Shattered Glass
He was a man once—aye, more than a man. Not only a handsome and valiant king, but gentle of heart as well. He was beloved of his people, yet more than all others he was beloved of the gods.
One fair day, as the king wandered through his quiet wood in search of game, he came upon a maiden gathering apples in his orchard.
She was fair beyond telling, with soft brown eyes and lips as red as the fruit she gathered, and the king stood transfixed, struck silent by the sight of her in the golden light.
In that moment he loved her utterly; nor was she spared, for when she lifted her gaze from the laden bough, her heart too was smitten by him.
So it was that the two became as one in heart.
They danced together in the green shade of the great trees, splashed through gleaming streams, and chased one another, laughing, across the meadows where wildflowers swayed.
When at last the king wedded the maiden he adored, the people rejoiced in the streets, and the gods themselves rejoiced as well.
From heaven they sent him a wondrous wedding gift, a herd of peerless creatures, long of limb and fair to behold, all female, gentle and swift, and the king called them Doe.
Yet peace is never unbroken. There was an old sorcerer who coveted the throne.
Knowing that he could not harm the king save through the one he loved, he bided his time.
On a golden afternoon, as the queen bent amongst the trees to gather fruit, the sorcerer cast his wicked spell and transformed her into a doe, driving her, startled and fleet, into the forest where the king hunted.
Here our tale turns to sorrow. The king and his men, ranging the glades, came upon a herd grazing in the sunlit meadow.
There the king beheld a fair doe and chose her for the queen’s supper.
His arrow flew straight and sure—and knew not that it struck the glass-delicate heart of his own beloved.
As the shaft pierced her, the enchantment was undone, and before she fell, gasping and bleeding upon the flowers, she stood once more in her own form.
The king’s cries echoed through the forest as he caught her in his arms. He pressed her close, whispering words of love as her life fled with her last breath.
Believing the death his own doing and knowing nothing of the sorcerer’s treachery, the king wrenched the arrow from her heart and thrust it into his own.
His men stood powerless, watching their lord fall beside his lady.
When the gods heard the lament of the king’s men, wrath fell upon them.
With a stroke of lightning they smote the sorcerer and turned him to stone.
Yet even the gods cannot unmake death. Instead, in their sorrow, they gave the lovers another form.
They shaped them into the very creatures they had gifted, to run forever side by side beneath the trees.
And to the king they gave a mighty crown of antlers, that all who looked upon him might know he had once been a king.
And so it is said that even now, in the high meadows and shadowed woods, the king and his queen may be glimpsed—blithe and untroubled at last, pursuing each other through the wilds they loved.
—He Was Once a King, from The Book of Ancient Mountain Lore
School had only been back in session for a week, and already, Collin’s patience was running on fumes. The tale of the Stag King only made the children restless, and an indoor art project had seemed like a clever idea—until the paint ended up everywhere except on paper.
After finally dismissing the class early, he’d spent two hours on his hands and knees, scrubbing paint from the stone floors. Now, with the meeting hall spotless and rags heaped in a damp pile, he sank down on the floor and surveyed his work.
He could wash the rags now... or let the laundresses deal with it and leave a note. A nice one. Maybe addressed to the girl who had a crush on him.
As he considered the least scolding option, he remembered the note Aries had slipped under his door that morning.
C, meet me at the lake after work. – A
Collin crumpled the missive in his palm. He wasn’t in the mood for fishing. He wasn’t in the mood for anything, really.
He took his time. He rolled down his sleeves with care. Redid the buttons. Laced his boots like a man preparing for battle. Then he stood, glanced around the already gleaming floor, and grabbed the broom. Anything but going to the lake.
Outside, the square was buzzing. It was the first market day of the season, and the air thrummed with springtime excitement.
Stella was just leaving with her sisters. She didn’t speak to Collin—hadn’t spoken since fall. Politeness had replaced her outright hostility—quiet nods, mutual avoidance, and a silent agreement to keep out of each other’s way.
He waited until they were gone, then pulled on his cloak and slung his bookbag over his shoulder.
The moment Collin stepped into the square, the noise hit him like a gust of wind, laughter, shouting, clanging, barking, children squealing.
Bright fabrics fluttered from booths like flags.
Someone was frying something greasy and delicious.
