A/N: Hello, readers! Welcome to the tale of a Scottish princess Liadain, her life thrown into upheaval by the celebration of her thirteenth birthday. She is brought back to the palace from a lonely childhood on the Isle of Iona to be taught to rule by her Queen's Regent and guardian. As usual, visions are seldom what they seem…

Chapter Soundtrack:

Across the Universe of Time, Hayley Westenra

Chapter 1: The Girl Who No One Has Seen

"She was conceived after her mother swallowed

a star that had fallen into her mouth while sleeping,

and her beauty burned brighter than the heavens themselves."

– excerpt from the Celtic tale of Liadain

Princess Liadain sat in the horse litter cross-legged, tucking her heavy skirts primly around her. Even though the winds outside blew bitterly into the curtained hack, a bead of sweat rolled down her neck and between her shoulders. The two bouts of boat travel between the Isle of Iona and Fionnphort on the Isle of Mull, and then from Fionnphort and the capitol city of Òban had made her ill at ease. She couldn't remember a time that she didn't live in the Abbey at Iona with the Abbess.

It was a terribly lonely childhood – she'd been surrounded by the extremely devout Christian monks and nuns, most of whom had taken vows of silence. It made it difficult to learn to speak and write her own language, but she had eventually managed. Once she'd learned that, Liadain quickly mastered the Holy language. Whenever she would write to her Queen's Regent, he would write back in the same. Once, the abbess had burnt the letter, telling Liadain that the pride shown in the letter for her advancement was sinful. It was times like those that made Liadain resentful of her situation in this life.

Her mother Queen Aurora had found herself pregnant without having been married thirteen years and seven months ago. Strong of character and more beautiful than a highland rose, the Queen was nevertheless weakened by the princess's difficult birth. She died only days after Liadain was born, refusing even to name the girl child's sire to her Confessor to absolve herself before passing.

For the blameless sin of her birth, Liadain had been shut away on Iona ever since. Being born much earlier than normal babies had made the Princess weak in constitution. Her legs were long and spindly, and her arms just as gawky. Some days, she felt like a weak filly dressed up to appear like a strong and bonny lass.

Though she was unusually tall and prone to spells of faintness, Liadain's face was apparently "classically beautiful." At least, that's what she'd been told. The nursemaid that had gone to Iona with her would often brush the Princess's dark golden hair and tell her how it shone like bronze, or that her eyes were like the peridot gems that men would sometimes come across in the high mountain passes. Unfortunately, when the woman had died from consumption when she was but a wee lass, no one had been sent to replace her.

"I've ne'er seen a child sit so very still and quiet, nor look so very old," sneered the noblewoman sent to fetch her that sat on the other side of the litter. Muireann was old, and had a foul soul.

Liadain could sense these attributes in people, and had ever since she could remember. Wincing at the jab, her back pressed even harder against her side of the litter. She couldn't get far enough away from the woman who seemed to analyze her every breath.

Muireann cocked her head slightly when she realized that Liadain wasn't replying. "You're a strange child, you are," the elderly redhead declared. Musing her lips, she continued the diatribe. "Your lips are too full, and your cheeks too high. The Lord got all sixes and sevens when He made you. It's like He couldn't decide who you should look like since your mother wouldn't tell," the cruel noblewoman laughed drily. "Mayhaps you'll grow into them."

In response, Liadain bit at her lips and pressed them together in a scowl. Closing her eyes, she rested her face in her palms and attempted not to cry.

"Well, don't you care to know about your new home then?" came another pricking question from the insufferable Lady who was attempting to begin a conversation in all the wrong ways.

Her temper finally getting the best of her, Liadain straightened and spoke. "It doesn't matter if I care or not. There I go, according to the cares of everyone else but me," she seethed.

Muireann had the good sense to look away from the Princess's glare. "Well, you're right. I doubt your Queen's Regent cares much for you, either," she informed snidely.

Liadain had no idea if he did – the Abbess had forbidden her to write directly to her Regent after the incident with the sin of Pride. It was just after dusk, and the rising moon cast a pall on the highlands as they rode on. As she peeked out the curtained door, the Princess was not surprised to see nary a citizen out to greet her. She was, after all, quite the shame. Perhaps nobody had even bothered to tell the peasantry that their Queen-to-be was returning to reside at the castle again.

As the litter crested a ridge, there was an inky blackness toward the horizon. Squinting her eyes, Liadain could tell that it was a wall of thorns – oddly placed and without the beauty of a leaf or a rose. Beyond it, the night seemed darker still, like there was something keeping out the light. "Are the highlands always so ugly?" she muttered to herself.

