The Willow Princess: A Reignview Tale

By Jeremy Neeley

In the dying land of Tora, a newlywed couple’s union is a source of hope for the future. But when deception and jealousy threaten to shatter that bond, a young princess is forced to undertake a perilous journey in order to save the man she loves. Confronted by savage creatures and perilous terrain, she races against time to obtain a cure once thought lost to the ages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeremy Neeley
• Release date: Sep 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370404230

Jeremy Neeley

Mr. Neeley has always loved the art of storytelling and believes writing has the wonderful ability to not only entertain, but to inspire. He has worked for several years as a graphic designer at a Pittsburgh-based university and currently lives with his wife and three children in Pleasant Hills, Pennsylvania. The Royal Perfects was the first novel-length story written by Jeremy Neeley. Due to its overwhelmingly positive reviews from family, friends, and the Internet community, Mr. Neeley was spurred on to continue writing original, fiction stories and distributing them via Smashwords.

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The Willow Princess: A Reignview Tale

Written by Jeremy Neeley

Published by Jeremy Neeley at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 Jeremy Neeley

License Notice

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment and is not to be resold or given to another party in any form. If another party wishes to use this book, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Table of Contents

The Wedding

The Dead of Night

The Cold Heart

The Dragon’s Breath

The Call of the Underworld

The Prince of Corts

The Golden Nectar

The Grendel Horn

The Reunion

About the Author

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The Wedding

The land of Tora was dying. Ages ago, the Grave War between previously harmonious tribes had set the wheel of death in motion. Armies burnt farms to smoldering ash, poisoned waterways with vile concoctions, twisted beasts with arcane magic, and left vast fields of fallen soldiers to rot in their wake. As the wounds of conflict cut deep, disease and pestilence grew strong, their corrupting touch seeping into flora and fauna alike.

The struggle eventually ground to a stalemate with no clear victor in sight. But, the losses on all sides were immense, and a truce was enacted. Each tribe would be bound to their homeland, never again to cross into the realm of another.

The massive Doppel Beasts, with their heavy pelts of white and shoulders as broad as a man is tall, were bound to the Northern Mountain to live among the blizzards of blinding snow. The Fang burrowed deep below the scorching Western Desert, sliding back into their labyrinthine caverns upon bellies of steel-like scales. The Southern Jungle was once again the sole refuge of the Bree. These giant arthropods, with elegantly woven wings wrapped around their segmented torsos like shimmering gowns, nestled into their hive to toil away at their labors. And, man, tired from battle and heavy in heart, kept to their birthplace along the Eastern Shores, knowing that to venture abroad once more would assuredly bring untold suffering.

Generations of agreed isolation held fast, but the war’s sickening impact upon Tora continued to fester and spread. The damage had been done, and inevitability stood stark on the horizon. The men of the Eastern Shore could see the dark shroud falling and sought only to manage their strained existence as the resources to sustain life continued to dwindle.

The tribe of men consisted of four clans—the Greys, the Corts, the Willows, and the Brauns. Prior to the Grave War, each of these clans lived under a singular chieftain who governed his people as he, or she, alone saw fit. On more than one occasion, disputes would arise between the clans and violence would be brought to bear. But, the war diluted those previous animosities, and the clans of men became a singular tribe ruled by the will of all four.

Strengthening their unity became paramount. With so many lives claimed by the blade and the resulting epidemic, it was decided that men and women would marry across clan lines to ensure the continued existence of humankind. Historically outlawed by the chieftains, it was deemed a necessity, and it was for this reason the tribe of men gathered on this day. This particular celebration held extra meaning as well, for this was to be the tenth generation removed from the end of the Grave War.

Each clan offered a young man and woman to the ritual, and as was tradition, one came from the bloodline of the chieftain, the other of a lesser house. The chieftains and their advisors were matchmakers, weighing both stock and interest in their pairings. In some instances, the newlyweds knew of one another prior, in some instances not. As the eight stood before the altar prepared to offer their vows in front of the crowd, only one pair stood hand-in-hand.

Rowan Reignview, the fourth son of the house of Reignview in the Grey clan, wrapped his calloused fingers around the gentle touch of Princess Anabelle Song, fifth daughter of the Willow Queen, Lady Welltress Song.

