Chapter 1 of The Starlit Prince

Snaking through the crowded ballroom, dodging masked faces as they turned toward me, I couldn’t help but regret my choice to dress up like a bright red macaw. Wearing the costume had seemed like a good idea six months ago when I’d ordered the dress, when the only thing at stake for the evening was who I would dance with.

A man in a wolf mask stepped in front of me, halting my escape. “Señorita,” he began, voice deep and falsely melodic, like he was trying to sing to me. He even moved his feet back and forth and lifted his arms at his sides.

I nearly choked on my sip of sangria but recovered enough to offer a smile, wishing my bird mask covered more than half my face, so I would not have to worry about schooling my expressions. The man, unfortunately, took my smile as encouragement and angled his body even closer.

“Excuse me, señorita…what-was-it?”

“Talia Balcázar Ferrera,” I supplied through a clenched smile.

“Ah, yes, señorita Balcasan.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t correct him.

“Do me the great honor of dancing with me. I have been watching you all evening, and I must say, yours is the most magnificent costume in the room.”

My shoulders lifted and fell in a quick sigh. There was no escaping these hungry vultures. “I’m sorry, but you mistake me for my friend. You see? Over there.”

His eyes traveled. I watched them widen beneath his mask as he discovered Zara, wearing the exact same costume.

“Do you not mean her?” I asked again.

Silence hung between us in the noisy ballroom. Just as Zara and I had planned, this vulture had no idea which of the women wearing the ridiculous macaw mask was the one set to win a fortune in the morning.

He coughed politely. “Indeed. I was mistaken. I would greatly appreciate it if you could put in a good word with your friend over there? I was hoping to dance with her before the evening expired.” He tapped his chest with his free hand. “And I must say, she caught my eye the very moment I arrived.”

To make him wait, I took a long sip of sangria, emptying my glass. “I’m sure she did.” Zara was always turning heads, even in a room full of masks. Her curves, highlighted as they were in this year’s tight-fitting style, put mine to shame. “I’ll do my best.” I gave him a dismissive curtsy before stepping around him and hurrying away.

Practically stomping through the ballroom, I looked over to where Zara was fanning herself flirtatiously as she giggled at something a broad-shouldered man had said. She’d had her seamstress make me a dress to match hers, a stroke of brilliance that had kept the fortune hunters positively puzzled all evening. But wearing the same dress as the prettiest girl in the room also made me feel like one of the cheap pieces of glass cut to look like rubies dotting my mask. Zara leaned around the man and waved her fan at me, but when I only shrugged in return, she excused herself and hurried toward me.

Halfway across the crowded space, my friend was waylaid by a nobleman in a garish orange suit and fox mask. Her shoulders sank, and her own bird mask seemed to linger on me as I skirted the crowd for the open terrace doors at the back of the ballroom.

The night was warm but refreshing compared to the caged air inside. Fewer conversations to avoid out here. I took a deep breath.

The moon was already descending toward the horizon, but the dancing wouldn’t end until dawn peeked over the endless rows of olive trees stretching across Zara’s family’s estate. The night before the official start of the Festival de los Cuentos meant no sleep for anyone, save the youngest and
oldest.

Frustrated, I tossed my red macaw mask aside, but it snagged on my long hair, yanking out several dark strands and nearly dislodging the lily wedged against my tight bun. The mask hit the gravel a little too hard and shattered the false jewels, which looked eerily like drops of blood on the path. A shudder swept down my frame. After a last glance at the loud ballroom, I turned toward the massive stable in the distance, my heart jumping into my throat. In mere hours, the first of the summer’s most important races would begin, including the race that would determine my family’s fate.

Palacio del Sol, named for his golden dun coat, was my father’s best stallion to date, favored to win five to one. My costume tonight, my lack of sleep this past week, and my thundering pulse were all tied to this horse.

