by Tara Brown
My eldest brother Roland stood beside my father, as always, looking as if he were ready to die in fight for our father. I always imagined him, as heir to the throne, more the type to kill Father.
When I reached my destination, I opened the stable door and looked around for Maddox. He was nowhere to be seen. My heart sank. I had been hoping to see him but he had been avoiding me for days—something that started when rumors of my engagement were whispered.
Herrick cleared his throat and spoke softly, "Princess Amillia, I was taken with you from the moment I saw you. I have been anticipating this since the instant your brother and my father made arrangements for us to marry."
I turned to face him, shivering from the foul breath hitting my face. “And yet I have dreaded this moment from the very instant I learned of it. How can you be so excited to marry a perfect stranger? Have you no one back home you have loved?"
“I have loved many back home, but being a man, I am fortunate that love ends the moment I tie my trousers back up.” He grinned and stepped toward me, rushing me. His words and actions caught me off guard. I backed away quickly, nearly tripping over my feet as the feeble fool he played for his mother vanished, and in his stead a capable aggressive man appeared. His being a stumbling simpleton was all a show for my family. I had not seen him as a formidable enemy. It was a mistake. It made me vulnerable to his attack.
He pushed me inside a stall and closed the door. I screamed, but his hand flew to my face. I tried to push him off. His blushed face and the way he fumbled over his words before now seemed like a pleasant memory in comparison to the man in front of me. His hand grasped my throat and mouth, pulling my lips apart with his thumb. He slipped his foul lips over mine. I tried to knee him but his legs held mine. I pushed at him, but he shoved my head forcefully into the stone wall, making the world spin as my eyes tried desperately to focus.
His hands went to my skirts, pulling at them while his mouth assaulted mine. “You’re going to be a very good wife, aren’t you?” He seethed in my face bitterly, "A good girl who does as she's told, when she is told. Your brother has me convinced you have been taught your place and know what a woman is for."
I ignored him and his assault of me as the guard trainer's words slipped into my mind. Never lose sight of yourself in battle; it isn’t what the enemy is going to do that matters. If you know what you’re doing, you’re in control.
I knew what I could do.
I had spent my entire life pinned down by three elder siblings and had trained with the guards for fifteen years. I knew what I had inside me. I was as skilled as any man who fought for a living. I just needed to act upon my instincts instead of play the role of the princess.
I bit his disgusting lip. He screamed and moved, releasing the hold on my legs. I bit down again, simultaneously driving my knee into his groin. I grabbed his hair with my only free hand and threw him as forcefully as I could, smashing him through the door to the stall. He rolled out onto the hay-covered floor, groaning and grabbing at his lips with one hand and his groin with the other. I squared myself off and looked down at my torn skirts. I tore them the rest of the way, freeing my legs. My strongest assets.
I lifted my hands into fists, tucking my thumbs as the trainer had shown us all, and waited for him to get up. I wished I had my swords but I made the most of my rage.
“You psychotic wench. You’re no princess!” He spit blood onto the hay and dirt, looking up at me with daggers. I could see the switch was still flipped in his brain. Feeble Herrick was long gone. He growled, charging at me. I twisted to the right, dodging him and kicking him in the arse, sending him sprawling onto the ground again, giving him a mouthful of hay.
I steadied myself, waiting for him to rise and charge clumsily again.
The trainer's voice rose again in my mind. Know that most of the time the enemy will continue to do the same thing, but prepare for the opposite. It will occur randomly. You control only your responses.
I picked up the shovel that was leaning against the wall, stinking of horse manure, and readied myself.
“Amillia MorgenTsteIn, what is happening here?” My father's booming voice filled the stables.
I never turned my back on my enemy but grimaced, realizing how it looked at the moment.
Father chuckled. “We will never marry you off if you beat your betrothed.”
“That’s her plan, Father, no doubt about it. She's turned down all the offers she's received and now you’ve allowed Roland to pick for her and she’s decided to convince poor Herrick otherwise,” Edward’s voice sang, filled with laughter.
Father walked to Herrick, offering him a hand. He looked disdainfully at us all and sneered, “That is no lady, Your Highness. That is no better than a farmhand.”
Father looked at me, raising his eyebrows. I shrugged. “He hit me first and he tried to lift my skirts, Father. Told me to be a good wife.”
My father laughed again. “My son, you have assaulted the wrong princess.”
Herrick rose, running from the stable disguised again as the sniveling boy he had been when his mother was in the room. I dropped the shovel and put a wounded hand to my head, which was also bleeding.
I looked at Roland who stood at the stable doors. Rubbing my sore head, I pointed at him. "He won't last the year if you TRY to make me do this. And the moment my husband is dead, so will you be!"
