Raven was sitting in a chair in front of a high mirror. Behind her, her mother, Duchess Sharon, was patiently brushing her long blond hair while singing a little lullaby. The Duchess was smiling, obviously happy to take care of her beautiful daughter.

Duchess Sharon loved her child as much as she could. But it was easier when she was her blond-haired blue-eyed self.

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After Charles' disappearance, the Duchess had felt awful for many weeks. She would eat scarcely, would cry for hours and sometimes she was sick in the morning, as she had been when expecting her little boy. People thought it was his death that made her so depressed. So their words of comfort meant nothing to her: he was not dead, he had been taken away by the evil wizard! Not that she could tell anyone.

She had a confidant who knew the truth though. She needed someone to understand her pain. Anyone. Her chambermaid was good enough. At least the young girl would not babble out for fear of being fired. Isolda had been hired when she was still a teen, for her parents, a couple of merchants, were both ill and they needed the money. The chambermaid had been cute as a button at that time, and that was the main reason for the Duchess to accept her help. If she was not exactly a daughter for Sharon, she could be considered as a niece at least. Sharon trusted her.

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The Duchess started feeling better when she became pregnant once again. And this time, it was her husband's child without any doubt. Nine months later, she gave birth to a little girl. Raven was breast-fed, and Sharon enjoyed that intimate moment with her. She had the Duchess' hair and eyes, and Marko's nose. She was a cute little thing, plump and rosy and always smiling.

Everything changed in her third year. After a loud noise – she would never know what it had been, or the culprit would have been beheaded a long time ago – that got even the Duchess jumping and that reverberated through the whole castle, the Lady saw her baby turning from white to blue, from blond curls to straight red hair. Raven's now yellow eyes were looking at her full of fear. Because Sharon had begun shrieking at the sight of the monster that was facing her from where her daughter had been.

Raven, afraid, turned back to her blond self automatically, but kept changing from one appearance to the other for several minutes after that, like she did not know which one was her real form anymore.

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Duchess Sharon had heard about those people, and had seen at least two of them. Those sorcerers with powers. It was said that they were magical from birth. Apparently she was the mother of one of those beings.

The thought helped her focus her mind, and she dealt with her daughter as best as she could.

"I am sorry for frightening you, my dear," she said to the little girl. "I was just surprised!"

Sharon's heart still beat fast with the fear she had experienced. She hugged Raven, her skin crawling when she felt scales under her palms, relieved when it changed to a smooth pink flesh.

When Raven was back with her nursemaid, Sharon finally had time to think about the situation.

She went outside and sat on a bench under an old Cornish elm that she loved. From there, she could look at the waves crashing against the rocks at the bottom of the cliff, the rumbling sound like an odd lullaby. A multitude of birds came and went, their complaining of the cold lost in the wind. It calmed her spirit.

She knew there was nothing to do against her daughter's power. But sorceresses were not allowed to become princesses. And they needed a princess. It was doubtful the Duchess could give birth to another heir – or she would lose her life, according to her midwife, and Duke Marko was rather hostile to the idea. Politics required them to at least have one child they could marry, to keep the estate in the family and perpetuate the name of Marko, Duke of Tintagel, and maybe win an ally in case of war – or make an ally out of an enemy, for Marko had lots of enemies. A magical being was useless to them, even with great powers. They would lose everything.

Duchess Sharon was sighing over her misfortune when a thought came to her mind: Raven's power was definitely physical, hence it would be hard to conceal it. But at the same time, the very nature of that power would help them doing exactly that. If the little girl could keep her blond appearance, no one would ever know that their daughter was a sorceress.

Finally getting over her initial shock of discovering the magical nature of her offspring, she decided to take matters into her own hands. She would train her little girl until she forgot her blue form.

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Duchess Sharon went back to Raven's room. She asked to be left alone with her daughter.

The baby girl was in the middle of her room, playing with her favorite doll. Sharon crouched next to her and stroked the woolen hair of the doll.

"I am sorry about my behavior earlier, Raven," she said, rather contrite.

As if to show her mother that she wanted to ignore her, the little girl suddenly took the likeness of her doll and stayed still and quiet. Sharon felt a pang in her heart.

She kissed the top of Raven's head and apologized once again. The baby girl decided it was enough and threw herself in her mother's arm as she changed back to her blond-haired self.

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Now, years later, Raven controlled her power perfectly. At eleven, she was able to look like anyone that she had seen more than once, and keep that form for days if she wanted to. And it took only a second for her to go from one appearance to another.