I gripped the hem of my ballgown, which had been designed to mimic the myth of the scarlet macaw, wife of the sun, and followed the branching path toward the stable. Six months ago, deciding to dress like the fabled wife of the sun god had seemed like a fun way to celebrate our promising young racehorse, whom we called Sol for short. Little had I known he would improve so much in half a year. My steps grew quieter as I left the gravel for hard-packed earth.

A light flickering over the stable entrance illuminated the guard on duty who was currently slack-necked and snoring loudly. I shook my head as I walked straight past him into the wide aisle of the immaculate barn.

The smell of hay and horses washed over me as I moved into the shadowy aisle between stalls. Every one of these horses signified someone’s hopes and dreams. So many bets were placed at the midsummer races that fortunes were lost and made, and the fixed planes of society’s strata became fluid for a single day.

Only the champion of this race would be entered into the Carrera de los Reales, the royal race, held by the king himself at the end of summer. The champions from each of the three largest races in Avencia competed in the royal race. Winning lifted one into the highest ranks of society, and this year, we had a real chance.

“Talia, there you are! I thought you’d be here,” Zara teased.

I whipped around, startled but not surprised to see my friend standing in the barn’s entrance. Her dark, unruly curls were smoothed back in a slick knot at the nape of her neck, but after hours of dancing, the thick tresses were starting to rebel.

“Thank you, by the way,” I said, waving a hand at our matching red dresses with stacks of ruffles at the hems. “I had no idea they would be so aggressive.”

After a quick snort, Zara cringed in disgust. “One of the men who danced with me tonight was sixty-five. Had two wives die already.”

“That sounds dreadful. Who knew having a fast racehorse would make it harder to find a decent man?”

Shrugging, Zara peeked in at a horse. “Who’s the contender?”

“Cielo, over there. But his fastest time never beat Sol’s.”

“Everything will be different by sundown, will it not?” She grabbed my hands. “The dons will be lining up for your hand!”

A short laugh escaped my lips. “Yes, money will finally garner their attention.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I don’t disagree with you. I merely dislike that it’s true.” I pulled my hands from my friend’s grip and continued to Sol’s stall. Until riches lifted me out of my current station, I was still beneath the dons’
notice. “At least Papá will be able to buy the land outright from Ortiz. No more dreadful landlord hovering over our every move.”

Zara cringed at the mention of Ortiz, sharing my feelings about the potbellied man who’d been asking for my hand in marriage for the last four summers, ever since I turned fifteen.

“Surely, you’ll move,” she said with a pout. “But do tell your father to buy a grand estate somewhere inside of Leor. You can’t leave me.”

“Just because we stand to win doesn’t mean we’ll leave Leor,” I assured her. “My father loves it here. He says southern Avencia is the world’s best place to train horses. Not that he’s trained them anywhere else.” I traced my hand lightly along the wood between stalls as I moved farther down.
“And the race isn’t won yet.”

Zara huffed. “It’s as good as.”

As I passed my father’s other horse, Corona, I nodded politely. He was fast in his own right, but no champion.

“Push him,” I told the white horse, leaning over the half door of his stall. “Push him to his best time yet.” The horse flicked an ear sideways. “I’m serious. No lounging at the back of the pack this time. You’ve got a job to do.”

I moved on to the next stall, where Sol would be sleeping before his big day. The stable was dim, the light from the moon casting only the faintest shadows through the windows, but even before I reached the stall, my skin prickled.

My breath caught when my eyes adjusted.

Sol was gone.

“What is it?” Zara asked, placing a hand on my arm.

Unable to speak, I unlatched the stall door and yanked it open, scanning the floor more times than was necessary. He wasn’t there.

Panic seized my chest, and I scrambled back out into the aisle, knocking into Zara.

“Where is he?” Zara whispered. “Wait. Look.” She pointed to where Sol’s saddle and bridle were missing.

“Someone stole him!” I shouted.

As I ran back toward the sleeping guard, he roused from sleep with a start and hopped up.

“He’s gone! Someone stole my father’s horse.”

The large man blinked, then my words registered and he gripped his rapier with one hand and raced into the barn.

“He’s gone, you idiot. Running into the barn won’t do any good.” I lifted both arms and rolled my eyes.