Chortling, Muireann shook her head as if Liadain were daft. "That's the Moors. O'course it's ugly. Nothing grows there now but scrubby brush and stubborn Rowan trees. 'Twas once beautiful, overflowing with the Fair Folk. One in particular used to be its Protector, Maleficent." Pausing for effect, the woman clawed her hands in a monstrous gesture. "She was a fairy, y'see? A sorrowful and bitter character if ever there was one. Nobody has seen her since much a 'fore the Queen of the Two Kingdoms died. Where once there was light now lives darkness, and the wall of thorns rises once more. Ah well," she waved her now unfurled hands as if it were no matter.

Curious, Liadain turned around to stare out the back window of the litter at the Wall. "The Queen of the Two Kingdoms, you say? Was that my mother?" she asked softly.

Her voice softened considerably in respect for the girl's tragic circumstances, the noblewoman continued her education of the Princess. "Aye. Your mother was a sweet, pretty thing. The Fair Folk love sweet, pretty things… so it's no wonder they loved your mother as their Queen. She often sent Maleficent to negotiate with unruly enemies that sought to invade the kingdom's borders. The Protector would have flown the world o'er to please Queen Aurora, and did. When she returned after a long trip to find her Queen dead, it made Maleficent more sour than ever."

"I know she was quite the acrimonious character," Liadain conversed. She'd heard tales of the dark fairy's curse on her mother when she was just a baby.

Realizing that she was granting the Princess a touch of kindness, Muireann's voice turned cold once more. "Well, never mind that. Look out your window once more – the far lights atop the hill? That'll be the castle." She settled herself, studiously ignoring Liadain's presence once more.

The only reason the Queen's bastard had been allowed back from Iona was because the Regent's wife had died suddenly – leaving Phillip of Ulstead with no children, and no wife. The farmers and peasants had long whispered about a curse on the woman's womb for the ill treatment of their Princess.

Upon entering the dark and echoing palace reception room, the Princess and her minder were surprised to find not Phillip, but his brother Tristan, the Exchequer. The tall and imposing man stood three stairs down from the throne dais, with arms folded stiffly behind his back.

"Ah, it's about time Lady Muireann. We were beginning to be worried. Please escort the Princess to her chambers, as His Highness Prince Phillip does not wish to see her," Tristan informed the woman. He did not turn his attention to Liadain, nor address her directly.

"Very good sir," Muireann curtsied and motioned for the young woman to follow behind her.

At the end of many twists and turns of a long hallway off the great hall, they found themselves outside a heavy wooden door. As Liadain entered the room carefully, the noblewoman slammed the door shut with a sternly worded goodnight. The princess spun around to tug on the door handle, only to hear it being locked from the outside.

She'd never been locked up anywhere before – only sent away. The feeling of being held somewhat of a prisoner made her more uneasy than the boats or the litter combined, and Liadain pounded harshly against the door. "Eh! What if I need the privy during the night?" she called. There was no answer.

Groaning, Liadain made her way around the room, cataloguing her surroundings. Satisfied that this was indeed a bedchamber and not a prison cell by the sumptuous linens and fine furniture, it only served to confuse her more regarding the Lady's actions earlier. Were they so afraid that she would run away?

The thought was humorous to her, especially as she felt her knees weakening from the long litter-ride and subsequent walk to her room. Leaning back to sit on the dressing table's stool, the princess looked in the mirror and cursed her body's feebleness. Poking at her cheeks in frustration and biting her lips once again, she grumbled, "Happy thirteenth birthday Lia, indeed."

Taming her hair quickly with the boar's bristle brush that had lain atop the table, she slid out of her black cotehardie overdress and folded it neatly at the end of the bed, not bothering to change out of her embroidered shift. Peeling back the heavy duvet, Liadain finally climbed in and rested her head on the pillows.

While saying her prayers, she fumbled with the talisman sent with her to Iona that hung around her neck – apparently the last of her mother's possessions that weren't absorbed back into the palace coffers. Lia's fingers brushed the short brown feather threaded onto the leather and amber beaded necklace and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Liadain walked purposefully in sparkling green grasses, careful not to trample the lovely blooms of many colors that lined her path. This was her favorite dream, and the princess knew it well.

She could feel her mother just out of her reach, the woman's gentle laughter echoing off the tall trees and cliffs. A waterfall cascaded into a lake just beyond the bend, and there would be an island in the middle.

