Donghae the blood trailing from his lip as he ducked behind a tree, clutching a throwing knife in his hand. A few feet away, he spotted a head of blond hair poking out of a bush, the color just blending in with the fallen leaves scattered around the forest floor. Flattening himself onto his stomach, he crawled towards his companion, rolling the last few feet to dodge an arrow that came whizzing at his head. He reached out and tugged on the edge of his friend’s tunic. ​

Eunhyuk whirled around instantly, cutlass poised to stab out his attacker’s throat. He relaxed when he saw Donghae, lowering the weapon slightly. Even as he spoke, his eyes constantly darted around, searching for the bandits that had ambushed them out of the blue. ​

"Have you seen the others?” ​

Donghae shook his head. “Not since we scattered. And we’ve got to move. They know we’re hiding here.” ​

Eunhyuk groaned, then raised his blade to deflect another arrow. “I hate running. You’ve gotten careless,” he remarked casually as they both jumped up and began sprinting away from their hiding place. “You’re not as good as you used to be at sneaking around.” ​

“Yeah? Well, I’d like to see you do better, Sea-legs,” Donghae retorted as they jumped apart to avoid a volley of weapons, before ducking around a tree and crouching behind its thick trunk to catch their breath.

​“These guys don’t give up, do they?” Eunhyuk muttered. ​

"Not if they know what our bounties are worth,” Donghae replied. He peeked around the tree and pulled back just as quickly to avoid being decapitated by a flying axe. “I get the feeling that most of them are coming after us.” ​

“How many?” ​

"More than I’d like.” A too familiar smirk began crossing Eunhyuk’s face as he the ornate handle of his cutlass and Donghae groaned. “Oh, no. You’re not…” ​

"You know I really hate running.” The blond grinned widely as he leaned around the tree and flung the weapon towards the advancing mob.   ​

"The next person who throws a mug in my direction will get a broomstick across the face!” Amaya hollered, her hands on her hips. ​

Standing at five-foot four, the nineteen-year-old was hardly an intimidating sight, but still, the tavern quieted down as the patrons put away their weapons and broke up into their previous groups. ​

Setsuko, Amaya’s closest friend and most frequent non-drinking customer, shook her head in disbelief. “I still don’t know how you do that,” she said, laughing slightly. She glanced over at the two tables that had nearly started a fight. Some of the men were still shooting glares at each other, patting their weapons threateningly, but none of them looked inclined to make a move anymore. ​

Amaya shrugged, tossing a stray strand of dark hair over her shoulder as she went back to wiping down the countertop. “I’ve been working here since before I lost the last of my baby teeth. Trust me, I’ve broken up more fights than any of those men have broken bones.” She picked up a glass and pulled a clean cloth from her pocket, polishing it carefully. ​

Setsuko smiled, before growing sober. “How is your mother? And how are the twins?” ​

Amaya shook her head. “I don’t know. Still the same, I guess.”

"Has she seen the doctor?” ​

Another shake. “We can’t afford it. At least, not yet.” ​

"Is that why you stayed so late last night?” asked Setsuko. Amaya didn’t answer and her friend sighed, shifting to rest both elbows on the countertop. “Look, if you ever need money-” ​

"I’m not asking you for money,” Amaya said firmly. ​

Setsuko nodded in understanding and pulled out a parcel from the pocket of her dress. “My mother got this from the apothecary when my aunt had difficulty with her last child. Maybe they would help your mother, too?” ​

Amaya reached for the package, then drew back and shook her head. “No. Thank you Setsuko, but we don’t need it.”

​Setsuko sighed, pushing the parcel a little closer. “Amaya-” ​

"Oi, Amaya!” hollered a voice from one of the tables. “Another round of beers for us all!” ​

"Coming right up!” she called back. Smiling apologetically at her friend, she murmured, “It looks like a busy night again. I’ll see you tomorrow at church, then?” Setsuko nodded and squeezed Amaya’s hand before walking out of the tavern, leaving the package on the counter. Amaya stared at it for a moment before pocketing it and reaching under the counter for beer. 