But sometimes, she still resented her mother for the way she had reacted to her gift, and later for the burden the Duchess had put on her shoulders. Because she knew now that her blue form was her real natural form – she never got tired while wearing it, when it was a great effort to maintain any other, even her blond hair appearance. But she had to keep it at all time. She was not allowed to show her blue self. Never. Even in the relative intimacy of her own bedroom. She was a prisoner in someone else's body.

"Do not move, my dear, I cannot brush your hair if you do," her mother said from behind her.

She was in a spiteful mood though. She replied: "You know you do not have to brush my hair, Mother, right? Look!" Her skin rippled all over her body, blue peeking through pink and red through blonde. When it stopped, she had perfectly brushed hair. "See?" she said to her mother with a smirk, looking at the Duchess' reflection in the mirror.

All colors had drained from Sharon's face and her hands were shaking – either with anger or with fear, Raven did not know. Without a word, the Duchess put the brush on the table and left the room.

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In front of her mirror, Raven took her blue appearance, winked at it, and laughed wickedly.

Raven was wandering in the long dim corridors of the castle. No place was forbidden for her, even when it was. Should she have the desire to visit the servants' area, she just had to take the appearance of one of the maids. Go play with the pages? The look of a teen boy would be perfect. Even her father's quarters were easy to enter at all time with the face of a knight or, once, of her own mother.

She was around her mother's bedroom when she heard the voice of Duchess Sharon.

"Isolda, is that you?" the Duchess shouted.

Hearing the name of her mother's personal chambermaid, Raven panicked and took Isolda's form a few seconds before Sharon came into view. Not waiting for an answer, she had peeked through the open door and was now looking at her daughter unknowingly.

The Duchess' face was running with tears and her hair was disheveled. She was tightly holding a handkerchief in her hand, that she used to dry her cheeks.

"Isolda, thank God. Please do come in, I need to talk to you."

Raven curtseyed hurriedly and followed her mother in her room. Sharon was already pacing around.

"How can I help you, my Lady?" Raven asked. She had to play the part. Her mother's wrath would be devastating if she was discovered.

"I was thinking about Charles once again."

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Raven knew the story of her brother. Sometimes she missed him, even though she never knew him. She was so lonely most of the time. She imagined what it would be like, to have an older sibling – although not by much. Maybe she could have confessed her fears and her joys to him, and he would hold her like no one ever did, soothing and comforting.

"I held him against my chest, Isolda. I fed him. For five days" Sharon said, crying her heart out.

Raven started. Her brother was supposed to be stillborn. How was it possible?

"What do you mean, my Lady?" She was too astonished to be more careful about her questions. Thankfully the Duchess was too desperate to realize Raven's mistake.

"I hate that wizard. Shaw stole my baby." Sharon walked to Raven and hugged her, wailing on her shoulder.

Bewildered, Raven could not react. Her mother very rarely held her like that. To know that she could embrace a mere chambermaid so easily hurt her more than she thought was possible.

She tentatively tapped on Sharon's back, a painful gesture of comfort when she wanted to cry out of frustration and anger.

"Knowing he was the son of King Xavier instead of my beloved husband does not even lower my pain, Isolda. Can you believe it?" the Duchess asked.

Raven was now beyond amazement. She may be only eleven, but she knew about love between a man and a woman – not the specifics but she got the general idea. You were not supposed to have children with a man that was not your husband. Did her mother commit a sin?

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During the next hour she learned the whole story: how King Xavier had managed to get her mother pregnant – she was not really responsible, but Raven still resented her, deep in her childish heart – and how Shaw came and took the baby.

When she finally left her mother, calmed and about to fall asleep, Raven ran to her own bedroom.

In her blue form, seated on the windowsill, she thought about her mother and her brother.

But especially the Duchess. She obviously loved her missing son more than the daughter staying at her side. Raven understood that the reason was her gift. Her curse. That did not help.

Sharon was shallow and cold. Never had she showed to her own daughter that she was capable of anything more than a pat on the head in passing. But it was not enough for her son. For her missing baby, she could cry and embrace a chambermaid.

Enraged, Raven threw a wooden cube in her mirror, shattering it to pieces. It was a useless piece of furniture: the reflection in the mirror was never her.

She wanted to hurt her mother, as much as she was hurting now.

And she knew exactly how.

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Much more cheerful now, with a smile eating half of her face – one could have argued it was more a grimace than a smile – and in long strides, she walked to her father's quarter, changing to her blond-haired self in the process.

She found him in what they called the War Room, because Marko always planed his campaigns here. Like any other room in the castle, this one was dim and cold. The dark grey walls displayed ornate drapes depicting battle scenes or hunting pictures. A large table stood in the middle, surrounded by a couple of chairs.

