It was soon after I arrived here that I realized lewd jokes about cucumbers and lettuce wouldn’t pay for my food anymore. I suppose it made sense, this close to the heart of these blasted lands. After the three-year-long blight decimated more than half of the population on the Continent, I’ve seen the rest of the kingdoms attempt to patch themselves together into a semblance of order. But I could tell this one had deteriorated differently. This kingdom had to be the most dreadful, hapless place I’ve ever ventured into. It was way too early for autumn, and here it had arrived already. And the ruler—whom the people called the Dark Prince—had unfalteringly demanded human sacrifice each year since the blight had ended, for whatever personal sadistic reason.

  Naturally, when I realized what a hellhole this was, I headed right back through the mountain pass I’d entered. The problem was, I couldn’t leave. The more I walked, squeezing Jun’s reins in my hand as he trotted beside me, the less progress I made. It was some sort of loop, I eventually figured. It brought me to the same starting position. Something didn’t let me leave. So I turned around and accepted my fate to travel across the strange lands.

  I journeyed a long time before I saw any civilized town, and when I finally did, I stayed at several of them. At each inn I asked about the supposed magic keeping me from leaving—because what else would it be?—but no one gave me a straight answer. It had appeared vaguely twelve years ago when the blight had abated; that was all they knew. None of them could leave, and whoever entered, heedless of the danger, had no choice but to remain within the borders of the kingdom.

  Some said the Dark Prince was to blame, that it was his spellwork. Others seemed too frightful to even discuss the subject, and shared nothing. I couldn’t divine what exactly had befallen these lands, but it seemed like a foul spell. Тhe very earth was withering away. It had been, they told me, for nearly twelve years now. Autumn had not just arrived, like I had observed, it had settled in permanently.

  People laughed out loud while I roved the borders and visited larger towns, and many dared even crack a joke themselves. But as I headed deeper into the kingdom, the towns and villages grew bleak and quieter, just like the landscape had. A misty waste spread before me, all yellow-parched grass, dry leaves, and gnarled trees with jutting, bony branches. Even the cobblestone roads were desolate: I saw few pilgrims roaming freely like me.

  As I moved, I discovered my audiences grew more scarce and apathetic. And by the time I had reached Arst, the current village I was sojourning in, people had stopped laughing altogether. Worse, they avoided any kind of entertainment in the first place lest it provoke a joyous feeling. Anything remotely fun, even games of cards or harmless gatherings to celebrate an important event, was frantically avoided. The coins in my pocket dwindled so much that today I only bought two fresh apples—one for me, and one for Jun—and had to keep the rest for dinner.

  My lodging was humble. Too humble, really, though I didn’t share that with the kind hosts. I only had the soul of a beggar; the rest was high pride and royal dignity. Eina and Tom were young spouses, not yet with any children (thankfully), and had taken a chance on a vagrant, wild-curled wanderer like me. My old steed Jun appeared exhausted enough to help my case. Surely, they took pity on me, seeing my desperation to find a place to rest.

  When I crossed their threshold I assured them I didn’t mean any trouble, and later I regretted using those exact words. There was no merriment left anywhere in this kingdom, not even crumbs of it, and I was merriment incarnate. Trouble was me.

  After three unsuccessful nights at the tavern, I found my purse had emptied completely. Now, I’ve experienced this numerous times. It was one of the excitements of leading an itinerant life, so I was not paralyzed with fear over it. But it did present a terrible inconvenience. On the morning of my fourth day at the couple’s house, I strode out of the guest room into the kitchen. Considering my coinless situation, I had a request to make. It could wait until the end of breakfast, though.

  Eina was already mixing dough when I moved toward the counter and leaned a hip against it, munching on a boiled egg thoughtfully. For a while, she chirped about all the baked goods she was planning to make. Bread with seeds, butter cakes, jam-filled bonbons, sugary buttons, and other such forbidden, sinful things. I appreciated her tact from the moment she took me in. Not only she never interrogated me extensively on my life and travels, leaving me to decide whether I wanted to share any of it or not, but she also sensed that I was in low spirits.

  Her husband was far less warm. He had his own opaque tactfulness: he avoided interacting with me completely instead. We only met late in the evenings for dinner, and he had a cool indifference to my presence. Pretended I didn’t exist, with an emanating aura of disapproval around him. From what I got, he found vagrant women to be unnatural, untrustworthy beasts. I never disproved it; keeping him scared was better.

  Arst was a valley away from the heart of the kingdom, where the ruler’s castle was. And willingly or not, I had drawn closer to it in the last weeks. There was a real possibility the Prince was the reason I couldn’t leave this cursed demesne, and I had no intention of yielding until he let me out. Not that I had a solid plan. Just a gut feeling that I would likely find my answers there, in his castle.

  It unsettled me, in a way anything rarely did. A sweep of cold disdain flowed as an undercurrent of my ever-good humor. My freedom was my crown, and whoever threatened to steal it became the target of my anger. What sort of Prince kept his people within his borders like caged animals, against their will?

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  “Life isn’t so bad when you’re settled,” Eina told me, breaking me out of the angry turn my thoughts have taken. Settled? As in shackled in another cage?