Saturday nights were the most hectic at Drunken Angel Tavern. With Sunday being the holy day, most of the townspeople liked to begin their day of rest early, with a long night of drinking. Drunken Angel was the only place for such people to gather. The owner, Amaya’s father, had been drafted into the army when she was thirteen and spent all his time away from home, returning for just two weeks every year and forcing Amaya ran the tavern in his place. Every day she’d reminded herself that when his ten-year draft was over, everything would return to normal. ​

That was until six months ago, when he’d been killed in a skirmish. She’d barely heard the news before the old geezers running the town, the same ones who frequented the tavern for booze and relaxation, descended upon the business like vultures to a carcass. ​

"A woman is not allowed to own property,” one had sniffed. “And furthermore, she is not allowed to own business of any sort.” ​

She thumped the bottle of alcohol firmly onto the countertop, willing herself to forget the reason she had been finally allowed to keep the tavern. Pouring the amber liquid into several mugs, she balanced it all carefully on a tray and headed out into the crowd of customers. ​

After a couple, “Excuse me”s and “Pardon me”s and even one “Put the dagger away, sir. I don’t want to lose an eye,” Amaya gave up on being polite and just shouted, “Out of the way, gentlemen!” as she shoved her way past dice and card games. ​

Reaching her destination table, she began passing around the drinks. As she did, she half-heartedly listened in on the conversations, although her ears perked up upon hearing the word “sorceress.” ​

"Haven’t you heard? The woman’s beside herself with anger. Apparently, there’s a rebellion brewing nearby,” one man said. ​

Another grunted. “Crazy bastards. Anyone who dares lift a finger against her is asking for it.” ​

“Well, if they’re really stirring up some trouble, that’ll be mighty amusing to watch,” said a third. “It’s shameful that we’re all so cowed by a little girl.” ​

"Hush, mate,” snapped the first man. “That kind of talk will get you to nowhere but hell.” ​

Just then, the little bell over the tavern door jingled and Amaya quickly set the drinks down before heading back to the bar. Her heart leapt to when she saw who her customer was and she felt the blood drain out of her face. She willed herself to smile.

​“Hello, Mr. Yasujiro,” she gulped. ​

"Hello, sweetheart,” the man smirked, plopping himself down at the bar. “Ale, as usual.” ​

"Yes, sir,” she replied. “Of course.” She was careful to keep the disgust off her face as she turned away. ​Yasujiro. A wealthy man of influence, practically nobility, the way the townspeople treated him. And of course, he was the only reason Amaya’s family had been allowed to keep the tavern. Unwillingly, she found herself thinking back to that awful day… ​

“Please…” she managed to grit out, lowering her head. She could almost feel the town elders perk up in smug satisfaction as she slowly dropped to her knees. She could feel the buzz of the other villagers, but she tried to tune them out as she bowed her forehead to the ground. ​

"What’s going on here?” a voice asked. Amaya didn’t dare look up, but she had a good idea of who it was, judging by the way the crowd parted as the smart click of a pair of boots drew near.

​“Mr. Yasujiro!” ​

"Who is this girl?” Yasujiro demanded. ​Amaya sat up and lifted her head slightly, meeting his eyes, before quickly staring back down at her lap. He was dressed in a wine-colored suit and carried an expensive walking stick with a gold head shaped like a dog. It was his eyes, though, that terrified Amaya the most. Calculating…almost hungry. She shuddered and wished she could hide from the look he was giving her. It was the look of a man who always got what he wanted.