As her dream-self made the pass around the vantage point, Liadain smiled triumphantly. There, standing on the lake's island reachable by stepping-stones was a glowing, golden woman. Her hair was the same color as her dress, and all manner of strange creature danced and chattered around her.

"Come to me, Lia," she would say as always, holding her arms forward as if to embrace the girl who was still at least an eighth of a kilometer away on the hill. Still, it sounded like her mother was speaking through the muggy, thick air of a hot summer's day rather than simply being far away.

Liadain walked forward, inwardly wishing that this juncture of the dream would change, but it never did. The closer she would get to the lake; the faster her mother began to fade. The radiant Queen's edges would shimmer as though she were a mirage, and then altogether disappear in a fog. "Come, my sweet child…" the voice would command as it became disembodied.

Instead of waking as she usually did, Liadain kept walking towards the lake. As she did so, her feet began to get lighter and lighter. By the time she had reached the water's edge, the Princess felt like she was floating. A queer sensation shivered through Liadain's chest, and then the feeling turned to an awful burning inside her very heart to rush down her arms and legs. The princess began to cry for her mother, plaintive weeping filling the air. "Oh, but it hurts! Make it stop!"

Gasping for air, Liadain sat up in bed. Tears streamed down her face, and she wiped them away quickly while looking out the window. It was still dark outside, the stars bright in the night sky.

Without warning, a mournful, lamenting wail echoed the hallways. The hair on the back of her neck rose, and Lia began to shiver. Was the palace haunted?

Reaching a trembling hand inside her shift to drag her talisman back out, she pointed the ragged feather in the direction she thought the crying had come from. The sobbing only repeated itself, sounding even closer and louder this time. Distressed, Liadain crossed herself and began to pray.

When the howling did not cease even in the name of the Lord, the young woman threw herself back under the blankets and covered her head with a pillow. "Go! Go away, spirit!" she ordered, her teeth chattering.

Waking after a very frightening evening, Liadain felt just as exhausted as before. Even so, she quickly dressed in what some of the handmaids brought her and allowed them to fix her hair. She was surprised when they walked her through an unlocked door down to a private dining room where the Exchequer sat with whom she assumed was Prince Phillip.

When she walked into the room, her guardian rose and gave her a small bow. He refused to look up from his plate however, and seemed to wilt as he sat back down.

Returning the gesture with her own curtsey, Liadain sat where the staff bid her. Luckily, it was to Prince Phillip's right. It would make for easy conversation. She turned slowly towards who she assumed was her Regent, who was currently wiping his pallid face with a napkin. Leaning forward, Lia spoke softly. "Are you… Are you Prince Phillip of Ulstead, my guardian?"

The man nodded a brown-bearded face, his blue eyes looking anywhere but into hers. "I am," he confirmed, before stabbing at a sausage with his eating knife. After chewing it thoroughly and swallowing, he addressed her once more while studiously examining the tabletop. "And you are Liadain, Princess of this kingdom. I am sorry to say that I could not prepare a better welcome for you yesterday evening. You are," he paused, taking a deep breath before going on, "I hear that you are as beautiful as the watchers on Iona told me, but you sound quite tired. Did you not sleep well?"

Liadain blushed under her guardian's avoidance of her countenance. "I beg your pardon, sir. I didn't sleep well at all. Someone kept crying outside in the halls all night long. Is the palace rife with ghosts? Is my mother a ghost?"

Tristan leaned in, interjecting. "Why, of course not! How preposterous… Ghosts and spirits in this castle?" he sputtered a laugh.

Phillip held a hand up to his brother in a request for silence. "People are only ghosts when the living seek to hold onto them, my Lady. Was it a woman's voice you heard?" he asked softly, while nodding his chin towards a sergeant at arms by the dining room's door. At the nod, the man was off to some duty, with bells on.

"Yes, 'twas a woman," Lia responded, her heart thudding in foreboding. Had Prince Phillip heard the howling, too?

Painfully slow, the Prince turned his blue eyes to stare at Liadain's directly. He gave a startle and gasped lightly under his breath. "Your eyes…"

The Princess shrunk back in her chair from the man's tortured expression. "My eyes, sir?" she questioned back. What was it with the people of the palace being offended by the very sight of her?

"They're green," the Prince wheezed, rising quickly to back away from the table. "Aurora's eyes were blue. Your eyes were blue when you were a baby," he stammered nervously.

Ignoring the urge to roll her eyes, Liadain sniffed and looked away. "Aren't all babies' eyes blue when they're born, my Lord?"

