Chapter 1 #3
Before anyone else could stop me, I hurried down the carpet, dodging the ooze I’d dragged in, and made it out of the double doors into the castle’s main hallway.
I leaned against the cool stone and inhaled a steadying breath.
I rubbed my hands over my face, my thin bracelet slipping down my wrist. Thank the ancients that would be the last time I’d have to pretend to be an extrovert.
The last time I would have to pretend to be a hero.
“Ellinore the Brave?”
I startled, pushing myself from the wall, immediately transforming from haggard and exhausted Ellinore into the extraordinary champion everyone expected.
“Yes?” My voice squeaked in pitch. Yes. I was an impressive hero.
A girl approached me dressed in an elegant muted-green dress, which was stunning against the warm sepia tone of her skin.
Her hair was twisted and styled in the popular way of the women of the court, a stark contrast to my tangled hair hanging in my face.
Jewels adorned her fingers and her neck, and any composure I’d gathered fled in the face of her soft smile.
She offered me a cloth sack. “Food for your journey. From the feast.”
“Oh, thank you.” I took the bag gratefully, with an awkward, deferential nod. I may have been a decorated quester, but I was still a peasant.
“You’re welcome. Thank you for… helping our traders and farmers. That spider was quite gruesome.”
“Ah. Yes. That.” Oh no, she wanted to talk about the quest. Must flee.
“I’ve greatly enjoyed hearing about your quests. You’re so brave and admirable.” She batted her long eyelashes. Oh no, this might be more than just quest talk. Must flee squared. “The tale about the Golden Dragon is my favorite.”
“Oh, yes. That was a… great quest.”
“I was wondering—”
“Well. Um… look at the time. I really must be going. Thanks for the food. Bye.”
I brushed past her and all but ran toward the stables. I exited the castle, gracefully tripping down the stone steps of the entrance into the square courtyard, focused on escape.
Footsteps followed me as I crossed the cobblestones, and I desperately hoped it wasn’t the courtier trying to engage in more conversation.
“You’re lying,” a voice said from behind me. Oh, it was worse than the courtier. It was Aven. I stopped in my tracks, stiffening in fear until they continued. “You have no intention of returning for the summer quests.”
I sighed before I turned to face them. “I thought you’d be happy. You’ll win for once.”
Their ears glowed red, but it may have been the heat from the late-afternoon sun instead of their obvious irritation.
The weather was warm for an early-spring day, and sweat gathered under my tunic.
I couldn’t wait to divest myself of my cuirass, tassets, and bracers.
Not to mention the pauldron that was barely hanging on.
I didn’t know how Aven stood it in their brocaded layers and the high lace collar tight around their throat.
The courtyard was empty for the time of day; most of the servants who would normally be bustling by were occupied with the feast. Other than the whinnies from the nearby stable, and the occasional caw from a bird overhead, Aven and I were alone.
“You can’t retire,” they said.
Why did they always have to be so contrary all the time? “You may be royalty, but you’re not the king. You can’t order me not to, you know. I am retiring.”
Their brow furrowed, dark eyebrows pulling together. “But you’re the best.”
“It’s nice to hear you admit it.”
“I’ve always admitted it,” they rebutted quickly. “It’s why I strive to be better. So I can beat you. One day.”
My cheeks heated in the face of their sincerity. I hated how a well-placed compliment from them could unravel the solid facade I’d projected for the last several years. “Well. Now you’re the best. Congratulations!” I gestured awkwardly with my hands to convey my false cheer.
“No.” They shook their head. “I don’t want to be the best because you’ve left. I want to be the best by beating you. In the summer competition.”
I pressed my fingers into my eyes, which were stinging from both the sunlight and fatigue. “Princet Aven, I smell like dead spider, and I want to go home. Please have your existential crisis on your own time.”
They blinked. “I’m not having an existential crisis.”
“You literally are. In front of me. It’s not cute.” Actually, it was kind of cute, especially when the red of their ears deepened and a blush seeped into their pale cheeks.
“Retirement doesn’t suit you. You’ll be bored to tears in a week.”
“I disagree.” I crossed my arms. “I think it suits me fine. Great, even. It’ll be fun and amazing.”
“What do you even plan to do?”
“Garden,” I said, lifting my chin. “Knit. Bake. Write. And grow old with a bunch of cats.” I didn’t mention the piece about figuring out who I was beneath the Ellinore the Brave mantle.
Aven wouldn’t understand. They were born royalty.
They knew who they were and who they could be without ever having to question.
I had made a life of pretending, of assuming a persona so my family had a chance at a better life.
I was an actor, and I was at my breaking point.
“Garden? Cats? That’s not you.”
“You don’t know me,” I shot back. They had no right to say that. They only knew the part I played, not the real me. I barely knew who that was. “Don’t pretend we’re anything other than competitors.”
They matched my defensive posture, their armguard catching on their ornate sleeve. “Fine. Leave. But mark my words, you’ll be back. And I’ll be ready.”
“I won’t, but whatever. Have fun, Princet Aven. Try not to die.”
They squawked in offense as I hastily sped toward the stables.
My steed, a beautiful bay mare with a black mane, was as happy to see me as I was to see her. Declining the help of the stable hands, I pulled her out of the stall by her halter and adjusted my saddle, then tucked the new bag of gold and bundle of food into the saddlebag.
“Come on, Bluebell,” I said, patting her neck. She nickered and pressed the smooth velvet of her nose against my hand. “Let’s go visit our good friend. Then we’ll ride home and make sure Zig isn’t locked in a dungeon or back in the stocks.”
I mounted and rode out of the castle grounds, under the portcullis, and over the drawbridge, until I was on the road headed to my home village on the outskirts of the castle’s looming influence.
Though Aven may have been watching, and though the competitions and contests had been good to me over the years and had allowed me to provide for my family, and though the bards had sung charitably of my feats, I didn’t look back.
Not once.