Roland growled at me, “It was a very solid land deal. The trade from your marriage would have sealed our people’s fates for a lifetime. He comes from a wealthy land with fleets of armies. He will be king and you will be his!” He turned, huffing and running off after Herrick. No doubt to try to work a sweeter deal out.
"Roland's first decision as a king in training has been a disaster. Can't wait to see what else he has planned for the country, Father." Edward smiled and crossed his arms.
Our father nodded and watched Roland run off.
Edward put an arm around me. “I don’t know why we even bother putting you in dresses, Millia. You’re definitely more of a britches sort of girl.”
I laughed, rubbing my bleeding head. “It's not funny, Ed. He really wanted to hurt me. I think he likes hurting girls."
My father took my bleeding hand and smiled. “I will speak with Roland. I don’t think it's quite the match I'd hoped it would have been. A gentleman isn’t always gentle, Millia, remember that.”
I looked up at my father, admiring his strong face and smiled. “I remember everything you say, Father.” He ignored me most of the time, but I knew he saw me in that moment. I hurried back to my room through the servants' quarters to clean up.
Even after an hour soaking in the hot water, trying not to remember the feel of Herrick's lips on mine, I could make neither the memory nor the filthy feeling inside me go away. I tried to force the memory of Maddox's kisses instead.
I had never really enjoyed the idea of being a wife. A lifetime spent watching my mother in her duties proved they didn’t appeal to me. But the idea of kissing that buffoon for the rest of my life was not even imaginable. I picked up the small mirror beside my tub and looked for my fat lip. It was gone. I always healed fast after a fight, but that was a good smack and I had expected to wear it for a while.
But in the reflection I just saw me, no bruising. My pale strawberry-blonde hair and bright-green eyes stood out in the dim light of the washroom. My mother's high cheekbones and my father's thick hair were my best features. My strange green eyes, which matched no one in my family, were just that—strange.
I noticed an addition to the few freckles that added the only real color to my pale face and sighed. I never seemed to turn the honey color my brothers did. It was annoying to look so stark when being compared to one’s golden brothers by everyone who met us all.
The chamber girl held up the bath sheet for me as she entered soft footedly. “Your mother wishes you to still be at the feast this evening. She bid me to fetch you and ensure the marks upon your face were covered up.”
>
I looked at her crossly, knowing it wasn’t her fault. She was only the messenger pigeon. My issue was with my coward of a mother who would not make an appearance to discuss the feast with me herself.
I tapped my foot, trying to come up with a hindrance to prevent my attending the great feast. I gazed at the girl and sneered. “Is Herrick still here?”
The chamber girl scrunched up her nose and frowned. “Is it true then?”
I smiled. “Which part did you hear?”
“That you beat him silly in the stables for trying to get fresh with you.”
I laughed. “Yes. It's true, but he didn’t just try to get fresh. He tried to force me and get in my skirts.”
She stepped back, stunned. “No.” No one would ever touch a princess that way—or any woman. My father never allowed that kind of treatment.
“Yes,” I muttered and relived the entire thing. Had I not already beaten Herrick silly, Father would have had him tried for his attack. Roland would not have agreed to that though. He no doubt saw this as my doing and was busy trying to convince Father that I was the problem. My only hope was Grandmother; she was able to convince Father of things. I glanced at her again. “Stay away from him at all costs.” I pointed to her.
“Well, he hasn’t left his mother's side the entire evening. The queen and Prince Roland have spent every moment at his mother's side, trying to beg forgiveness.”
“Wonderful.” I rolled my eyes as I stood, allowing her to dry me off as my thoughts floated around in my mind. I needed a way out of the party. I didn’t know what to do about Herrick, except to run away and forgo my entire life if they tried to force my hand. It would be easy for me to do that. Artan and I on the run was all I had ever wanted.
She dressed me in silence. I spent the entire time dreading that Roland was being allowed to make the choices for the kingdom. Father had been giving him the smaller decisions to make, showing him repercussions and such. All I could do was hope Roland saw the repercussions of his actions with me and had learned I was not to be trifled with.
“You look beautiful.”
I turned to see my grandmother standing in the doorway smiling at me.
“I don’t want to look beautiful. I think it best I wear one of Cook's potato sacks to help Herrick control his urges.”
She laughed. “The way it was told to me implied that his urges wouldn’t be an issue for some time, years even.”
“Grandmother, please don’t make me go down there. Reason with Mother.”
She smiled softly again. “I don’t think you should go there. I think you should come with me.” Her hazel eyes sparkled as only a mischievous old woman’s could.
She took my hand and looked at my servant girl, pressing her finger to her lips. The girl curtsied, nodding.
