Chapter 18
Chapter
There is grief inside her that
does not belong to today.
Children chase the carriage as we pull off of the cobblestone road and onto the dirt path leading to the Disenchanted Forest, their bellies full from last night’s bountiful hunt.
Upon Frog’s request, Wolfe was able to track and spear two wild boars large enough to feed the Shire.
And not only just their bellies, but their spirits too.
Loud, boisterous laughter carries in the wind as I wave from the window, holding tight to the secret apple the children were all too giddy to share when they heard of my engagement to the prince. “’Tis a gift for your betrothed,” they giggled in hushed voices.
I didn’t have the heart to tell them it would wither before it reached him, or that the prince is the least worthy of their gifts. but took it anyway.
It’s a bitter-sweet feeling, saying goodbye to the people of Dire Shire.
Saying farewell to new friends and kind faces.
The night may have been long and the ale sour, but even amidst the ruins there was warmth.
Not that you’d ever know it looking from the outside in, but the children, all singing and dancing around a dimly lit fire whilst their parents told stories of old…
they are far richer than any royal I’ve ever met.
They have heart.
They have a home.
“Are you needing the bucket again, Princess?” Myrrdin asks from where he’s leaned over on the driver’s bench. He looks back at me as I watch the boys and girls blur until they’re little more than a happy memory. And remember them I shall.
“No.” I smile. “I think I’m alright.”
And this time, I believe it.
We ride through the unending darkness of day without stop, Frog leading the way while Wolfe trails somewhere behind. The twins, for once, are quiet behind the reins thanks to Rhidland, no doubt, who’s forfeited his horse for a seat between them.
I take advantage of the horses’ hoof beats, drifting in and out of sleep. I dream of an autumn green gaze and the scorching trail it leaves lingering on my skin. Imagining the way the grooved edges of his iron mask would feel beneath my fingers as I pull it away to reveal—
“She’s unwell again, isn’t she?”
I startle awake and—oh, dear God, not this again! Myrrdin crouches over where I’ve fallen asleep on the recessed bench, the rusty bucket in his hand.
“She’s not sick, you daft dilly-weed!” Merrek joins us in the carriage, a grin hiking up his dimpled cheek. “She was having a dream. And a very nice one, I reckon.”
Myrrdin sits back on his heels, his concern morphing into an “oh” between his lips.
I jolt up in my seat as heat floods my cheeks. “It was not—I was not…”
I sound like a fish out of water, flopping around, desperate for an escape. But the best I can come up with is, “The carriage is uncomfortably warm.”
A lie of course, one the twins easily decipher between a shared look.
“You’re…warm?” Merrek smirks.
“That’s a new one. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard anyone describe the Disenchanted Forest as warm before.” Myrrdin rubs his cleanly shaved chin between his fingers, contemplating the utter absurdity of my answer and it’s all I can do not to—
Wait. Did they just say…
“Did you say the Disenchanted Forest?”
Before Myrrdin can answer, I push past them, nearly knocking them over as I clamber for the carriage window to see the “Enchanted forest.”
Or…what used to be. Towering over us are bright blue trunks with cracked and twisted branches, weighed down by the curse’s crimson-filled vines. Its roses never shed, unyielding to the forest’s other life.
“Bet you’ve never been anywhere like this before.” Merrek sidles up next to me, resting the bend of his arm out the window.
I shake my head in answer. “I’ve never been anywhere outside the castle.”
The smile falls from his lips and we say nothing as I turn my gaze back toward the remnants of a world once filled with magic.
“I’d like to see more of it, if that’s alright?”
Merrek sucks in a breath, scratching the back of his neck as he, for once, defers to his brother. But it isn’t Myrrdin who answers.
“I’ll take you.”
I pull back from the window, certain I imagined the deep, muffled voice. But there he is standing at the foot of the carriage, his eyes unable to meet mine. Frog.
Merrek claps his hands together, pulling me from my stupor. “Perfect! It’s a date, then.”
The sound of Myrrdin’s palm meeting Merrek’s cheek snaps through the stagnant air, shocking everyone except Merrek, whose laugh only gets louder.
“Don’t mind him. His brain is too small to comprehend things like engagements and loyalty.
” Myrrdin shakes his hand out, clearly more affected by the sting of his slap than his brother.
