Raven Tower Princess : The first chapter of a 30,000-word children’s novel seeking a publishing home.

Synopsis: The novel is about a young princess named Irene who was banished to a tower full of ancient forgotten secrets. These secrets might be the key to saving her step-sister from a curse, hopefully before it is too late. This is an adventure about discovery, friendship, and overcoming family challenges.

CHAPTER 1 ~ The Princess Irene

“IF ONLY I HAD A MAGICAL ROPE,” Irene sighed, dangling a foot out of her high window. Gazing into the tangled forest below, thick trunks pushed up knobby branches and tufts of earth-colored leaves. Light glinted off sharp teeth and dull eyes through patches in the leafy canopy.

“Then again,” She drew back onto the ledge, “I’d need magical shoes to outrun the brutes.” Uneven paths wound up the mountain, swarming with loathsome creatures anxious to get her. “If it weren’t for you bloodthirsty savages,” she shouted, “I’d have tied my sheets together and escaped long ago.” She rested her head on her knees, “That’s the sort of thing that happens in fairy tales. I am a princess after all.”

Used to be a princess, Lexi had said.

“I am a princess,” Irene muttered. That’s what she’d told Lexi right before being banished. That had been the wrong thing to say, but anything would have been wrong. Lexi was a few years older. A teenager now. Which meant she was always right.

“I will never become a teenager,” Irene declared. It was the only explanation for Lexi’s sudden transformation into a bossy tyrant. “Or maybe,” Irene creatively invented, “a wicked enchanter cursed Lexi as a baby—growing bossier with age. Or maybe,” and here she swallowed back sadness, “I am the one who is cursed. It began when father died.”

After that, everything changed. Her mother married the neighboring king, and they moved to a grand palace in a strange land. Irene tried to adjust—she liked her new father, and Lexi was nice enough at first. But once their parents began traveling to unify the kingdoms, Lexi was left in charge. And when she turned thirteen, things got worse. Bossier. Meaner. Even the guards and servants obeyed her every whim like she was the queen or something.

There was the dandelion salad incident. Irene had just finished her portion of dandelion and rose petal salad, when Lexi demanded she eat hers. Irene hated it as much as Lexi, but Lexi promised ice cream. Irene did—only to find Lexi hiding in the magic box room watching stories, finishing the dessert off herself. Directly from the container. When Irene confronted her about it, Lexi flew into a rage, chased her through the palace, and nearly had her thrown in the dungeon. Their parents returned just in time, but Lexi lied her way out of trouble. Everyone believed her. Even their mother. Irene’s own mother.

“That’s how everything is these days,” Irene sighed. So, when their parents left on a months-long trip, Lexi’s reign grew unbearable. Guards, servants—even ravens— became her spies. Eventually, Irene was blindfolded, bound, and banished to some crumbling abbey, or royal hunting lodge with a tower out in the middle of nowhere. She didn’t even know what she’d done wrong.

Now, she gazed out the tower’s only window at the dull trees and gray mountains. “At least it’s not the dungeon,” she murmured, tracing carvings of birds, vines, and flowers in the ancient stone around her window. “With the rats, ghosts, and goblins.” A shiver rand down her spine.

Despite everything, the place was oddly charming. It was hard to tell where the mountain ended and the tower began—they both seemed as old as time. Strange writing covered the walls, which Irene fancied as instructions on how to escape or deal with bossy older sisters. Beyond the tower, an outer wall enclosed a courtyard, kitchen, pantry, washroom, and small library. Most days, Irene read, cooked, and cleaned. Sometimes she stared out the window and wondered if her parents missed her. Or if anyone did.

A cold breeze raised goosebumps on her arms. “Well,” she said, standing, “better start dinner.” It helped distract her from the sadness — and from the forest creatures that grew loud and restless after sunset. Growling, howling, snapping. It wasn’t hard to imagine one clawing its way up the tower and into her room for a midnight snack.