The man was discussing something or another with his seneschals. A large map was unfolded on the table, and they were all bent over it, deeply engaged in strategy and warfare. The door was open but Raven still knocked on the wooden panel.

At her sight, Duke Marko's face darkened, frowning at the little girl. He ignored her, finishing his meeting with the knights before he dismissed them. They walked past her with barely a nod to the princess.

When Marko's brown eyes finally settled on her under his bushy eyebrows, they were alight with something akin to ire. He came to her, his hand nervously scratching at his goatee. As he reached her, he stretched out his arm and slapped her.

Raven's head hit the door with a dull bong. She did not cry – she had cried enough already, for a child so young.

"I told you many times that you shall not bother me in my War Room, little pest," Marko said, his deep voice rumbling. He turned back and sat in a chair, waiting for Raven to tell him what she wanted and leave.

She humbly lowered her eyes on her feet and whispered: "Yes, Father. I am sorry, Father."

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She really did not know how to tell the truth about Charles to the Duke. Would he even believe her?

She could not reveal the fact that she learned her mother's secret using her gift. Duke Marko was ignorant of his daughter's little cosmetic problem. Only her mother knew about it. She had no proof of what she was about to say. She could only hope that planting the seed of suspicion would be enough. That it would grow and grow until it became a beautiful rose with deadly thorns. She could only hope.

She mustered her courage and, head still lowered, she said in one breath: "Father, I learned today that my brother Charles was indeed alive, and that he was never your son to begin with. From my mother's mouth." When her speech was finished, she inhaled a large gulp of air and risked a glance at her father's face.

The Duke's frown had become a real scowl, and he seemed to think deeply about what he had been told. He asked: "Why would you lie about that, Raven?" His tone was oddly sweet, like he did not believe it was an invention of his daughter. Like the question was directed to himself, not to the little girl.

She still answered, a little frown of her own creating creases on her otherwise smooth forehead. "I do not lie, Father."

"Stay here," he said, as he got up and headed out of the room.

Raven heard his heavy footsteps receding in the hallways. Soon his voice reached her too: he was talking with the Duchess – Sharon's high pitched tone came to her through the corridors. They were obviously arguing, but she could not make out the words. It was followed with sounds of fighting and eventually her mother crying.

Duke Marko was now coming back to her. She straightened a bit and waited patiently.

As soon as he passed through the door, he growled: "Go to your bedroom. Now."

She fled.

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She heard him calling after his seneschals, but did not stay to see what it was about.

In the comfortable silence of her room, she tried to convince herself that she had done the right thing, that her mother had paid for all the pain she had experienced for years.

But when the clicking sounds of armors and weaponry came from the courtyard under her window, she was not so sure anymore.

When Marko had asked her about Charles, her first question had been: "How do you know?" That was why he was now sure that Xavier had abused his wife and that Charles was alive – although no one knew where the boy was.

For the Duke, it was as well that King Xavier had declared war against him. He would not let the King win that battle.

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Bent over a new map in his War Room, Duke Marko was trying to choose the best place to run the battle. 'There,' he thought, pointing out a large meadow flanked with two small hills on the South, direction of Tintagel. The place was nearer the Duke's castle than Xavier's fortress, it was perfect.

He called out every knight available on his lands, every Lord owing him a favor. They all came with their soldiers. Soon the courtyard resounded with the rattle of the shining armors and the horses' hooves.

He explained his strategy to his seneschals and his knights, and let them settle for the night in camps at the foot of Tintagel's castle.

Then he sent a messenger to King Xavier, declaring war to the sovereign and asking to meet in the fields of Glastonbury in ten days, when the sun was high in the sky.

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For six days, knights and soldiers prepared for the battle, cleaning and sharpening their swords, making dozens of arrows, taking care of the horses who would take part in the war. In the morning, they were training. In the evening, the drunken laughs and shouts of the soldiers could be heard within the castle.

The seventh day at sunset, the tents were folded up and fastened to the back of the horses. The camps disappeared in a matter of hours, and by midday they had left Tintagel.

Duke Marko sent a kiss to his wife who was waiting at her window, her face drenched in tears.

Little did he know that it would be the last time he saw her.

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The tenth day at noon, Marko's and Xavier's armies were finally face to face in the fields of Glastonbury. King Xavier's soldiers showed signs of exhaustion, having walked a longer route to come to battle.

The King had had less time to gather his troops before leaving – that was Marko's plan – so the forces were equal. They both had foot soldiers, archers and knights. Their tactics would be decisive.

As the general of his army, Duke Marko was standing at the back of the troops with the other knights, ready to yell his first order.

