This story was written for Writing Battle’s 2026 Verdant Owl contest. Writers get 3 prompts (genre, character, setting) and have 7 days to write a 2500-word story. This was my submission, which came in 16th place in House Dorsey (a Beast Tamer’s judging sub-category).
The lavishness of the evening is sickening. The citadel tower’s blue Flame shines in through the grand windows, throwing an ominous hue over the fine tapestries and crystal chandeliers. While the Queen and her guests feast on the finest food and drink the kingdom has to offer in celebration of her birthday, our children rot away in the damp basement of the citadel.
The King secured his rule over the land in the last decade by coercing all beast tamers into his service, using them to traumatize villagers, force the people to pay exorbitant tithes, and squash any uprising before they could gain traction. We are magically bound by the Flame to obey his every order, no matter who must be killed along the way—even our kin. He also demands our children as collateral.
The beacon housing the Flame at the top of the citadel engulfs the entire kingdom in its foul magic, rendering us helpless.
Not for much longer.
We did the impossible and found a wild beast tamer outside the kingdoms. Maeve has never seen the King. He doesn’t know she exists to command. She’s free. She’s the key.
I’ve never met a tamer as powerful as Maeve, who specializes in birds. Not only that, but her heartfast companion is none other than the thunderbird. What a woman.
I can hardly sit still but force myself to remain poised. Just wait for the signal and stick to the plan, I remind myself. Trust Maeve. I inhale deeply and instantly regret it; the rich aromas of roasted meats blended with the flurry of flowery perfumes are at war with the knots in my stomach. I want to vomit. Instead, I sweep over the elaborate dresses and oblivious dancing couples who fill the luxurious dining hall to check on the rebels in position.
Shae guards the King, her hand crisped over her sword hilt. Relax, I silently request. Her thirteen griffins wait on the great stone balcony that wraps around the castle tower, out of sight on the North side.
Sven pours champagne for the ladies of the court, charming them with his devilish grin and shiny blond mane. His pack-leading hell hound, Ranko, sits calmy at his heel, but his gleaming eyes of fire miss nothing.
The last two members of our crew aren’t with us in the castle. Maeve is somewhere in the sky, heading for the citadel tower. Coda waits in the shadows for the signal to storm the dungeons with his pack of dire wolves.
A distant screech makes my heart stutter—I hope Wilgor, my heartfast wyvern, isn’t struggling to keep the others in line. I hope the starless night conceals our army of beasts long enough to get everyone to safety. I hope my rebels keep their courage through it all. I hope we pull this off.
I look to the head of the table where the King sits in his gilded chair, mighty crown held high despite its incredible weight. He suspects nothing; his legendary arrogance wouldn’t let him believe his obedient servants could ever betray him. But that’s the thing about enslaving servants: they tend to rebel.
The King catches my eye and raises his glass. I return the gesture with a forced smile. I’m the picture of demure innocence, tucking a strand of my long red hair behind my ear.
Let this be over soon, I beg the gods. The bodice of my dress is unpleasantly tight, the ruffles of my skirts tickle my ankles, yet I feel naked without the familiar weight of my sword fastened to my back. I squeeze the dagger strapped at my thigh through the layers of tule. It’ll be hard to reach should I need it. I finger my butter knife and stare at the King in the coyest way I can muster. Enjoy this while you can, asshole.
Sven pops open another bottle, making the ladies squeal with delight. I note he’s careful not to drink anything. Good, he needs to stay sharp, and they need to stay oblivious a little while longer. The King and Queen, the guards, and the guests are all too relaxed to notice what is preparing to unfold right under their noses.
A thunderclap tears through the night, reverberating against the stone. Through the windows, I see the top of the citadel tower—the cursed Beacon—crumble.
An oppressive wave of energy surges through me, then releases me of the invisible binds that have pinched my heart for as long as I can remember. The blue light of the Flame is gone, leaving the dining hall warmer and brighter. I gasp—air flows into my lungs with remarkable ease.
Shae clasps a hand over her heart. I nod to her—yes, that was Maeve. Shae takes a wide step to the side, clearing a path to her charge. I whistle, attracting everyone’s attention, including the King and Queen’s.