The sound of crunching gravel pricked at my ears. Tensing, I scanned the dark road leading away from the barn. The tiny sliver of moon wasn’t enough to illuminate the night, but I spotted a pale shape at the foot of the small hill.

“Zara! That’s him—that’s Sol. It must be!”

When the guard reappeared, I was already racing back into the barn. “There’s been a theft,” I called back. “Send word to my father.”

The guard’s quick footsteps diminished as he sped away.

“What are you doing?” asked Zara from behind me.

“Going after him!”

Ignoring her burst of laughter, I ripped open Corona’s stall door, reaching for the bridle on the wall. “Sorry, boy, but we’re going to have to take a little midnight ride.”

“I’m coming with you,” Zara announced from the stall’s doorway.

I heaved a saddle blanket on Corona’s tall back and narrowed my eyes at her. “You can’t ride as fast as I
can. And if I don’t go…” My throat caught, and the rest of the words died on my tongue.

She yanked a bridle off the peg nearest to her. “I’m not telling you not to go. I’m just saying that you’re
not going alone. Besides, it’s dangerous to ride at night this time of year.”

“Those are only stories,” I snapped.

Less than a minute later, as I led Corona out of the stables, another thought hit me, causing me to choke on my next breath. If Sol disappeared for good, my family would have to pay out all the bets placed on him. Even if we sold every item in our home—and the house itself—it wouldn’t be enough.

“I have to find him before my father wakes,” I whispered, trying to lift my foot into the stirrup. My tight dress wasn’t helping.

Zara scurried to mount the horse she’d saddled—another valuable racehorse I didn’t recognize. At least her family could afford to pay the owner for borrowing it. “You know where he’s going, don’t you?”

“Puerta,” I muttered.

The border town of Puerta de los Reyes, almost an hour’s ride from Leor, teemed with merchants and vendors of every illegal good imaginable. The weeks before and during the Festival de los Cuentos were the busiest of the year. Tradesmen from across the seas, tribal shamans from the east, and wealthy gangsters congregated in the market of Puerta to sell or trade their wares. Women of Leor were strictly forbidden from ever venturing near its gates.

I whirled around at a tearing sound to find Zara ripping the side of her dress to allow her legs
space to move. “You would,” I said with a smirk.

“My hunting knives came in handy for once.”

Zara flashed her bare leg at me, waggling her brows—these festival dresses didn’t allow for the normal
undergarments that we wore the rest of the year—then she flipped the blade and held it out to me. I took the knife, bent, and sliced the hem of my dress in a similar fashion. When I finished, I accepted a strappy leather holster from Zara.

“What’s this?” I glanced anxiously at the dark road where Sol had disappeared.

“It straps around your calf. Like this.” She fastened a dagger to her leg as well. “Usually goes over
a riding boot, but we’ll make do.”

Seconds later, I climbed into the saddle.

“All right. Let’s go,” I announced, kicking my heels into Corona.

My legs burned from holding a tight racing stance for so long. I knew from experience that I couldn’t hold it much longer. Zara, being less accustomed to fast rides, was already lagging behind. With a quick glance, I spotted her a little distance back, bouncing in the saddle, her hair a wild mess. Up ahead, riding at breakneck speed, was my target. He was closing in on the city gates. 

Late night revelers from Leor clogged the road as they ambled toward the seedy border town to conduct business they’d surely regret come morning. With dawn still hours away, Puerta swelled like the bay at high tide.

Dust drifted sideways on the ocean breeze. The thief was riding the fastest horse in southern Avencia. If he made it to Puerta before we did, he’d melt into the crowd like butter on hot rice. 

With a glance back at Zara, I waved my arm forward in silent communication before tapping my heels against my horse’s ribs, praying and cursing with alternate breaths as I sailed directly toward the one place I’d sworn never to go. 

I gritted my teeth, crunching on bits of sand between my molars. “Ándale! Come o—” 

The word was cut off by the chilling sound of a distant horn. My posture faltered in the saddle as I scanned the dark horizon. 

