the voice was strongest. Moonlight rippled off its still surface, a mirror in the night. Movement beneath the surface near her was the only indication that it was liquid. She realized the movement belonged to a bright crimson frog staring at her from the shallows. She saw its throat bulge, and then it spoke, in a voice somehow familiar and not, as if from a dream long ago: “There is no need to cry anymore. Wipe your tears away and tell me what you need.”
“Little friend,” she whispered, “I don’t know what I need. My hair’s been cut from my head and turned into an impossible task I cannot sew, and yet, I must turn my hair into an exquisite neckpiece for my brother by midday tomorrow if I’m to go to the festival. My fingers shake too much that I prick more than I thread.”
“Braken child, you are suffocating,” her little friend whispered.
“So it feels,” she murmured, drawing her legs beneath her chin. “Little friend, what do I do?”
“Leave your needle and hair behind; I will finish it. Go into the shallows beneath the dock; you'll find everything needed for the festival within a nest. By dawn ‘morrow, present your finished work. Hide your gifts before then and change at the festival. Change before you leave it and stealthily return them to the nest. As for your hair, just sleep."
She nodded. “Thank you, little friend.”
“Cry no more,” her red friend said before turning and pushing off into the river’s depths.
And so, securing a rock over her hair, Astraya went to heed her friend’s instructions.
kept pushing her away toward where their hosts awaited them.
The dress on her cot looked taken from a fairytale. With a bodice of periwinkle blue caged by branches of copper and a skirt consisting of cream and buttery-yellow layers, matching shoes of entwined copper rested beneath it.
The gifts weren’t the only surprise that day. When she woke up that morning to find her hair sewn into an exquisitely braided scarf, she glimpsed her reflection on the river’s surface. The deep russet of the Brakenwoods kissed her hair. She'd only known the dull auburn of her hair growing up. Now it looked washed out, contrasting the deep amber-orange ends that fell softly against her breasts.
“Astraya?” a female voice called, brazen and harsh. Astraya turned to find Loral standing on the porch above, a hand planted firmly on her hip while the other blocked the rising sun. “Come here.”
Astraya climbed the little hill from the river bank to the porch. Out of the sun, Loral could take in what Astraya had been admiring before. Had their father heard the words coming from Loral’s mouth, Astraya was sure the next thing Ned would sew shut was her lips.
“Are you coming to the festival tonight?” Loral asked. When she nodded, Loral beamed. “Then can I do something with this ” She lifted a strand of her hair “beforehand?”
Astraya smiled. “I’d like that.”
Varren was the embodiment of a polar bear if Astraya ever saw one. With snowy hair curled in gentle ringlets and harsh features she’d expect to find on the face of a Viking. He posed an intimidating sight next to the dainty Princess, Piera a winter fairy in contrast. Astraya curtsied before them.
Varren’s gaze flickered over Loral and Astraya before landing on Ned something unreadable washing across those ice-hewn features before hardening again and resting on their father.
“May I offer my congratulations, Your Highness, and deepest appreciation for receiving the honor to attend a festival of such splendor,” their father said.
Piera answered, her gaze clinging to Astraya like moss on a tree, “We appreciate the honor of your presence here tonight and of having such fine garments to celebrate this joyous occasion.”
Astraya clutched her sack beneath her scullery dress and curtsied Piera took in her hair-the flower braids cascading down courtesy of Loral then her and smiled.
It wasn't mocking or cruel but a gentle sweetness that melted the tension from her bones. The tension returned when she was guided away again. They paused before a table piled with delicacies.
Ned, in a simple black suit and that scarf around his neck, plucked up a blood pancake from it. He grimaced while swallowing.
It was dusk when they arrived at the festival. Dancers moved freely with each other in familiar silks and gowns, their shadows dancing among them as they circled the massive bonfires. Astraya yearned to join them, but a firm hand
“It'll choke you,” she murmured, gazing at the scarf. His honeyed skin was tinged pink around the edges of it.
Ned paused mid-bite. “Is that a threat?”
His eyes bored into hers. Once, they’d gazed at Astraya with softness. Now they
watched her like a hawk. Finally, she said, “Merely an observation,” and didn’t wait for a response before turning and finding a private place to change, joining the revelry afterward.