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The meadow was eerily quiet, bathed in the autumn's sun. Birds passed and left in silence, fleeing away from the place that would soon be soaked by blood.

No one moved, all waiting for orders. The atmosphere was tensed and charged with energy. The King could almost see the waves it created in the air. Nervous, worried about his soldier, he was waiting for the battle to begin, unsure about when he should send his troops to fight.

Suddenly, Marko raised his sword and shouted: "Archers!"

The men at the front, who had had their orders days before, grabbed their bows lying in the grass. They took arrows from their quivers and sent the first salvo. The darts flew through the air, above the fields, their whistling a bad omen for the enemy.

Xavier's soldiers had little time to protect themselves with their shields, and the King ended up with a lot of casualties after only a few seconds of battle. He saw courageous men fall on the ground, horses stroke with deadly darts. Panic was threatening his troops. The man was seething. Wounded soldiers were quickly evacuated while he ordered his own salvo of arrows to be sent.

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On the other end of the meadow, archers were following the plan and were preparing to shoot again when Xavier's arrows fell on them, piercing arms and legs and throats. Marko's troop of archers was decimated.

The Duke wasted little time and ordered the knights to charge, followed by the foot soldiers armed with maces and pikes. Marko galloped with them, sword high in the air. They were all shouting their rage at the sky in a single wild song.

Xavier was prepared for the attack. "Spears!" he cried over the noises of the battle. The front rows raised their weapons, pointing them to the sky, and waited for the knights.

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When they arrived, the clash was violent. The spears killed many horses, the riders on their back falling in the middle of the battlefield. But the knights' swords did great damage too, slicing through the light armors of the soldiers easily.

Marko's army penetrated the King's defense with most of his knights now on foot. They were fighting on equal terms with the remaining troops of Xavier. Step by step, dead body after dead body, the Duke was getting closer to Xavier, ready to kill him.

But when he judged that the King's army was not offering a great resistance anymore, he called out: "Soldiers, with your Duke!"

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More troops – fresh troops – came from between the hills on the right of the battlefields, where they were hiding since the beginning. They charged Xavier's soldiers with energy and strength, massacring the enemies.

Marko knew victory was his, but it did not matter to him. He was not here to win a war: he was here to avenge his wife.

Now a few feet away from the King, he started fighting him, blow after blow of his heavy sword.

Xavier fought back with vigor. He was about to hit the Duke with a lethal blow when a soldier wounded his horse, making him fall off it. Now on his back, hindered by his armor, he felt vulnerable and did not know what to do.

Marko dismounted as soon as he saw the King on the ground and rushed towards the sovereign. Seeing a weak point, he brought down his sword and pierced Xavier's abdomen.

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The wounded man reacted quickly and seized a spear lying beside him. He raised it promptly and it went through Marko's chest, fatally injuring the Duke who fell on his back.

The King had trouble breathing, pain radiating through his torso. The large wound bled profusely, staining the grass of the battlefield with red. Somehow it cleared his mind and he managed to concentrate on what was happening around him. In between clangs and shouts, he could hear injured soldiers groaning, crying, dying.

He had rushed towards the battle because he had feared a siege if he waited too long. He now regretted it immensely, but it was too late. His death would be a terrible blow to the Kingdom's peace, of course. But he mostly regretted sending so many brave men to a certain death.

He prayed silently for Shaw to have been right, and for his son to take care of the Holy Land of Britain when he would be gone.

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Marko knew he was dying. He had blood in his mouth, and the whistling sound he heard when inhaling was not good news. His strength was leaving him little by little.

He still had his sword in his hand, and he tightened his hold on the hilt as he started crawling towards Xavier. He coughed once a thin bruin of red but kept moving forward.

He finally reached the King lying on the ground. The Duke was smiling but burned with hate.

"You know you are going to die, Xavier?" Marko asked, a gurgling sound coming out of his throat.

The King slowly nodded. "I suppose you will not spare my life, Duke Marko." He sounded oddly resigned.

"And do you know why you have to die?" Marko already knew the answer, but torturing Xavier before finishing him off was satisfying. The last pleasure of an already dead man.

Xavier shook his head. "Enlighten me, please." Even dying, he kept his regal manners. It enraged Marko.

"I know about Sharon and Charles, Xavier. This is my revenge."

The King's eyes widened almost comically. Marko took advantage of his bewilderment and plunged his sword in Xavier's throat. He just had time to hear the King's last breath before he fainted.

He never woke up and died on Xavier's chest.

Back in Tintagel, Raven did not know yet how her own revenge had ended.

She would have time to regret what she did later, and for many years.