Behind me on the road, screams pierced the night.

The horn sounded again, closer this time. People on the road ducked and glanced around. Several horses whinnied or reared. Corona, obedient as Papa had trained him to be, kept racing forward, but I sensed his unease as he tossed his nose up and down. 

Still, I had no time to worry about any of this. Looking toward the gate, I caught a glimpse of Sol’s golden hide flying under the archway that led into the city. 

Stars and suns.

Then everyone was running—panicked—toward the city gate. 

“It’s the Wild Hunt!” someone shouted. 

I whipped my head around, searching the darkness. 

On the horizon, illuminated by the gray line of the sea, rode a pair of figures. Distant as they were, their mounts had to be enormous. And they weren’t horses. Their long, loping strides suggested something canine, but my hasty glance didn’t give me enough time to decipher what they were. A strangling fear gripped my throat as I clicked my tongue at Corona and eased him out to the side of the road. 

Zara was back there.

I was caught in a slow, frenzied tangle of pedestrians, wagons, and riders. The Wild Hunt was a myth they told children to keep us from wandering too far from home…or so I had thought. But the two massive creatures barreling toward the road were most certainly real and entirely too large and too fast to be natural. 

“Zara!”

I couldn’t hear if she called back. My heart thundered so loud I barely heard the hoofbeats. My gaze snapped back from the city gate to my friend. With a shrill yell, I slowed Corona, whirled him around, and charged back toward Zara. 

Her horse was lagging, but when Corona drew up next to him, he snorted and leaned into the race like he’d been trained to do. Good boy. 

Corona reacted and put on more speed. All the animals on the road had lunged into a flat-out run, leaving everyone on foot in a cloud of dust. 

It was a race in every sense of the word now. 

The Wild Hunt never entered cities. At least, that’s how the stories went. The gate of Puerta quickly reversed from a symbol of certain ruin to a haven of salvation. 

Sweat poured down my chest and back as fear cut through my thoughts. 

The beasts were close enough now that I could see pointed ears on one and spots on the other. A wolf and a great cat. 

I was lucky that I rode a fast horse. And Zara was keeping pace. Those on foot…I hated to think of their fate. 

The wide gate was already bottlenecked with panicked pedestrians. I yanked on the reins to keep from crashing into a small buggy. Zara pulled up beside me, her curls like a windmill around her face. Dust whirled everywhere, obscuring my view of the Hunters. “Move!” I shouted. Other than a nasty look from a man beside me, nothing happened. 

I glanced over my shoulder. A wind gusted through, clearing some of the dust. The Hunters were closing in. According to the stories, they stole young virgins from the land of mortals—but I’d always thought this was merely a scare tactic. 

Zara cursed and shouted in a manner that would have shocked her earlier suitors, but the crowd’s movements were too slow, oozing through the gate like molasses. 

A scream drew my gaze backward in time to see a Hunter snatching a woman from the road. Just then, the crowd surged forward, and I finally passed under the city gate. The woman’s screams disappeared as we spilled through the city’s thick walls.

Zara pulled her shawl over her head, and I followed suit, aware that a pair of respectable women coming to Puerta would cause a stir. My heart raced, and the fear in the crowd was still palpable. 

That woman had been taken by those awful creatures. 

I met Zara’s gaze. Unspoken gratitude flowed between us. 

Hoping to catch a glimpse of Sol, I scanned the roadside, crammed with makeshift structures composed of boards and canvas—but no golden horse. Ignoring the feeling of hopelessness that threatened to choke me, I peered at the branching roads ahead. He was here somewhere, and I would find him. 

A few men openly stared at us.

“Tal,” Zara whispered, “I sincerely apologize for deciding we’d both wear red tonight.”

A nervous laugh burst from my lips. I rested my free hand on the blade at my calf, grateful for its presence. 

“Let’s find Sol,” I said.