  I gave her a dashing smile, knowing I owed it to her for the generous hospitality. “I know.”

  Being settled could be bearable. Not if you’re settled with some silly-ass farmer, though. Or that brute of a husband Eina had. I heard him yell at her last night, behind the walls. Call her vile names. Must be typical for local newlyweds.

  Eina pressed the pliant dough with her sinewy hands, her motions calm and methodical. Like she performed a well-practiced ritual the way her mother had and her mother before. It was fascinating to observe it, and I enjoyed the focus in her black eyes as she kneaded the mixture and puckered full lips. Her skin was of the smoothest, earthly-brown ochre and it glistened in the morning sunlight. I couldn’t help but wonder, what pressing circumstances forced a match between a dirty-mouthed brute and such a heavenly creature?

  “You could marry Aidan and be done with this whole unpleasant business. He cares about you enough to cover your needs and is willing to give you a proper roof over your head.”

  “Thatch or hay?”

  “Sorry?”

  “What’s he got? I like my roofs sturdy.”

  Eina gave me a pointed look. “I’m serious.” Of course she was. Everyone here was religiously serious.

  Aiden, a local farmer and an old bachelor, had hinted that he would be open to sheltering me in his home if I agreed to be his wife. I was uncertain how he concluded I’d be a good one after just three days of my bawdy repertoire at the tavern. His imagination had led him a bit too far ahead. “Tis very likely he wants to have a hundred babies and will drink my soul when I can’t produce them anymore. If I don’t die in childbirth before that.”

  Eina’s brows came together in a polite, concerned furrow. “But still…”

  “I want to be a wandering entertainer,” I said, slowly. “This was my life. I’d like it to continue to be so.” I had given matrimony a thought before too, and I strongly believed I was more beneficial to society doing what I loved best.

  “If you can’t leave, you’ll have to become a settled entertainer. Here, in this village.”

  My fingers drummed over the glass of water I held, to help chug down the dry bread and hard cheese from my breakfast. “I don’t suppose spewing inappropriate quips in the local taverns late at night would make me an exemplary wife even if I let all of that happen. Don’t you think he would object?”

  I missed the road and the adventures I had there. Instead of having them, I was stuck here, in a vast, dead land full of unfunny people. And if I didn’t figure out what kept me stuck, they would bury me even deeper. Marriages—and sprouting endless children—were the only proper way to live life in these parts. With how nobody was allowed to laugh, I was on the verge of losing all means. On the verge of being cornered into sedentary life indefinitely.

  I shuddered.

  To these villagers, traveling jestresses were considered vagabonds, much like bandits and thieves. Everybody seemed to respect the local wenches more than me, which struck me as odd. I was just as good as those ladies at using my mouth for entertainment.

  I gave a heady sigh. “Why can’t I depart this kingdom, again?”

  “I don’t know,” Eina said.

  Remembering I had failed to ask my hosts about it, I blurted: “Could it be that rotten dunce who’s ruling your lands had put some sort of spell on the kingdom?”

  Eina gaped at me, waxen pale. “Be quieter! He will hear you.”

  “What, all the way from his stronghold? Does he happen to have overly large ears?”

  “The Dark Prince has his ways,” Eina hissed, face tightening, as if terrified that the image I created might make her let out a sound of amusement if she paused to visualize it. “His knights, they can hear… laughter. They can feel your joy from afar.”

  I rolled my eyes, “I doubt it.” Sounded like poorly imagined folklore.

  Eina continued to knead the dough. “True or not, he still takes someone each year, and they never return. And if they live, we cannot tell. Only his chosen have set foot in that castle since the blight began, and in all the years after it. Whenever his knights come, once a year during the harvest days, they remind us it is the highest honor to be chosen to be the Prince’s sacrifice. Since they use that word, we figured he is not as merciful as we’d hoped…”

  Great. I was stuck in a vast, dead land full of unfunny people and a brutal sadist of a prince. A kingdom of wenches, asses, and sadists, it is. I was yet to find out which group would be the last of me.

  “Why is he doing this? Weren’t the deaths during the damned blight enough?”

  Eina shrugged, furrowing with heavy concern. Arst, like the rest of the kingdom, was ignorant of the matter. Nobody had the guts to ask.

  “Hasn’t anyone tried to investigate or stop this in twelve whole years?” I grumbled.

  “Some tried,” Eina admitted. “There’s magic guarding the castle and the grounds around it. It seems like only the knights can move through it freely.”

  That won’t do. I needed a quick way to escape from here before they could bury me alive. Since I couldn’t leave and had to find out how to, I figured I had to pay that prince a visit. And that meant my best shot was to lure those knights here, to Arst. It would be fairly easy if laughter attracted them.

  I smirked a little.

  Eina glanced at me suspiciously. “Should I even ask?”

  “Don’t,” I said, shaking my head. Let’s leave that for later. It needed more planning. As for now… “Eina, would you consider paying me a few coins to do some housework until I earn them my way again?”

  My hostess looked up at me, face bright. The thought amused her. “That’s reasonable,” she said. “I do have work for you.”