It did not take more than a single dance around the bonfire before Varren whisked her away. The next dance began, and he was her partner, smiling and laughing with her. When it came time to leave, she rushed from him to change and hide her gown. Their drunk father didn’t notice her gone, but Ned appeared annoyed when she’d returned. Only Loral winked at her while flirting with a doe-eyed suitor nearby, and Astraya’s heart warmed at Loral’s silent support. Especially on the ride home, when Ned mocked her rags and tugged her loose flower braids. Loral kicked and threatened to cut off and sell his hands if he continued.
That night, Astraya returned the gifts to the duck nest and whispered thanks to her liberator.
The festival continued the next day. Varren didn’t let Astraya out of sight. Not until Piera requested a dance with the “Brakenwood princess,” did he let Astraya go, and slipped through the crowd towards him.
The distant voices of the party faded as Varren led Ned to the vacant palace gardens.
Inside, Varren sighed and chuckled. “You're no court jester,” Varren said, breaking the silence. Ned’s brow furrowed. Finally, Varren clarified: “They are much better actors.”
“You know nothing.”
Varren had moved to stand before him, forcing Ned to meet those haunting eyes swarmed in pity and disappointment.
Varren leaned forward, breath hot against Ned's face. “Do you think I'm a fool? That I know nothing of you?”
“Yes,” he bit out. Danger filled that gaze. “Yes, what? Am I a stranger or fool?”
“Both.”
Varren recoiled as if struck. Then a slow, mirthless laugh followed. "I'm not the fool here, Ned. I know you more than you'd care to admit. For who else could make a gown of exquisite beauty for Astraya yes, I knew who my dance partner was when I first saw her or weave hair into anything other?”
Ned inhaled as Varren stepped forward. “Shall I call you a monster for how you’ve treated her? Or a fool for presuming I’d hate you for hurting her?” Before Ned could answer, Varren grabbed him by that cursed garment of hair around his neck and yanked him forward. The other man’s lips were warm and soft against his own, reminding Ned of a time long ago. A time when he’d drunkenly found Varren during a solstice party and kissed him behind a tree. Not unlike the one they stood before now a reminder of that time before Ned matured and realized the danger of such affections. Before Ned could push him away, Varren shoved him back against the oak and stepped away as if reading his thoughts. The latter straightened his coat a garment made of winter by Ned’s hands and glanced towards the party where the music’s crescendo was fading.
“If you don’t consider me a monster, then you’re an even bigger fool,” Ned whispered, low and breathless in the space between them.
“Or maybe more of a monster than you.” Then: “Your father gorges himself upon my wine. Perhaps now I should request Astraya's hand in marriage.”
He stared at Varren with a newfound horror. At the sight of Ned’s expression, the corners of Varren’s mouth tilted. “Yes, I will
marry Astraya and give her a better life than she knows,” he stated factually.
“If you thought you could chase me away, then you’re an idiot,” Varren continued. “Is Astraya not your dear sister? By having her, I have you. I will have you by my side, even if that side is on hers.”
“My reign will be different, Ned. If the world won't change for those like us, I will change it instead of waiting for it.” He cupped Ned’s face, despite Ned being a head taller than him. “I love you I want you. And I'll wipe the world clean and stitch it anew rather than wait.” He pulled Ned towards him and kissed him roughly, fervently, desperately. He pulled back, pressing their brows together. “People fear the dark because they cannot see what lies inside. The only way to change that is to emerge and show them. I’m not afraid to do so, and if you are, then share your fears with me, and I’ll share my courage with you. Please don’t succumb to the dark, love. Let’s become the fireflies that illuminate it instead.”
“I ” Varren’s mouth captured his again. Something in Ned broke at the sweetness of Varren’s lips the tenderness and longing mirroring his.
He let his hands fall from Varren’s shoulders meant to push him away and let the music wash over him.
Why me?
Astraya thought it a joke when her father told her. Then Varren announced its truth: I am happy to announce that we celebrate not just one betrothal but two! A toast to the future Queen and Princess, Astraya!
