In the high stone chamber of Castle Veylor, where the late afternoon light filtered through narrow arched windows of leaded glass and painted the walls in shifting patterns of gold and shadow, Princess Rainbow stood before the tall looking-glass of polished silver.
The mirror, framed in dark oak carved with twisting vines, reflected a figure both regal and restless.
Her hair, cascading in wild, unnatural waves of crimson, sapphire, emerald, violet, and gold, spilled over her bare shoulders like a living banner of the rainbows that had arched over the kingdom on the day of her birth.
That was why her parents had named her so, claiming the strange coloring was a blessing from the old gods.
To Rainbow, it had always felt more like a brand that set her apart from the pale, orderly ladi