But they aren’t the ones I’m calling.
Behind the royals, the stone wall ripples. Grey bumps and ridges solidify into to black fur and bones. A giant creature with twisted antlers raising through matted floor-length hair detaches herself from the wall. She looks at me with wild hungry eyes.
I point to the King.
The Queen’s scream severs the room as the latest addition to my pack of mismatched creatures rips the King’s heart from his chest with vicious claws. I think of her as a wendigo, though I’m not sure that’s quite what she is. She must be a distant cousin of sorts, so I call her Wendy.
The Queen wails, paralyzed in her red velvet chair, blue eyes wide with horror. Every royal guard in the room runs to her. The captain drags her to her feet while the others attempt to ward off Wendy with their swords. She swings a long muscular arm and cuts through the armor of the nearest guard, who crumples to the ground, lifeless. She forces the others back, blocking their exit.
“Sloane!” Sven calls from the other side of the room.
Right. “Let’s go, let’s move it people!” I push myself up to my feet.
The guards look to us. They assume we mean to rescue them from the not-wendigo. Confusion is plain to read on their faces; how could a monster attack them in their home when they have tamers under their control? We should have prevented this.
Like I said: too arrogant.
A long howl echoes against the stone, curtesy of Sven and Ranko calling in the rest of the hell hounds. The world vibrates with answering howls and pounding paws: the pack moves through the servants’ passages hidden within the castle walls. Something crashes into the head of the table to my left, sending plates shattering on the cold stone floor. I turn in time to see a hell hound made it through the guard barrier. It has the Queen’s throat in its powerful jaw. It burned away her wig with hell fire and now feasts on her charred flesh. My heart pinches: I hate this violence, but destroying all the royal Flame Bearers is the only way to ensure the beacon is never lit again.
Glass explodes through the room—ravens have broken through the windows. Maeve sent her messengers to feed the chaos. Black birds fill the air, dipping for people’s hair, scooping chunks of meat off plates and flinging them at beautiful silk gowns. Terrified guests huddle beneath tables and scream behind tapestries. My ears can barely contain the insane squawking.
I whistle again.
Wendy throws the room’s massive oak doors open with a roar that shakes me to my core. Shae squeezes past her at a run, followed by dozens of ravens.
We need to get to that door. But the guards finally understand we are the enemy, so they form a barrier between the door and the rest of our chaotic crew.
“Sven,” I shout, “a little help?” I point to the sea of guards blocking our escape from this dinner party from hell.
“You got it, boss,” he smirks, revealing a dimple. Three short whistles and his hounds move into formation, carving a path through the guards with teeth and fire.
By the time we get to the hall, Shae is already on the North balcony. I only just have time to see her climb onto the back of her griffin before they hop into the air with the twelve other beasts. They fly for the citadel in a cloud of ravens, where Maeve and Coda are breaking in to set our children free. Wendy passes us in the hall, running on all fours, wild hair dragging behind her.
A bolt of lightning ignites the sky, revealing the contours of the thunderbird circling the tower. Get everyone out, I silently beg. My wyverns fill the courtyard by the citadel’s entrance, waiting to carry the children to safety with the help of Shae’s griffins.
Sven and I run the other way: to the South side of the castle where the young Prince sleeps—if one can sleep through such cacophony. Ravens and hell hounds flank us, scaring away servants and scattered party guests without harming them. I don’t want this mission to turn into a bloodbath.
The echoes of our running steps are met with a scream and a yelp coming from down the hall. Sven quickens the pace, brows furrowed. I wrestle my skirts to grab the dagger at my thigh, shredding fabric with my teeth to get to my weapon. Around the final corner, a nightmare unfolds before the Prince’s bedroom door.
Blood carpets the floor. Wendy has eviscerated one of the guards, but the other has speared a hell hound. Sven stops in his tracks, his face crumbling. Before anyone else can move, I lodge my dagger in the guard’s throat with a flick of the wrist. He slides to the ground. Sven kneels beside his fallen companion, a pained growl rumbling in his throat.
I swallow hard. “Open the door,” I ask Wendy. Her clawed hands push it open with surprising gentleness, as if she doesn’t want to disturb Sven’s grief.