Rowan was built to aid with muscle, and upon that sturdy frame perched a head covered in a crop of bristling brown hair. His blue eyes cast a gentle gaze above a warm smile framed in stubble, a smile he gave fully, and often to Anabelle.

Rowan was a compassionate man, his worn palms rough from the labors of good deeds. He worked the fields when needed, cut the lumber when requested, and built homes for the needy without a moment’s pause. Despite not being from the noble line, his word was held in high esteem, for it was true and measured. For this, his fellow Greys had dubbed him Rowan the Kind-hearted.

His bride to be was similarly revered. Anabelle was often found among the sick and distraught, her gentle voice and willing ear a source of great comfort to many. Although her birthright deemed respect, it was genuinely earned among the clans of men.

A deep complexion of rich umber framed by wavy locks of raven hair revealed not a single blemish. Her eyes, like two orbs of sparkling jade, looked upon her brethren with utmost benevolence. She was a beauty by any standard, both inside and out.

Over the years, Rowan and Anabelle had crossed paths on several occasions. As Anabelle consoled a family whose home had burnt down, Rowan was just feet away starting to rebuild it. When Rowan rushed to clear a road of fallen timbers in the midst of a storm, Anabelle was there, eagerly waiting to pass through on her mission to transport urgent medicine to a young child.

Conversation and shared experience forged a sincere love between the two, and it was without obligation they appeared before the altar that day. Rowan and Anabelle stood in deep desire, shoulder to shoulder, two kindred hearts longing to be joined as one for the rest of their days.

As the priest concluded the rites, the newly formed unions of men and women turned towards one another and shared a kiss. Of the four pairs, it was Anabelle and Rowan who held the longest. At that moment, they were lost in time, unshaken by the roars of the cheering revelers and growing merriment. Petals of wildflowers fell like raindrops upon the couples, yet the pair did not withdraw. It was not until the heavy hand of Rowan’s friend Marcus struck him firmly upon the back that Rowan realized the ceremony was over.

Congratulations, brother, Marcus said with a hearty chuckle. And to you too, Princess Anabelle.

Marcus was a mighty man, bold in action and words, which came as no surprise being the son of the Braun chieftain. Standing much larger and wider than Rowan, a heavy black beard served to mask a constant grin. Marcus was a man with an ever-present confidence, even fool-hearty at times. Anything he could not overcome through sheer strengthen was smoothed over by his endearing attitude and noble lineage. These traits had allowed his jovial smile to remain, even in the toughest of times.

Ah, Marcus, our congratulations to you as well, Anabelle responded. The Restless Prince has finally been snared.

Marcus cast Anabelle a playfully stern look, drawing his new bride towards him. Aye, Emilie has accomplished that which so many before her could not, and that is why she is, undoubtedly, unmatched in all of Tora.

At that, the Braun clansman engulfed Emilie in his massive frame and planted a forceful kiss upon the unsuspecting woman.

After her release, Emilie, red-faced with embarrassment, quickly scurried off to speak with relatives, leaving Marcus to stand in momentary confusion.

Marcus, my friend, perhaps you need to ease Emilie into your newly-forged relationship, Rowan said with a smirk.

Aye, perhaps, Marcus replied. I suppose love must be worn in, as with you two old boots. Neither one complete without the other.

Did you just call me a boot? Anabelle asked, feigning insult.

No, of course not. I would never dream of calling the Princess of Willows a smelly piece of trod leather. No, not at all. Maybe a glass slipper, dainty and elegant.

Soooo, Rowan interjected, that makes me dainty and elegant?

Marcus, sensing he had been backed into a verbal corner, lashed out in customary form, delivering a stiff right hand to Rowan’s shoulder. The attack was quickly followed by a bear-like embrace of his two friends.

Ah, forget all of that. Come, let us drink! the Braun Prince declared.

Besides Rowan and Anabelle, and Marcus and Emilie, two other couples were married that day. Princess Gwendolyn of the Greys was betrothed to Thomas Northgrind of the Willows and Lord Vadik Grenwald, Prince of Corts, was joined with Helen Frelgen of the Brauns.

They had all gathered at the center of the shire where they sat at a long, wooden table, prepared to partake of the customary feast of meat and ale. Emilie rejoined her husband, and soon, all eight of the honored guests were seated, surrounded by friends and family.

Quite a day, came a courteous