​“Mr. Yasujiro, this is Amaya, the girl who ran Drunken Angel Tavern in her father’s place,” one of the elders explained hastily. “However, we received word just now that her father has passed away and as town laws clearly state, no female is allowed to own a business. She is disgracing herself and her family by making a scene. Her father should have taught her to know her place.” ​

The jibe at her father, instead of making her shrink further down, caused her to lift her chin up defiantly. “If I recall correctly,” she snapped, “it states in the town laws that a widow is allowed to inherit her deceased husband’s property. Therefore, this tavern belongs to my mother.” ​

The elders all frowned deeply at her tone. “You impudent little-” ​

"The girl is correct,” Yasujiro interrupted. The elders instantly bowed to him, but Amaya noticed that his eyes never left her face. “Amaya, was it?” ​

"Yes, sir.” ​

"How many months has it been for your mother?” he asked. ​

"For what, sir?” she asked, frowning in confusion. ​

"Her pregnancy.” ​She blushed at such a personal question, angrily wondering why it was any of his business. “I don’t know.” ​

He nodded thoughtfully. “It’s honorable that you should be so concerned for your family and of course, it is only right for you to continue working in your family’s business. However, if it is a steady source of income you’re looking for, consider working for me after your mother is no longer indisposed. I am always in need of servants.” ​

Amaya’s blood ran cold. She only knew too well what happened to the female servants of rich men. And after helping her keep the tavern, he knew she couldn’t refuse. But to make the proposal in public, with the entire town present to witness her shame…

​Tears stung her eyes as her head drooped again. “Yes, sir,” she mumbled. ​

“Such a pity what this town has come to,” she heard a woman mumbled as they all watched Yasujiro walk away. “To make such a horrid proposition on a day of mourning.”

​“What are you thinking about, girl?” A hand cupped under her chin, tilting her face up and she recoiled, jerking back quickly. ​

Noticing the frown forming on his face, she quickly mumbled, “I’m worried about my mother and the twins.”

​“Ah.” He let his arm rest on the table he was seated at. “How are they doing?”

​“Not very well,” she said honestly. “The twins won’t stop crying and my mother has her hands full with them. She was really weak after they were born and the midwife told her not to get out of bed.” Her eyes narrowed slightly as she remembered how pale her mother had been this morning, just lying there, trying to hush the newborns.

​“Your concern for your family is touching,” Yasujiro said, snapping her back to reality. She attempted a smile. “Perhaps I should speak with your mother soon. When she gets better?” ​

"It might not be for a few months,” Amaya said quickly. ​

He frowned slightly at that and she wondered if she had been a bit too hasty. “That’s fine,” he said after a while. “I am a patient man. I can wait. Why don’t you sit and keep me company?” ​

"Uh…” Amaya cast a glance over her shoulder. As if on cue, another table started hollering for beer. “I’m sorry, sir, but I have my patrons to attend to.” She bowed slightly and hurried off to attend to the other customers. ​

She never looked over at his table again until he left, leaving his payment behind on the table. She didn’t want to. She knew what she’d see; his calculating eyes following her every step. ​

She stopped at his table to collect the money and froze when she realized he’d paid twice as much as necessary. It was just another way of telling her that he already considered her his property.  

Donghae reached into his coat for another knife, but came up empty-handed. “I’m out of throwing knives,” he announced. “I can’t hold them off any more.” ​

"And they’re getting closer,” Eunhyuk added cheerfully as he snatched his cutlass out of air and threw it again. ​

Donghae drew his long dagger, irritated that it had come down to melee fighting. Ten against two weren’t good odds for close combat, especially not when Eunhyuk was awful at this kind of fighting. Why wasn’t the blond bothered? He looked downright thrilled to be so close to death. ​

Several arrows whizzed over their heads, spearing the throats of the approaching bandits, who collapsed immediately. Donghae whirled around and grinned at the pointy-eared figure crouching in a tree behind them. “Nice shot, Ryeowook.” ​

“Thanks,” the elf replied, reloading his bow and closing one eye as he raised his weapon. He fired another volley as Donghae leapt forward and mercilessly cut down the remaining bandits. ​

"Are there any more?” he asked as he stooped over the cooling bodies to collect his spent throwing knives. ​

Ryeowook shook his head. “I-I don’t th-think so.” He scrambled down from the tree, pressing a hand to his stomach. ​

"If you’re going to puke, do it over there,” Eunhyuk ordered, pointing at a clump of bushes.