“Just— ah— enjoy your walk.” He offers a pained smile, nodding at his commander as he all but drags his twin out of the carriage with him.
I watch their bickering forms recede into the direction of the horses, where Rhidland and Wolfe are working them out of their harnesses for the night.
“Miss Sunday?” Frog’s head tilts so that the shadow from his hood hides his eyes and, again, I’m overcome with that uncanny feeling we’ve met before.
Not even a night in and I’m losing my mind already.
“Miss Sunday?” Frog steps forward, his foot now on the carriage step. “Are you alright?”
“I—” I’m stalling. That must be it.
I’ve worked myself into such a tizzy that now my brain is scrambling to make sense of the nonsensical.
Air. “I just need a little air,” I blow out.
“Of course.” He steps back, allowing me room to slowly climb out of the carriage and into a world unlike any I’ve ever seen.
Above me, silver beams from the pale moonlight break through the tangles of bright blue branches, revealing faded reminders of the Enchanted Forest’s beauty everywhere I turn.
Like babbling brooks that no longer babble, but whisper of atrocities left unseen.
Once tall flower beds, now bowed beneath the weight of the curse’s crimson petals.
It’s haunting, yet…
“Beautiful,” I whisper in wonder.
“Yes,” Frog breathes, but it isn’t the forest that’s caught his eye. I find him looking at me.
Quickly, he turns away, pulling his hood down to hide the heat coloring the tops of his cheeks.
Odd. I’ve seen fear on men’s faces many times before, but I’ve never seen it come in the shade of pink.
How curious.
I have half a mind to settle this conundrum when he cuts into my train of thought. “This way.” He gestures, his head hung low. “There’s something I want to show you.”
I follow his gaze down a long forgotten path and am reminded of a story I read not long ago. One about a princess and a huntsman, and skin white as snow.
“This thing you hope to show me. It wouldn’t happen to be my heart in your hands, would it?” I half-jest. And the other half, well, she’s far too keen on finding what the masked knight is hiding.
It’s certainly not his surprise. His body goes ram-rod straight, the whites of his eyes now on full display. He looks well and truly mortified. That or, he’s having a heart attack.
My smile falters. “Goodness, I was only teasing.”
His eyes shudder, but his shoulders remain tensed. Not a fan of dark humor then. Noted.
“Shall we?” I ask, already walking ahead, though I have no idea where I’m going. I’m just eager to move past the obvious gap in my social etiquette, and hope he’ll hurry up and fill the space between us.
“Miss Sunday?” Frog calls after me.
“Mm-hmm?” I slow, counting each step the knight takes to catch up with me.
One.
Two— Wow. Impressive. He shortens his stride to keep pace with mine, allowing the stifling silence to take root before finally answering.
“Your heart…” He pauses, throat bobbing around the words not yet spoken. I have to remind myself to breathe to keep my pulse from hammering in my ears.
“My heart?” I repeat, twisting my fingers together.
His heated gaze flickers toward mine, but then he blinks and the warmth is gone. “It’s safe with us.”
My eyes drop toward the path that’s been swallowed by decay, a once magical realm that’s been lost to time.
“Of course.” I smile, but the gesture feels foreign on my lips.
Though, I can’t reason why.
There is nothing natural about the way this man makes me feel.
Surely, most women would be appalled to hear they frighten the realm’s most deadly hand.
Yet, here I am, finding myself…attracted?
Oh, God. Is that what this is? Am I attracted to the knight tasked with delivering my heart to the prince?
I peer up at Frog’s tall form, studying how he walks with all the assurance his eyes seem to lack. The way his muscles flex beneath his tunic, his long calloused fingers never straying far from his blade and—
Yes. I am smitten.
I swallow, smoothing my hands over my dress to wipe the sweat collecting in my palms, when I feel something hard and round in my cloak pocket. I fish it out and find the apple given to me by the children.
This is exactly the distraction I need, I think as I bring the red fruity flesh to my lips.
“I wouldn’t,” Frog grabs the apple from my hand, chucking the glossy red fruit deep into the gnarled rows of trees.
I can only stare after what was going to be my breakfast. “I’ll have you know that was meant to be a gift. Given to me by some very special friends.”