Prince Phillip laughed mirthlessly and wiped at his face with a hand. "Aye, I suppose." Snapping his fingers towards a page, he began to bark out orders suddenly. "Go and fetch my luggage. I am off on procession… Now, man. Now!"

The page scuttled off quickly at the Prince's shouting. Standing up, Liadain was alarmed by the man's unpredictable behavior. "My Lord, I am sorry if my face affronts you. But please… I've only just met you! Won't you take me with?" The idea of being left alone with the Exchequer was anything but pleasant.

"I think the road is not a place for a Lady such as you, Princess," Phillip snapped, walking out of the dining room without so much as a goodbye.

After the morning's debacle, Liadain returned to her bedchamber to worry. Sitting by the fireplace, she tried to focus on the book in her hands, but found it terribly hard to calm herself. It was nearly impossible to read more than a few words at a time before becoming distracted by her thoughts once more.

A servant let herself in a side door hidden beneath a tapestry before curtseying to the Princess. The young woman plunked a pair of riding boots near the Princess's feet and brushed at a riding habit slung over one arm while waiting to be noticed.

Turning her eyes from the page, Liadain looked at the woman and motioned for the maid to introduce herself.

The brunette woman grinned madly and moved her hands excitedly for the Princess to rise. "I'm Maire, your personal handmaid. Now Princess, you must'nt stay inside all day. There's so much of the countryside to explore!"

The insinuation of a maid telling her what to do rankled the Princess, and she snorted indelicately. "No, thank you. Besides, in case you can't tell – my legs aren't very good for adventuring."

The maid ignored the girl's insult to her intelligence and walked over to the window, pointing outside while she spoke. "If I'd been given a fine white horse by my guardian to ride all over, you know I'd be outside. Unfortunately, I have much work to do here. Muireann was going on this morning at the noble's breakfast how you were curious about the Moors! Have you lost your interest so soon?"

"No!" Lia bit back at the over talkative maid. Standing up despite herself, she moved towards the woman and snatched at the clothing.

Maire raised her eyebrows, pleased that she'd elicited such a reaction. Smiling, she tugged back at the riding habit and spun her hand in a silent request for the Princess to allow her assistance in dressing. Liadain stiffened at the invitation, and the servant huffed good-naturedly. "Don' be shy now, milady. I'll be dressin' you from now on; you might as well get used to the idea."

As Liadain acquiesced begrudgingly, the woman set about her work. As she pinned an underskirt onto the princess, Maire spoke in a hush. "They say the Moors are a place that once you enter, there you stay. If I weren't so afraid, I'd go with you. But tales of talking birds and fairies keep me scared away."

Liadain held the front of the dress closed and giggled as Maire began to lace it shut. "Talking birds, truly?" Her tone was disbelieving.

"Mmhmm," intoned the maid mischievously. "Not that I 'twas supposed to say nothin' 'bout it. The Moors are full of mysteries, but no one can get past the Wall of thorns. Mayhaps you can find a way in."

Laughing full on now, the princess stood back to allow Maire to slip the riding boots onto her shaky legs while grasping at the back of a chair for stability. "You're mad, woman. Birds don't talk – and besides, if no one else can find their way into the Moors, why should I?"

Maire rose back up from her duties and brushed her hands together. "Why, milady… You're the daughter of the Queen of the Moors! Who else would the land welcome but you?" At no quick retort from her charge, she pushed the young princess gently towards the door. "I trust you can find your way to the stables yourself? I've much to do in here while you're outside."

Liadain rode her friendly white mare, ambling pleasantly through the hillocks of the highlands. It took a good half-hour to reach her destination, and she cut through a farm closest to the Wall of thorns. She pulled the horse to a stop a few yards from the sharp edged barrier and dismounted clumsily while tying the steed to a nearby tree.

Pulling her cloak's hood up, she shivered. It was so very cold, the stretch between autumn and winter causing frost to coat the dead leaves on the field and over the thorns themselves.

She tilted her head back and shielded her eyes to look upon the Wall, amazed at its height and breadth. How could anyone hope to get through?

The princess shook her dark blonde curls in disappointment. Still, something niggled at the back of her mind – a whisper of a memory. 'Touch it. Touch it, I say,' the ethereal voice commanded.

Nervously, Liadain reached forward to grasp at the base of a thorn. It lurched forward towards her, and she yelped in surprise and removed her hand. The motion of the thorn had thrown her off balance, and she tripped and fell to the hard ground with a cry of pain.

Where she'd touched the Wall, it grew thicker before her very eyes. Well, if that wasn't a clue, Liadain didn't know what was. The Wall didn't want her inside.