​The elf blushed. “I’m not going to be sick!” he whined, though the color of his face said otherwise.

​“Best archer we have and he can’t even stand a little blood,” the blond grumbled.

​Ryeowook pouted and opened his mouth to protest again, but Donghae cut him off. “Shut up, you two. It’s time to regroup.”  ​

It was past midnight by the time Amaya finally stumbled home. Pushing open the door, she was surprised to see a candle lit in the windowsill. ​

There was a soft rustle of sheets and a sleepy voice mumbled, “Who’s there?” ​

“Mother? It’s just me,” she said as she quickly shut the door and took off her ragged apron. “Why did you leave the candle burning? It could have set something on fire.” ​

“You work so late, Amaya,” her mother said, careful not to wake the twins sleeping beside her as she got up. “I wanted to make sure you got home safely.” ​

"The tavern’s only a few houses away,” Amaya replied more harshly than she intended to, carefully stepping over a couple sleeping bodies as she headed towards the candle. She was about to blow it out, when her mother’s hand gently squeezed her shoulder. She nearly groaned in exasperation. “Mother, you shouldn’t be out of bed.” ​

Noriko’s warm dark brown eyes smiled gently at her. Brown eyes…a trait that only she and her mother shared. Her siblings all had her father’s soft blue ones. “You should take the bed tonight, child. You need to sleep well.” ​

"I sleep fine,” Amaya lied. Usually, she and her mother slept on the floor, while the younger children shared the bed. With the birth of the twins, however, their mother had been so ill that she and the twins were given the bed, while the other three joined Amaya on her mat on the floor. It was crowded and uncomfortable, but Amaya wouldn’t have minded except for the fact that her sister liked to use her shoulder as a pillow and one of her brothers liked to kick in his sleep. ​

"Take the bed,” her mother said again and before Amaya could protest, her mother had gently pushed her towards it. She slid under the covers beside the twins and Noriko smoothed her hair out of her face. “My poor child,” she murmured softly as she traced the worry lines on Amaya’s forehead. “You’re too young to have these wrinkles.” ​

The feeling of her mother her hair made Amaya smile in satisfaction. This was how things used to be before her life was turned upside down, with her mother’s warmth and her father’s strong presence lulling her into a secure and dreamless sleep. If only she could go back…

​“Did Yasujiro stop by the tavern?” Noriko asked. Amaya nodded reluctantly. She hadn’t told her mother about the man’s horrible suggestion, but gossip travelled quickly. Her mother frowned. “I’ll tell him to stay away from you. I won’t have him thinking he can claim my daughter.” ​

Amaya gave an ironic little laugh as her mother continued to her hair. Was her mother trying to protect her? It was almost funny. Amaya had been the one protecting her mother when she slumped into depression after her father’s departure. She’d protected them from starvation, her burden increasing with each sibling that was born, and her mother had never seemed to notice her exhaustion and pain. Protect her? It was years too late for that. She was the adult now, and her mother was just another mouth for her to feed. ​

Caught up in a wave of nostalgia, she blurted out, “Tell me a story. Please.” Tonight, just tonight, she could perhaps afford to be a child again. ​

Noriko smiled as she gazed down at her oldest daughter, and nodded. “Of course.” Telling bedtime stories was something mother and daughter had shared, before the birth of the others. Noriko had encouraged Amaya to share the stories with her siblings, but Amaya never had. They belonged to her, the cursed princes, the devilish witches, the sly thieves and bandits. It was the only thing she had left with her mother that her siblings hadn’t taken from her. ​

As usual, Noriko turned to gaze out the window at the moon, before she turned back to Amaya and began her story. “When I was younger, before I met your father, our country was ruled by a wealthy king. He was very kind to his people, though many believe that he was a bit foolish. He often forgot that his duty was to work for his kingdom, and so let his feelings overpower him. ​

"The king fell in love with a young noblewoman, and soon she became his queen. Their wedding was a magnificent event, with all who were able to reach the royal palace attending, bearing gifts of flowers and fruits and animals.” ​

"Did you go?” Amaya asked with a half-smile. It was another tradition they shared, with Amaya poking at her mother’s stories to see if she would admit they were fabricated. So far, her mother never had.