Just then, a flurry of cawing lifted from the treetops. Black streaks darted past her window. Irene fell back in terror. Claws scratched the roof. A squabble turned into a fight. She peeked out from behind her arms

“The spies are at it again,” Irene growled as black feathers drifted past. She reached to close the shutters when a lump of ravens tumbled down, broke apart and surged straight at her. Irene stifled a scream as she was knocked to the ground and her room flooded with movement.

“Get out, you pests,” she grabbed a pillow and swung wildly. Toys flew off shelves with panicked wings, pages tore from books by scrambling feet, beady eyes darted back and forth to keep track of wherever Irene went. She danced about the room until only one raven remained on the window ledge.

“Things are hard enough,” she panted, pillow raised. “But for my sister to send you brainless goons to watch my every move is too much!”

We have always lived here, the Raven seemed to say with a bitter caw. Then, with a hop, it joined the others murmuring from the trees and along the outer walls. Slamming the window shut and out of breath, Irene turned and gaped in horror. Her perfectly tidy room was now an utter disaster. The work it was going to take to clean it all up left her livid.

“Ugh,” She tossed the pillow towards her bed and stormed down the spiral steps.

By the time she reached the courtyard, she had cooled off. Lifting a metal ring on the floor, she descended a ladder and emerged from the pantry with the hem of her silken skirt loaded with food.

Placing potatoes, a carrot, dried meat, and a loaf of bread onto the kitchen table, Irene threw open the cabinets then added a knife, spoon, matches, and bunches of herbs from the cabinets. 

Irene lit the fire, fetched water from the courtyard, and began to hum—a bedtime tune her old father used to sing. Soon, the veggies and meat were diced and bubbling in a small cauldron. She stoked the coals low and hot, swung the pot over the fire, and crushed spices into the mix.

“One good thing about being here is that I can eat whatever I want,” Irene smiled, inhaling the savory steam. She had to do everything herself, but Irene was a fast learner and wasn’t afraid of hard work. It also helped that she had spent a lot of time in the kitchen at her old palace. It was a place where she could hear all sorts of useful gossip or try and help the cooks’ children come out and play sooner.

“That was a simpler time,” she sighed.

Once the stew was ready, she poured it into a bowl and with great ceremony placed it besides butter, honey, bread, and a knife.

“You know,” she said with a grin, “I don’t miss Ice Cream. Bread, butter, and honey are almost as good,” she said as a sort of secret revenge on her sister.

After a quick prayer, she began to eat and plan for tomorrow.

“Obviously, I’ll need to clean my room,” she said between bites. “And if that doesn’t take too long, the library could use a dusting. Maybe I’ll find a new story to read!”

The thought carried her through dinner. She lit a lamp, spread the coals to let the fire die down, washed and dried the dishes, returned everything to its place, closed the cabinets, grabbed the lamp, and jauntily headed back up the tower.

She was in such a good mood, the mess in her room no longer felt like a dark cloud. But as she reached for the door handle, she froze. Her hand hovered midair. Breath caught in her chest. Biting her lip, she leaned in, ear pressed to the wood.

There it was again. A noise.

Something was alive in her room.

Irene fled downstairs. 

“I definitely chased every single Raven out,” She muttered, wringing her hands. “One of those- those creatures must have climbed through my window.” She paced the courtyard in a panic. She’d never seen one clearly, but they were always a mix of horrors: matted fur like a wet dog, scaly legs, snake-like tails. Each more disturbing than the last.  

“This just isn’t fair,” Irene cried. “I really am cursed with bad luck.” 

Then her eyes rested on the fire poker.

“No,” she said firmly. “I won’t let them get the best of me. This is my home now—and nothing’s going to ruin it.”

She snatched up the poker like a sword. The lamp swung from her other hand, casting eerie shadows behind her. Step by step, she climbed. Her heart pounded. Her breath grew shallow. At the door, she set the lamp down and gripped the poker with two trembling hands.

Before she could lose her nerve, she burst into the room—yelling and swinging.