Astraya looked around, expecting to find Ned laughing at the absurdity of the news nearby but was surprised to see him arguing with Loral.
Two girls nearby must have said something unflattering because Loral whirled and sent her untouched blood pancake into their faces.
“Astraya.” She turned. Varren stood close. "Please follow me."
He led her into the Obsidian Palace and onto a balcony. “Who named you that Astraya?”
“My brother our village. It means a stray.”
He looked thoughtful. “Ned told me about you once an orphan found on the edge of the Brakenwoods. Even your hair reflects this. And your dress. Ned started that years ago, hoping to make you a gown embodying the heart of those woods so that you weren't its ghost but Princess instead.” Her eyes widened. "He made your shoes too, and this ” He brushed an end of her hair “and his scarf. Who else could do such a feat?”
Her little friend...that night she hadn’t recognized his voice, but it’d been familiar.
“Why?”
Varren gazed down at the party at Ned, who now served as barrier between Loral and gossipers whose honor and pride she’d covered in blood pancake.
“Did you notice he’s never taken off your scarf? He chokes himself with it out of guilt for every pain he’s caused you."
“Why?"
Guilt...and fear of himself and me. Of loving me, and my loving him.”
She gaped. “You love him?”
Varren smiled then nodded. "He's too afraid of the light to fully recriprocate it. He prefers deflecting and hiding, chasing me away by seeming unlovable through hurting you. Please understand, Astraya, I never wished you harm. Just...your help."
“His cruelty to me ”
“Was always meant to hurt me more than you,” Varren interjected, and bitterness crept up her throat as she followed his gaze to Ned. “I’m sorry that it turned out the other way.”
“It wasn’t like you told him to do it,” she said, shaking her head, “but you’re asking me to just forgive and help you?"
“Not forgive Do you think he's a monster at heart, Astraya?”
She gave a hollow, mirthless laugh. “What should I think? Tell me, when the person you loved more than air, who protected and guided you all your life, suddenly betrayed and became everything that could hurt you, would you not call them a monster?”
“Then I suppose I'm no better for asking your help.”
“Why me?”
“You're the only one who can ensure he'll stay here and be unable to flee."
“Marry me, Astraya. He won't run if you're Queen. You’ll no longer be the stray feared from the Brakenwoods. You'll gain power and respect, a family that won't make you serve."
She scoffed. “Except I'll be serving you."
Varren shook his head. “I'll never expect nor force you to serve me…that way. But, if you let me, you'll have a partner in me, Astraya, and even a friend.”
Under the moonlight, his eyes were crystalline. The dancing had tussled his hair into a mess. It made him seem less like a Viking prince and more like a young man.
Astraya exhaled. “I’ve never had a friend.
I ” His presence comforted her in its solidarity. She leaned into his warmth as another breeze whipped by. “ would like a friend. And... I’ll help you
Varren pulled her closer, letting her use his shoulder as a head rest. “Maybe you'll find happiness," he whispered.
Astraya’s gaze drifted down. Piera had interjected between Loral and the gossipers, standing between them a pillar of immovable ice. Only Astraya knew she was more fire than ice. As if sensing her gaze, Piera glanced up and smiled. Without realizing it, Astraya had been smiling back at her other new ally.
“I think,” Astraya began, “you may be right."
Is it the end or the beginning? Eight years later, Ned and Varren’s secrecy ended. No longer paramour of the King, Ned became Varren's partner for life courtesy of Astraya and Varren's hard work to alter their people’s deeply rooted laws and fears.
After eight long years as Queen's friend and aid, Piera craved more from her. Having accomplished aiding her dearest friend, Astraya abdicated her Obsidian throne to Ned, with whom she had formed a tentative peace.
Loral became the kingdom Treasurer, their father her assistant. Although she’d miss her family, more awaited her beyond them. She was still Queen but of a feared region beyond Najorne's borders.
Of blue trolls and beasts, bronze dwarves and wisps, in a palace grown from encroaching roots of copper trees and adorned in plated serpent scale leaves. Where water ran through the land like mother's milk and sunlight refracted off leaves
Where a three-headed troll patrolled the thicket beyond, there lived a winter spirit and orphan from the Brakenwoods, now two Braken Queens.
