2. Bloom
BLOOM
The trek to the minotaur’s cottage was surprisingly long.
How a man of Pyke’s age is able to make the laborious journey every month was beyond me. The Woods are not easy terrain. My boots snag on gnarled branches several times as I walk down the overgrown path.
I pause under a sprawling oak tree to catch my breath. The glittering rays of afternoon sun give way to the pinks and purples of sunset. It will be dark soon. If I were smart, I would’ve left at dawn.
Father’s warning rings in my ears.
The story of the Minotaur Lord of Dew Hollow is taught to every child. He is a cursed male, tasked with watching over us. Pyke is the only member of our community who has met the Minotaur Lord. He assures us the beast is just as monstrous a creature as we have been led to believe.
Swallowing against the tightness in my throat, I double-check the lacings on my boots and begin walking again. My skirt swishes around my ankles. Perspiration dampens the skin between my breasts. Leaves graze my flowing hair. So much for trying to make a good impression.
The journey into the Woods has ruined my carefully crafted image.
I glare down at the grass stains along my hem and the few specks of mud marring the stitching. I’ll have to launder the dress before the discoloration sets in. If I make it back.
An owl hoots overhead, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
My racing heart lodges itself in my throat. Despite my commitment to saving my father, it does very little to mitigate the real danger I’ve found myself in. I cling to the fading tendrils of sunlight that weave between the overhanging branches.
Critters scurry through the tall grass bracketing the worn path.
I feel eyes upon me, but I can’t make out anything too far into the gloom of the Woods.
I would quicken my steps, but my last attempt resulted in a fall.
I’m meant for the safety and comfort of my father’s bakery, not for traversing the unkempt forest floor.
A screech echoes from between the thick trunks and my father’s earlier warnings replay in my ears. It’s not just the Woods I should fear, but rather the male I’m setting off to meet.
He is no man, Bloom.
Indeed, he is not. The legend of the Minotaur Lord has been passed down between the residing families for generations. While no one save Pyke has met Lord Rhydian, many had dealings with his father. He ruled over our small provincial farming community for years until his son suddenly rose to power.
The stories state that they were once a noble family, cursed by some witch or demon into their monstrous form. Now, it was up to them to be the wardens of our land. Ruling over it for eternity with unquestionable authority.
The twisted half-human, half-bull monster was meant to be our guardian, but our protection came at a steep price. The tithe had been in effect for as long as anyone can remember. Increasing in cost and frequency every year since the current lord’s father passed.
Pyke serves as our shepherd to the new lord.
He is the one who informed Dew Hollow of the old lord’s passing and his son ruling in his stead. Given Pyke already had the displeasure of being acquainted with Lord Rhydian, he volunteered to deliver our tithes so we would be spared meeting with the monster.
Little is known about the new lord’s mother. Most of what we know about the Minotaur Lord is shrouded in mystery.
Which makes this journey all the more reckless.
I know what the lord does to those who are late on their tithe. I had scented the smoke and glimpsed the smoldering farm all those months ago. The Fosters were not the first family to be punished, and I’m certain they won’t be the last.
A cold breeze kicks up, making me shiver.
My wicker basket presses against my chest as I cup my upper arms. The light of the day drains away with each step. No matter what manner of male I’m about to face, I can’t deny this is a lonely existence.
I didn’t realize our supposed protector lived this far from Dew Hollow.
With only woodland creatures as neighbors, the typical sounds of life are absent. Our village is small, but it hums with life. Laughter and arguments trickle in from the open windows at all hours of the day. There are screaming children and barking dogs.
In the Woods, there is only the unknown. Eerie silence is broken up by the cawing of birds and the skittering of small animals through piles of dead leaves. The path seems to narrow the further I travel.
Once more, I question how Pyke makes this journey every month. He is never gone for this long, so either I’ve gotten lost or—
Another cold wind slices to me the core. My steps pick up as if I can outrun the fate that’s awaiting me back in Dew Hollow. No doubt Pyke has already been to see my father to make his case again for us to wed tomorrow. When he finds me missing, I pray he doesn’t follow me out here.
I’d hate for our paths to cross on the barren road.
If Lord Rhydian is amicable, perhaps I can ask him to escort me back to the village. It’s already dark, and I’m certain I won’t be able to find the path with only the moon as my guide.
If I ever reach his home. The faster I eat up the ground, the more the terrain remains the same.
Panic begins to set in.
I’m lost. How is that possible? I stayed on the path.
A lone howl cuts through the air. I let out a whimper. Great, I’m going to die out here, and Pyke will find my eaten corpse. My father will drop dead from a broken heart, and this foolish decision was all for nothing.
I must turn back. I have—
Then I see it. A break in the trees comes into view. Beyond the gap is a clearing. A meadow bursting with wildflowers brushes up against a small pond. Nestled in the center is a sturdy brick cottage. I nearly sag with relief as golden light glows from behind the window panes.
I can’t let fear rule me. I’ve come all this way, and I will make my plight known to Lord Rhydian. My father needs me.
Glancing down at my basket, I cringe at the loaf that’s surely gone stale. Hopefully the cookies have survived the journey better. Can minotaurs enjoy such treats? Or will he require something more intimate to be swayed than fresh bread?
My stomach turns hollow at the thought. What if he requires me to spend the night? I had assured my father I would do what I had to, but did that mean giving myself to a monster I didn’t know? It was the same fate I came out here to avoid.
I pray it won’t come to that. My hope is the only thing I have guiding me. With the wind pressing on my heels, I surge forward through the gap in the trees.
My boot crumbles off the side of a ledge and is met by night air. A scream lodges in my throat as I tumble forwards. The air knocks from my lungs as I fall off the muddy hill.
Round and round I roll down the mound until I land with a sharp thud at the base. Fragrant grass kisses my skin and dew-soaked flowers tickle my cheeks. With a groan, I test my strength and press up on my palm.
A searing pain radiates up my leg.
Touching the side of my scuffed boot, I gasp at the soreness in my ankle. I groan as my head swims. I can’t afford to pass out. There’s no way I can make the journey back. Not without proper aid. The glowing cottage is my only beacon of solace. I must reach it.
Rising to my feet, I can’t put any weight on my injured foot. My wicker basket is smashed. Chocolate and mud smear my yellow gown. Wiping my hands on the ruined fabric, I pick the sticks from my hair.
My fall lands me close to his home.
I limp towards the worn wooden door. The scent of roasting meat makes my stomach growl. The realization that I’ll have to spend the night here makes the journey seem longer than it is.
I say another silent prayer that the stories of Lord Rhydian have been exaggerated. That it was an accident that led to the burning of the Fosters’ farm and not a match struck by his hand.
If I have any luck at all, Lord Rhydian won’t be as monstrous as he seems.