Frog cuts his eyes to mine, a flicker of amusement dancing in their depths. “Your friends gifted you a rotten apple.”
“They what?” I gasp, when the understanding hits me.
I smile. “Right, well. You should be so lucky to have friends like mine.”
Frog chuckles, a deep resonant sound that’s only amplified by the mask. “You trust too easily.”
My mouth opens in protest, in the hopes of hearing him laugh again, when we step around the bend and my ability to speak abandons me entirely.
Frog stops between two blue-vined willows, pushing their limp limbs to the side, making room for me to move past him and into the picturesque scene.
The last of the Ruinous mountains tapers to its end, feeding three small waterfalls off its rocky ledge. Its murky runoff pours into what used to be a crystalline plunge pool.
I breathe it all in. Ignoring the musty smell that plumes with each step as I close my eyes and picture what it might have been like to see the shimmering glow of magic reflected off the water’s surface.
“I read about this place in Father’s journals.
How the water used to sparkle beneath the sunlight,” I pause, nearly losing my slipper to the mud that now resides where fluffy green moss used to be.
It’s with a heavy sigh I pull the stained satin free. “There were these floating white flowers. They were said to hold—”
“Secrets.” The moonlight ripples in Frog’s eyes. I have to tear my gaze away to keep from falling into them.
“You know the story?” I ask instead, easing my arm from his hold.
He clears his throat, putting space between us as his fingers curl and unfurl at his side. “A version of it.” He nods.
My brows knit. “There is only one version.”
Frog turns away from the water’s edge, toward the trees that form a semi-circle at our backs, his expression unreadable.
When he says nothing more, I continue. “The singing falls were named after the Siren sisters that lived beneath them. These flowers were their gift to man. A place where he could confess his heart’s deepest desires in exchange for a song.
If the Sirens enjoyed his confession, the flower would close.
Only to open again when the hand of the secret’s intended touched its petals. ”
I let my gaze linger over the water’s glassy edge one last time before turning away, when Frog’s words stop me in my tracks.
“Did your fathers journal tell you that it was man who stole the flowers and pried them open with their greed?”
I turn, unsure if this is a jest. “No? Twas an accurate recounting of history’s events. The curse killed the Sirens and the flowers all withered to the bottom upon their death.”
Frog looks down, silent as the dark water laps against his boots. “The curse is powerful. But it is nothing compared to the cruelty of man.”
The cruelty of man.
My jaw slackens as I fall back into a room filled with cruel men who stood saint-like next to me.
The memory of that night is more than I can bear.
I can’t breathe.
Frog turns at the sound of my quick, rapid breaths, his eyes narrowing on the too fast rise and fall of my chest. “Miss Sunday?”
I try to seal my eyes against the memory of just how cruel the world can be. How cruel I can be.
But it’s too much.
There’s too much.
It’s everywhere.
“Miss Sunday!”
I shirk off Frog’s gentle touch, pushing his hand away from mine. “Blood. There’s blood on my hands,” I pant, rubbing against the stain forever buried beneath the surface of my flesh.
“I need to get it off. I have to get it off.”
Frog’s gaze flickers toward the water, his brows lifting as he realizes what I’m about to do. “Stay with me, Miss Sunday. Please, don’t.” He shakes his head, lifting his hand to try and stop me, but I’m already out of reach, wading into the murky water.
I tear the string of my cloak free, letting it fall to the wayside as cool waves wash against my skirts. But it’s not enough.
“Miss Sunday, please.” Frog lowers his tone, keeping his steps light as he follows me in.
I ignore him, not caring that I’ve lost my slippers to the muddy bottom or that my once glittering gown is now floating in thick, brown water.
Already, my head feels lighter. And when a gentle ripple sends a rose bud floating my way, I step in even deeper, breathing out the air I had been holding as I watch dew drops race down its petals.
“There’s nothing in here that can hurt me,” I utter, petting the roses soft petals. “I’ve been immune to death’s touch for years.”
The water stills behind me as Frog comes to a stop just a few feet behind me. But it isn’t my display of unnatural abilities that has rendered him silent, I realize as I follow his gaze toward the center of the plunge pool. It’s the large razor edged fin racing toward us.
Toward me.
My mouth opens in a scream but is instead filled with bitter, flat water as I’m yanked below the surface.