He caught the scents of garlic, yeast, and hot oil battling each other in the breeze.
Dragonfly’s aunt stood on an overturned crate, hollering at a trio of boys trying to slink away from her display of leather boots.
The bakery had a line spilling out the door. People craned their necks for a glimpse of sweet buns through the fogged-up glass. A woman emerged with an armful of loaves and a delighted smile.
Across the square, Nic and Uriah’s father gestured like a conductor over his display of hand-carved furniture. “Solid maple! Dovetail joints! You’ll die before this chair does!”
Chickens clucked somewhere behind a cart. A donkey brayed. A child squealed with delight, holding a woven basket squirming with fuzzy yellow chicks.
Collin wandered the stalls with no real intent, dragging his feet through the crowded square as if each step toward the lake carried some invisible weight.
He had read the note twice now—but somehow, he’d ended up lingering between barrels of onions and wheels of cheese, unsure if he was hungry or just avoiding the inevitable.
A vendor shouted prices in his ear. A runaway rooster nearly tripped him. The crowd jostled and spun, and he allowed himself to drift with the madness like flotsam in a flood.
He stopped at a produce stall and stared blankly at the vegetables.
Did he need carrots? Maybe. Garlic? Probably.
Flour? He had no idea. Still, he found himself filling his arms with onions, tubers, anything to justify standing still.
When the vendor handed him change, he almost forgot what he’d bought.
A trio of schoolgirls giggled as they passed. He heard his name whispered and pretended not to notice.
The square was overrun with color and noise—cloth banners snapping in the wind, bells clinking from a cart full of trinkets, someone loudly demonstrating a crank-operated grain mill. Every sound felt louder than necessary.
He rounded the bakery, caught a whiff of warm yeast and honey, and paused. He could buy a tart for Aries. A peace offering. Or maybe for himself. Something sweet to soften whatever conversation was waiting for him.
He didn’t move.
Instead, he stared into the crowd, eyes unfocused. Maybe Aries just wanted to talk. Maybe it wasn’t about her. But deep down, he knew it was.
The road to the lake was muddy. Spring had finally arrived. The mountain’s white veil was lifting, giving way to a rich green sweep of new life.
Collin felt it in his chest—like a door cracking open after too many months in the dark. He had grown restless. The air was warming, the scent of thawed earth and fresh rain sweeping through the village like a promise.
But winter hadn’t left quietly. Some days brought sun, others rain, and nights still froze the thaw into glassy sheets of ice. The world couldn’t make up its mind, and neither could Collin.
He wanted to be outdoors, but every step turned up mud. He spent more time cleaning his boots than walking in them. Cabin fever had set in weeks ago—so bad, even Aries and Hadria seemed to be tiring of each other’s constant company.
Aries sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, his gray eyes staring across the dull lake. The clouds hung heavy above them, thick as wool. He didn’t turn when Collin approached—just called out without looking. “Took you long enough. How was class?”
“School was a mess.” Collin sat down stiffly beside him. “The students were feral today. I nearly lost it over a paint spill.”
“Sounds like you.”
They fell into silence. The wind skimmed the surface of the water. Geese flapped somewhere far off.
Collin leaned back on his hands. “So. What’s this about?”
Aries didn’t answer right away. He cleared his throat once. Twice. “I’ve been thinking about something. About you. And I didn’t want to say it in a note.”
That tone. Collin braced himself.
Aries hesitated. He rubbed the back of his neck, then let out a breath. “I think you should let Dragonfly go.”
The words didn’t hit immediately. They floated there, like fog.
“Excuse me?” Collin said.
“Just... think about it, alright? You’ve been carrying this around for months, and it’s eating you alive.”
Collin’s jaw clenched. “Is this coming from you? Or Hadria?”
“Come on—”
“No. Be honest. Did she put you up to this?”
“She didn’t put me up to anything. She’s just worried about you. We both are.”
“So now you both get to sit around and decide how long I’m allowed to feel things?”
Arie’s expression tightened. “No one’s deciding anything. We’re asking you to see what we see. You’re miserable, Collin. You haven’t been yourself since she left.”
“Because she meant something to me. I’m sorry that’s so inconvenient for everyone.”
“That’s not what I meant. I just... I don’t want to see you stuck. Waiting for someone who might not be waiting for you.”