Talia

We stopped briefly, allowing our horses to drink heartily from a trough, then walked them down the narrow, twisting roads of the market. Vendors shouted at us as we passed, and the milling pedestrians barely stepped aside for our horses. The stalls and kiosks were alive—as if it were peak time for business—and no one inside these walls seemed the least bit concerned that a pair of mythological creatures had just swiped a young woman from the road. 

Tents stretched out in a sea of brown points and sagging lines that faded into the night. Corona weaved around a pair of arguing men standing in the road and dodged a wagonload of flour sacks. I ignored every whistle that came my way. Sol was here. Somewhere. Faces turned from steaming pots and smoking pipes, suspicious of hurried newcomers. People here did not rush. They languished. A pair of young boys sauntered up, hands begging before their mouths could. 

Zara flipped them each a coin before I even moved. All the better, considering I’d left my purse in Zara’s ballroom. Heart hammering, I kept my eyes alert for any sign of my father’s horse. 

The smell of human sweat and muddy canvas washed over us as we picked our way deeper into the city. Every horse that crossed my path made my heart catapult into my throat. 

“I can make you forget your troubles, lass,” shouted a woman in a threadbare shawl.

I recoiled slightly, smelling the potent herbs without ever seeing them. “I doubt that’s possible,” I grumbled, pushing past the aggressive vendor. 

As we walked, voices called out, selling everything baser desires might want. One man jeered at us, claiming we could be rich if we would only step into his tent for a moment. Though I felt safer on Corona, my leg was entirely too exposed this way, with strangers walking no more than a handsbreadth from my skin. 

“Let’s walk,” I suggested, sliding off my horse. 

I tugged Corona quickly down one lane, then another, as Zara hollered for me to slow down. Easy for her to say. Her life wasn’t about to go up in flames.

I shivered, despite the sweat trickling down my back, and gripped the reins tightly in my hand. “We need to find the horse sellers,” I said over my shoulder. “Or the buyers.”

Zara walked up beside me. “Are you familiar with how the black market operates?”

“No. But I assume the thief will try to sell Sol.”

A man passed us, leading two horses down the next lane. I followed him, hoping he might lead to the place horses were traded. 

Zara hovered close behind. “Shouldn’t we ask someone where to find buyers in this place? I don’t wish to be here much longer.”

“Looking for a buyer?” said a scruffy man with neck tattoos poking out from a sweat-stained ascot. 

“Yes,” I replied warily. 

“What are you selling?” The man tilted his scraggly head forward. 

“A horse.” 

“Well, actually we’re looking—” 

I cut off Zara’s words with a murderous look. 

The way he studied our dresses made me squirm, but I lifted my shoulders and scowled.

“Romero is that way.” He lifted a lazy finger. “And you need an appointment.” The man tipped dangerously forward. “But you might want to consider what else you could be selling, señoritas.” He flashed a grin that sent disgusted shivers down my arms. 

Eager to get away, I pulled Zara along and we slipped down a winding alleyway in the direction the man had pointed. 

“What if Sol has been sold? Do we steal him back?” Zara asked, no longer trying to keep her fears to herself. 

“We’ll figure that out when the time comes.”

We asked a woman starting a cookfire in the dim of a single candle where to find Romero. She grunted and pointed. Then she stood and brushed her hands down her apron, waving us back. 

“Why you want him?” she asked, her eyes lined with wrinkles from squinting in the bright sun. 

“We think he has something of mine,” I admitted. 

“That man has nothing you want. Go home. Leave this place.”

I glanced at Zara. “A horse of great value was stolen tonight. I must get it back.”

“Or what?”

Startled by the woman’s prying question, I blinked several times before words surfaced. “My family will be ruined.” 

The woman stared so hard I wanted to back up, but Zara was behind me. 

“Decide how much ruin you’s willing to accept, and go on home, before you find out what true ruin is. Magic ain’t worth the price it demands.”

“Thank you,” Zara said politely, yanking me along the sandy path. The word magic hung in the air as we left the woman behind. “We should go. Now.”

“If we go home empty-handed, my family will be a laughingstock at the races.” I pressed my hands to my face and inhaled sharply. “We already owe Ortiz too much. Almost all the profits we stand to make are his already. Without Sol…” I let the sentence die.