The luxurious room is lit by a single candle on the mantle. The Prince sits up in bed, no doubt awoken by the racket.
“Good evening, Prince,” I greet him in a calming voice as I move towards the bed. “Are you all right?”
“Ye—yes,” the young boy croaks. “Sloane? What’s happening?”
“I’ve come to take you to safety,” I reply, avoiding the question. Let him believe we’re rescuing him. We are—from a dictator’s destiny.
“Safety?” His small voice tugs at my heart strings.
“There is an uprising, my Prince. Don’t worry, but we need to go, now.” I hold out my hand.
The boy hesitates only a moment: he’s known me his entire life as a defender of this kingdom.
“Quickly now,” I coax. “Wilgor is waiting for us on your balcony.” The Prince takes my hand and slides out of bed with an eager twinkle in his eye.
Sven, who crept in behind me, swings the balcony doors open, revealing two wyverns in wait.
Three bolts of lightning cut the sky in quick succession, followed by a thunderclap loud enough to split stone.
“Maeve’s got the kids!” Sven sounds like he can hardly believe it.
“She’s absolutely amazing,” I breathe out.
“You two need to seal that deal already,” he chuckles, his dimple deeper than ever below his sparkling eyes.
“What kids?” the Prince asks, squeezing my hand, fear creeping into his eyes.
I kneel to get on his level. “We’re just making sure all the children are safe, my Prince. Now,” I stand, “how do you feel about a midnight ride?” I grin down at him.
“Okay!”
He’s so innocent, I think. Hopefully, we can raise him to be better than his parents. If all goes well, the mountain folk will coddle him enough to make him forget everything he ever knew about royal life. They will teach him the side of history that’s been kept from him. Hopefully, that will be enough to save him from the Flame. It’s a good thing his parents never cared for him, left that to the servants. It should make things easier.
I grab the Prince by the waist and hoist him onto Wilgor’s saddle, then climb up behind him.
I turn to Wendy, who looks at me with clever, beady eyes. “Get out of here and meet us at the rendez-vous. Run like the wind.”
She nods her antlered skull and leaps away, running back the way we came with terrifying speed.
Sven opens the servants’ passage by the bed so his hounds can follow the same instructions. He keeps a hand on the door after they’ve taken off, peering into the pitch-black corridor.
“They’ll be fine,” I assure him. “Come on, let’s not squander our advantage.”
“Right,” he agrees, but doesn’t move.
A smirk tugs at my lips. “Unless you’re still scared of flying…”
His back stiffens. “I’m not afraid of flying!” He turns, runs to the balcony, and hops onto the other wyvern’s back.
“Interesting,” I say as Wilgor inches towards the edge of the grand stone balcony. “Is that why you only ever tame land beasts?”
“Shut up,” he drawls, but his teeth glint in the night through the smile he can’t hold back. He launches into the air first to prove his point.
I shoot skyward, wanting a clear view of the grounds to confirm everyone is airborne, that there is no trouble. I relish the sensation of free will coursing through my veins. The sky is swarming with creatures of all sizes headed East.
It’s a thing of beauty.
I can’t believe the rebellion finally happened.
I fly Wilgor towards them, keeping my eyes peeled for potential threats or pursuit, but it seems all beast tamers, even those who refused to join the rebellion, ran at the first taste of their newfound freedom. Besides, with no royals left in the castle, who would order the charge?
A wind gust from above blows my hair into my eyes. I swipe it away to watch the thunderbird level with Wilgor. Maeve’s long dark hair flows wild behind her, her green eyes cutting through the night. She smiles proudly, melting my fierce heart.
She’s so damn powerful.
“Well, that was fun,” she yells over the wind. “We should do it again sometime.”
I laugh heartily, releasing the built-up tension from the craziest night in history. “Yes, totally. I can’t believe we don’t do this every weekend!”
She giggles and looks ahead. “So, we go East.”
“We go East,” I confirm.
“And then what?”
My head swirls with a hundred ways I’d like to celebrate this victory with her—alone. Sadly, it will have to wait.
“Then we free the tamers in every other kingdom.”
Julia Lemyre-Cossette 