Chapter 3
Three
They left early the next morning, before the Queen had even risen from her bed.
Makellos had barely slept all night. Despite not wanting to participate in the hunt, he was excited to leave the palace and see the kingdom.
And it would just be him and Hans, which meant he might actually have the opportunity to talk to some of the people.
He was curious to know what life was like outside of a gilded cage.
Perhaps he could learn more about how the townsfolk and farmers lived and if there was anything he could do to make their lives a little easier.
Hans was strangely quiet as they rode their horses south, through the towns that surrounded the castle, out into the farmlands, and then into the forest. They traveled for several days, stopping at various inns along the path.
Makellos wanted to talk to the people in the inns and taverns, but Hans told him no and kept him moving or in his room at night.
They could talk more with the people on the way back, he said, which didn’t make as much sense to Makellos, because then they might be traveling with meat that would spoil if they lingered too long, unless they were going to give it to people on the way.
But he also didn’t want to risk upsetting Hans and make them return home early, so he contented himself with watching from afar and observing the beautiful world outside of the palace walls.
He took it all in with a sort of child-like wonder.
The air was crisp and fresh, with scents that changed depending on where they were.
Smells of horses and hay and baked bread and evergreen trees played cloyingly with his nose, his eyes roaming as far as they could see.
They passed farmlands where he could see people working in fields, harvesting what was left of the meager bounty before the winter struck.
He himself had never known true hunger, and the thought that they were desperate for anything left to come out of the ground hurt his tender heart.
Once they entered the southern forest, it grew darker and cooler.
They passed along a well-traveled forest path, seeing small shacks and cottages built nearby.
They passed by several people chopping wood with axes; another thankless task, Makellos realized.
He watched two young men, one with dark hair and the other taller with red hair, a little way apart, chopping and binding wood.
He had also never been truly cold, always with warm clothes on his back and a fire lit in his rooms. And he had never had to do the work to keep himself warm either.
He tried to be polite and thank the servants when his mother was not around to hear, but he realized he had not given as much thought to the people who farmed and gathered the food and wood and wool and all of the things needed to make his life comfortable.
“Hans, do you think my mother would allow me to travel more within the kingdom? To meet with our people?” he asked pleasantly as their horses trotted along. “I’d like to learn more about how they live. Where our supplies come from, what is involved in such things.”
Hans grunted softly, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. “Perhaps.”
“Obviously not alone,” Makellos continued. “With you, or some of the other guards. Perhaps we could give out things to people in need. We have so much in the palace storehouses. Even with providing for all of the servants, we have more than enough.”
He waited for a response, but none came. Makellos wondered if Hans had something on his mind, for he had never known him to be this sullen and withdrawn.
“This way,” Hans said, and he suddenly left the well-worn path to go deeper into the trees.
Makellos spurred his horse to follow after him.
Above his head in the trees, birds chirped, and he heard the rustle of squirrels.
Once in a while an animal would dash nearby.
A hare, a fox, even a pair of geese with several little downy goslings, who hissed and flapped their wings at Hans but calmed and gazed at Makellos with their dark eyes as they passed by.
He smiled at every animal he saw, for he rarely saw one that was alive, much less in the wild.
How could anyone think of hurting such beautiful creatures?
After some time trotting through the trees, which had become thicker, and the woods growing progressively darker, Hans slowed his horse near a little cleared patch with a large boulder to break up the bitter wind that blew through the trees.
“Here. We shall tie up the horses and make camp,” Hans said.
Makellos obediently swung down from his horse, giving her nose a pat and sneaking her a lump of sugar he had hidden away in his pocket.
He tied her reigns to a nearby tree, leather boots rustling softly across the leaf-strewn ground.
It was growing quite cold, and many of the trees had lost most of their leaves, leaving spindly, dark branches stretching upward into the darkening slate-gray sky.
The hair on the back of Makellos’ neck prickled, sensing danger nearby.
Perhaps a wolf or other beast. He turned to Hans, opening his mouth to ask if the man felt the feeling too, when he caught the glint of a knife raised in Hans’s hands, the sharp tip pointed straight at him.
Makellos gasped and stumbled backward a step before he found the smooth rock against his back, trapping him in place like a cornered hare.
His heart pounded so loudly in his chest that it drowned out the sounds of the forest, sharpening his vision to only the man before him.
“Hans? What…?” The fear that washed through him was unlike anything he had ever felt before, and it choked the rest of the question in his throat.
Makellos could feel heat blazing in his body, his muscles tensed as if to flee, but he couldn’t make himself move, only press himself harder against the rock.
Hans’s shadow loomed over him, blocking out the meager light, and he squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the dagger fall.
For a moment, there was silence, and he wondered if the blow had landed, and he had not felt its sting at all.
But then he heard a gasping sound from the huntsman, and he peeked one blue eye cautiously open.
“I… I can’t do it,” Hans said, and the knife fell from his hand to land on the forest floor with a soft thump. A moment later, the man himself also landed on the ground upon his knees, reaching up his gloved hands to grasp at Makellos’ cloak. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I beg of you to forgive me.”
His breath returned to him in a gasp, and Makellos had to lean back against the large rock, for his knees would not stop shaking. “Hans. I don’t understand.”
“She’s mad. Jealous, because you have grown to be more fair than she. She’ll stop at nothing to see you dead.” Hans turned his dark eyes up to Makellos. “Run, hide. Leave Falchovari and never return.”
Makellos stared down at him, down at this man whom he had known all his life. He didn’t need clarification of who “she” was, for he already knew in his heart. His own mother had sent someone to kill him, over something he had not even known. “Go!” Hans said, letting go of Makellos’ cloak.
“But… what about you?” Makellos asked. While he did not know the full extent of his mother’s cruelty, he was sure that Hans failing to complete the task she had given him would result in something bad happening.
Hans shook his head. “I have served the Queen all of my life. I have watched you grow from a child into a man. A good man. Better than any I have ever known. Whatever the price of my disobedience, I will pay it, because I could not live with myself if I harmed you. I will do my best to hide the truth from her. Please, go. Run away and never come back!”
Makellos turned and began to flee into the trees. He glanced back just once to see Hans still on his knees, immobile as a statue, watching him, his knife still on the ground where he had dropped it. Then he turned back to the dimly lit forest and ran.
He ran as if the very devil were after him, faster than he had ever run in his life.
The wind whistled in his ears, “Run! Hide! Run! Hide!” He ducked under tree branches, slipping on roots and bushes, his red cape tangling in a patch of briars.
He ripped it free, and the enchanted fabric magically formed itself back together.
He didn’t know where he was going or how far he had run.
He only knew that he must escape if he wanted to live.
He had to find some place where his mother would not find him.
Somewhere her eyes could not see and her magic could not reach.
Around him, the forest grew darker and darker as the sun sank low in the sky, casting long, grasping shadows that twisted every which way.
It was only when he couldn’t run any more, when his heart felt like it would explode in his chest and his lungs struggled for every breath, that he finally stopped.
He wasn’t sure what direction he was running now, and he could barely see anything.
It was possible that in the dim light he could run into a low branch, or fall down a ravine.
Or perhaps there were dangerous creatures here who might eat him, or worse, steal his soul.
He didn’t think he was in the Dark Forest, but he had no way to know what differentiated the Dark Forest from the safer path.