​Her mother shook her head. “No, but my older brother was able to. He described the event to me in great detail, and it was like I had been there myself.” ​

"Older brother?” First Amaya had ever heard of him. ​

“He died a long time ago,” her mother replied. “Ah, but that’s not part of the story. The young bride wore a dress of white silk, so soft and shimmery that it looked as if it were made of water, while the groom dressed in his finest suit. ​

"The priest was just about to begin the ceremony, when there was a huge swirl of black wind. When the wind finally settled down, a witch stood there, bearing a long wand in her hand. She had long flowing blond hair, and a gentle smile, but eyes that could freeze even the warmest of fires. ​

"‘A fine day to be celebrating such an occasion,’ she declared, in a deceptively sweet voice. ‘Unfortunately, this marriage will not end well. With the birth of your second daughter, the lovely bride will die, unless you promise to hand over your oldest daughter to me.’ ​

"The king and queen were horrified, of course, and said no. The witch merely smiled. ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘but you shall regret your decision’.” With that, there was a clap of thunder and she vanished in a flash of lightning.” ​

"But lightning always comes before thunder,” Amaya mumbled, feeling her eyelids grow heavy. ​

Her mother laughed. “Magic, of course.” Amaya just snorted in disbelief. “And so a few years passed, and the queen gave birth to a healthy young girl. While the royal couple was happy, they were also worried, remembering the words spoken by the witch. Careful pains were taken to ensure that no more children would be conceived until the witch was dead. The king sent out thousands of his best soldiers to hunt down the witch. ​

"Finally, the king received word that the witch had been killed. He and his wife rejoiced, believing that all their worries were over. However, it was a lie, planted by the witch herself, to lower the couple’s guard. The king did not ask for proof. He believed the story because he had heard what he wanted to hear and that was his fatal mistake. ​

"Within a year, a second daughter was born, and the young queen died due to the difficult childbirth. Two messengers arrived at the same time to the king, who was away on a military campaign. One bore the news of the birth of his daughter; the other told him of the death of his wife. ​

“Then there was a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning, and again, the witch stood before him. ‘I warned you,’ she said calmly, with a cruel smile. ‘I warned you that she would die unless you gave me your first daughter. However, I do have a heart, and now I’m warning you again: both girls will die unless you give your eldest daughter to me. I shall give you a year to think it over,’ she told him, before disappearing again."

​“What would he need to think about?” Amaya asked quietly, barely conscious, but still hanging onto every word. It was amazing, the effect her mother’s stories had on her. They would lull her to sleep, but leave her awake just long enough to hear the ending. “If he gives his eldest daughter away, both girls get to live.” ​

There was a long silence and the hand stopped her hair. “Amaya,” her mother finally said. “You will understand one day, when you have children of your own.” Amaya said nothing and the story continued. ​

"The king spent a year with his daughters, doting on them and showering them with expensive presents. When the year ended, the witch returned to hear his decision. He gave his eldest daughter one last hug, before taking her hand and leading her to the witch. No one who was present in the royal court that day could forget the little girl’s sobs and pleads as she begged her father not to let her go. However, he had turned his back on her, and walked away. The last thing he saw of her was her wide, terrified eyes, as she was whisked away on a dark cloud with the witch holding her hand. That is when the dark days of our country truly began.” ​

"What about the younger daughter?” Amaya asked after a pause. ​

Her mother didn’t answer for a long time. Finally, she said, “I think that’s enough for tonight, don’t you?” ​

There was a rustle as she rose and approached the window. Amaya heard her blow out the candle before her vision turned dark through her eyelids and she dropped off to sleep.