Up ahead, silhouetted by flaming torches, three large men stood outside a tent, hands clasped at their waists, frowns carved on their dark faces. Pulse thundering, I approached the closest man. 

“We need to speak to Romero.”

The man’s chest jerked in a small, silent laugh. “Business?” The question was part-growl. 

Lifting my chin, I said confidently, “Buying.”

The gruff man let out a small hiss through his pierced nose. “You’ll have to wait.”

“How long?”

The man huffed and lifted his chin. “Horses wait over there.”

I steeled my expression and returned his huff. “I will not leave my horse.”

“If you wish to speak to Romero, you will.”

“Are the horses guarded?” 

He sneered. “By me.”

A man emerged from Romero’s tent, received his weapons back from the guards, and departed with a smug smile on his bearded face. 

Pacing in the small space beside the tent, I tapped my palms together, whispering to Zara. “I could say he got sick. Maybe then we wouldn’t have to pay out all the debts.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Tal.”

I pursed my lips. “Or if I told everyone that Sol was stolen, perhaps they would feel bad, and…” I slapped my forehead. “No, they wouldn’t. They’ll still want their money back.”

“We don’t know yet what’s happened to him. Calm down.”

“If the Wild Hunt is real, maybe there’s some magical way I can get Sol back.”

Zara’s eyes narrowed. “Magic isn’t something to joke about.”

I crossed my arms but didn’t meet her gaze. “Well, it’s not even real, so it doesn’t matter.”

Zara’s huff told me I’d offended her. She’d always been apt to believe the stories told at Festival de los Cuentos, even the outlandish ones about magical folk and dragons and immortals. As I waited, my mind flipped through some of the stories I’d heard at last year’s festival. A man who could disappear like shadows. A blue lion who roamed the earth at night. The sun god’s wife, who could turn into a macaw—always a popular tale. But none of those stories offered me any hope right now. No solutions. No Sol. 

The smell of cumin and paprika and garlic wafted through the thin alleyway as someone prepared a pre-dawn breakfast. My hunger pangs only meant the race was getting closer. 

By the time my feet ached from standing in one place and my stomach gurgled in embarrassing fashion, I threw up my hands and walked toward the burly guard once more. 

“How much longer? People expect me home.” It was true. 

The guard snorted in a particularly disgusting way. 

Despair crept in, and a small whimper escaped my lips as someone exited the tent. With the heavy canvas pulled aside, I strained to catch a glimpse of what lay inside. The tent was certainly large enough for a horse to walk through. Light shone inside from a large chandelier, and a patterned red rug ran into the depths of the tent. 

Whoever owned this tent had money, that much was certain.

The man who’d exited stared unashamedly at Zara as he slid a blade back into the sheath at his waist. 

Zara scowled at him and grabbed my arm. “Come on.”

She yanked me into the tent before either guard could catch us. 

“Oy! Come back here!”

We dashed into the bright space, realizing the entire front room of this tent was empty, save for the rug and the elaborate chandelier. A guard stormed in after us. 

Large hands brushed my arm, but I yanked out of reach, pushing Zara ahead of me through a second set of canvas doors. I stumbled over the edge of a plush rug and knocked into a thin table set with a tall vase of lilies. With a shout, I grabbed the table, but the vase toppled and smashed on the rug. 

I looked up, aghast, hands moving slowly away from the intricately carved table. Three chandeliers lit the spacious room. A tall chair with twisting wood armrests sat before a wide desk in the center of the far wall. 

A man sat there, tall riding boots propped on the ornate desk, dark brows lifted in mild surprise. His jet-black hair peeled away from a tanned face with a particularly square jaw that stole my attention for the briefest moment. 

The guard stepped in and gripped my upper arm so tightly that I yelped. With a single lift of the seated man’s finger, the guard released me and stepped back through the canvas. 

The man at the other end of the room titled his head and wove his fingers behind his head. “May I help you?”

[END OF SAMPLE]