Chapter 5 #2
I’m sorry to drag you away from your cozy cottage. He touches my cheek. I want to see his eyes, but they are always deep in shadow. All of this is my fault. I promise the King and Queen of Montrace will help us.
Us. That single word keeps me going. I’ve started to believe myself half in love with him—a king who only appears to me in dreams. I’m besotted enough to walk through the countryside alone in winter, with a mouse in my pocket and a raven on my shoulder.
No wonder every merchant and wagon-driver passes us by. I look positively insane.
By the time we arrive in the town outside the gates, the soles of my boots have holes worn in the bottom.
Winter has gripped the land in an icy freeze.
I stumble up the road to the castle without a plan, unfit to present myself to the king and queen, if they would even deign to grant me an audience.
Only to find the royal family skating on a frozen moat.
The raven flaps into the sky. He can’t fly far or long, yet, but his strength is increasing daily. He will be gone soon. Beyond my help.
Not that I’m sure whether I’m helping him at all. This entire plan feels so desperate and doomed. He swears the queen owes him a favor. Yet standing here in the winter-bright sunlight, travel-weary and unkempt, his promises feel like a delusion.
What if I left behind everything I knew for a fantasy?
For all I know, Mum might have walked through the door five minutes after I left. I could have trekked halfway across Montrace to have a chat with the king and queen about a random mouse in my pocket. What am I doing?
The raven swoops up to the gatehouse roof and lets out a harsh caw. The mouse in my pocket twitches. She’s spent most of this journey sleeping in my pocket. I’m afraid to let her out of my sight lest mouse-Mum get lost or eaten.
I have lost my entire mind.
But now, I have attracted the attention of a woman with reddish-brown hair punctuated by a bright white streak above one eye. She skates over to me.
“I know your crow,” she says.
“He’s a raven,” I blurt out, my cheeks flaming as I realize I just corrected the Queen of Montrace. No one else could have that distinctive hair. “I mean, Your Highness, with all respect—”
“There’s no need to stand on ceremony. My name is Gwen. Please, come inside and warm up.”
Not one of the scenarios I imagined during the trek here matches reality. I’m given a room, a bath, fresh clothes, and invited to dine with the royal family. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would get more than a few minutes to plead my case.
Here I am, explaining that the raven I’m holding thinks he’s the lost king of Aisendelle. He told me this in a dream, and we need to find his crown to break the curse that will turn him back into a man.
At least their young children listen attentively, as though I’m spinning an especially entertaining yarn, which makes for a chaotic conversation.
The king, Kai is tall and severely handsome, with dark hair and broad shoulders.
Despite superficial similarities, he has a warmth and wry sense of humor about him that marks him as completely different from my dream king.
His blue eyes make me ponder what color the Raven King’s would be.
I give them a brief summary of events, from finding the wounded bird, removing the arrow and binding its wing, the witch’s visit and her terrifying display of power, my mother’s bite of an apple and subsequent diminishment. I place her on the table beside my plate.
“Mouse,” their son says, pointing.
“She’s my mum,” I tell him. “She didn’t always look like this.”
“The River Witch uses food to entice people into trusting her,” Queen Gwen says bitterly. “I was her prisoner for more than a year.”
“This is how you met the raven?” I ask, to clarify. I can’t tell her how grateful I am that she believes my story.
Queen Gwen stretches out one hand to stroke the raven’s chest. “He led me to the River Witch when I sought her out, yes. I was trying to find help to confront The Snow Queen to the north.”
“He thought you had come to break his curse.” I smile.
“Alas, I was on my way to help another cursed prince.” She wiggles her fingers at the king. He takes her hand and brushes a kiss over her knuckles.
“Gwen had a different agenda,” he says. “I am fortunate that she did.” He hoists their young son, Etan. “I will put the children to bed. You finish your conversation. Find out who this bird is.”
“He says he’s the king of Aisendelle.”
Kai and Gwen exchange a look.
“It’s not impossible,” he says after a moment. “Their king disappeared a century ago. The territory has more or less been an ungoverned backwater ever since. A few noble houses and a lot of farmers and shepherds. Not much else is there.”
I glance at the raven. He and mouse-Mum are playing a game of keep-away with a crust of bread. He moves it. She scampers after it. He moves it again. They go in circles. A fond smile curves my lips.
“Why didn’t the River Witch turn you into an animal?” I ask the queen.
“I don’t know,” she answers. “I am not privy to a fae witch’s thoughts or intentions.”
“But you defeated The Snow Queen,” I blurt. “Plague of the Five Realms, the last great fae witch.”
If the River Witch is a lesser fae, I quake at the thought of facing down a more powerful one. Gwen is indeed brave.
“Kai and I did, together. It was as much luck as it was anything else,” she says.
“My wife is too modest,” the king says, returning without the youngsters. He drops a kiss on the top of her head. “She saved my life. With her wit, her intelligence, and her courage.” He kisses one knuckle of her hand with each compliment.
I experience that pang of envy. I want what they have. Not a castle. I don’t need a title. A devoted, loving husband and a protective, involved father to our children? That would be a dream come true.
A pinch near my heart as I think of my Raven King. Unless I can be as brave and cunning as Queen Gwen was, I will never meet him in his true human form.
I want that. Whatever danger lies ahead, I must face it head-on. For my mother. For the Raven King.
For myself, too. Saving them might finally balance the scales of my mistake that led to a man’s death. If I can prove my competence in some fashion, I won’t feel like such a failure.
“A kind princess once gave me the equipment I needed to complete my mission,” Gwen is saying. “I will do the same for you. You’ll need new boots, food, and warm clothes. When will you be leaving us?”
“As soon as possible. If I wait too long, the raven will be compelled to return to the witch and I won’t know how to find him again.”
“In a hurry,” the king smiles. “Just as you once were, Gwen.”
“How would you know? You weren’t even there,” she says a bit crossly.
“Princess Christobel told me the story when we stayed with her.”
Their bickering amuses me. They strike me as friends, not just lovers. He might be the king, but she treats her husband with genuine affection, not distant reverence.
I sleep soundly that night, and do not dream of flying or decrepit citadels.