Bright of the Moon - Miranda Honfleur Page 0,1

swaying, horns gleaming, beneath a warm sun…

Warm… and she was like them, her heart filled with quiet, the kind of peace lost on other worlds, except this one… This one was the dream. Where no one fought, no one killed. Where her family’s armies had never killed her only love, Cosimo. Where she’d never been too blind to see it coming. Where battles were waged with words, and victories were bloodless. Where unicorns ventured out of their isolation and met the world with warmth and quiet hearts.

Their dream. Her dream.

If only she could become—

A pinprick heated her forehead. She blinked at deep eyes shrouded with long, dense lashes.

The unicorn stepped back, bowing his head, his gaze never leaving hers.

The tip of his horn was red.

Frowning, she blinked again. Red flowed down the twining horn, a swirl of bright ribbon against pearlescent white.

She raised her fingers to her forehead, and they came away red, too. Blood red.

All her research had said they were peaceful. They were, weren’t they? But then, what was this? An accident, maybe? It had to be…

And before her was no longer just the unicorn.

A herd of them. The herd stood in a meadow.

She swayed, and her weak knees buckled.

There had to be at least two dozen. How—?

The world blurred around her again. He had to be taking her somewhere. But where? She turned in place, spun, but everything only blurred more, more and more and more…

She misplaced a foot and fell, descending like a feather on summer air, gliding down to the forest floor, impossibly green and lively. She fell through piles of leaves and colorful flower petals, through visions of the sun soaring across the sky, and then the moon rising, violet eyes and green ones and blue, her gloves slipping off and flying away from her grasp, the satin petals against her skin and cool grass, the sun, the moon, the sun…

The blur sharpened, slowly, brushstrokes of color coming together into the shapes of chestnut trees and fresh spring leaves in the predawn light, and the magnificent unicorn peering down at her, all of it framed in the most beautiful palette of glowing prismatic hues.

How was it possible…? It was winter after all, wasn’t it…?

In this world, it is only a dream. You must make it come true, Arabella, a firm, soothing baritone said to her.

She tilted her head, but something tickled her nose. As she reached up to scratch it, a hoof rose beneath her.

Her arm wouldn’t cooperate—her arm—her arm…

Her heart racing, she looked down at herself. At her long, immaculate white legs. At her hooves.

At her hooves.

With a gasp, she backed up, shaking her head. It wasn’t possible. A human couldn’t turn into… There was no way. She couldn’t be—

But you are, the voice said.

Violet eyes. The voice—it was him.

Her legs continued to back up without her volition.

There’s nothing back there for you, the voice said gently.

Nothing back there? Her family was there: Mamma, Tarquin, Luciano… Were they all right? Had something happened to them? This wasn’t real. This wasn’t—

Arabella, come—

She ran.

Past the grove of chestnut trees and far into the range of the northern Sileni hills, Bella scrambled home, the cold air stinging her teary eyes. This wasn’t happening. It was some spell of the unicorn, some illusion, or… or she was still in that dream. It had to be. Merciful gods and empyreal Veil threads, it had to.

Once she was with her brothers and Mamma, it would all break. She’d be reminded of the real world, and rooted in it, whatever spell or dream this was, it would end. Unicorns in myths had dazzling powers of the mind. If she believed those tales—and considering she’d just seen a unicorn in the flesh—maybe a trick of the mind was all it was.

Just over the hill, the olive orchards stretched before the Belmonte castello and its city of Roccalano. She bolted among the thin young trees for the open gates of the city. The staccato of hooves against the cobblestone invaded her ears, beat further and deeper. No, it was a dream. The sound was unreal, just as it all had been.

The few citizens outside in the hour before dawn gasped and gaped, jumping out of her way, unlike their usual smiles and warm greetings. Every gape tore at the dream, challenged its fiber. Maybe it’s not a dream. She shook her head and ran faster toward the castello gates.

Shouts rang out among the guards, but she made it through and into the