My grandmother pulled me through the dark stone hallway and down the back stairs to the servants' quarters where the halls got narrow and wooden, creaking under every step. The heat on this side of the castle was unbearable in a girdle. She pulled me along to a small wooden door. I wiped the sweat forming on my brow, curious about our destination.
My grandmother put a finger to her lips again and bent to open the small wooden door. It creaked open, letting the light from the small room flood out into the dark hallway.
It was cozy with a small bed, a tiny desk, and two chairs. The candles and lanterns were more than enough light for the little room.
My grandmother looked behind us cautiously as we entered one at a time. She closed the door carefully. “This is my private room, always has been.”
I frowned at the room, confused. “What do you do here?” It didn’t look like the type of room the queen mother would enter, let alone claim ownership.
“Sometimes I hid from your grandfather, sometimes I hid from my responsibilities, and even worse, sometimes I hid from myself.” Her eyes were filled with something, some kind of emotion as she spoke. I knew that feeling. I regretted not running away with Maddox before an engagement was organized.
I looked at the books lining the back wall behind the desk and the cozy chairs that were larger than I was accustomed to. This was my grandmother's quiet reading room? It looked like a prison or a pauper's cottage in the woods.
I looked at the tiny bed and smiled. “May I remain here for the evening?”
“Yes, my dear, but you must realize this room comes with a price.” Her eyes grew cautious and haunted for a brief moment. “I always had a price to pay for hiding here."
“I know Mother will be angry if I am not at the party.”
Her eyes almost glistened as she spoke, “Exactly.”
“But I don't care. I would rather die a thousand deaths than marry that fool.” I hugged her. I was never too forceful. She was the queen mother. My father always described her as distant, although I had never seen her that way. “You’ve saved me, Grandmother.”
She patted my head woodenly as if her fingers couldn’t quite bend. “Not yet, my love, but I promise I will save you from that man,” she whispered. She pulled away from me and left the room suddenly.
I looked around at the cozy chair by the small fireplace where the books sat on the shelves. I looked at the books, choosing the most worn looking one and hoping it was worn from excessive reading.
A knock at the door startled me. I didn’t speak a word as the handle turned and the small wooden door creaked open.
I waited, not breathing, until I saw one of the scullery maids enter with a tray. She put it on the desk. “Be sure to drink your tea, as your grandmother said it would settle your nerves.”
She left, closing the door quietly.
I looked at the plate of meats and cheeses as I pulled it over near me to nibble and start the book. I had loved reading when I was little. And once I was into the story the simple relaxation made me forget the odd afternoon and near loss of something very dear to me. Something I had been hoping Maddox would take.
I blushed, thinking about my back against a tree and his huge hands holding me up and around him.
I finished the plate of food with a stretch and picked up the tea, which had cooled off. I drank it back fast. When I looked back at the book, I noticed that my eyes started to fuzz and cross. I tried to focus, but I suddenly felt exhausted. I smacked my lips together, noting the subtle taste of the sleeping tonic my mother drank most nights. I had tasted her tea once when I was little and nearly fell down a flight of stairs.
I started to panic, reaching around me. I knocked over everything I touched as my vision went completely black.
A frightening thought came to my mind. Herrick and my grandmother could be working together, or Grandmother and Roland at the very least. He was no doubt afraid our father would try to stop the wedding after seeing Herrick and his behavior toward me.
I stopped breathing and listened. Someone else was in the room.
Chapter Five
I woke with a start. My sleep had been restful but I knew I wasn’t at home. The smells were all wrong.
I looked around the large room, realizing it was a small cabin. I was on a narrow bed, not my bed or the bed my grandmother had brought me to, but a strange hard bed.
I sat up, feeling the room spin slightly. I was in a strange cabin I had never been in before. It was small and cozy with a large potbelly woodstove in the corner of the room, creating such comfortable warmth that I couldn’t help but feel calm in the small space. I didn’t see anyone around me, or hear any movements to indicate whether I was truly alone or not. I swung my legs onto the wooden floor, realizing I was dressed as a common boy and my long dark hair was tucked up into a tight bun. I wore breeches and woolen socks that felt warm and soft when I wriggled my toes. I stepped onto the floor, hearing it creak.
My heartbeat was thumping wildly out of control as I walked to the fire, looking at the metal poker in the corner beside the old woodstove.
I could smell the soup softly bubbling on the woodstove as I neared it, constantly looking around mysel
f. Once I had reached that side of the cabin, I stood with my back in the corner, squatting slowly, letting my fingers reach blindly for the poker.
When I felt the warm metal in my grasp, I clenched my fingers around it tightly and waited. Eventually Herrick and my brother would appear, and I would be damned if I was going down without the fight of a lifetime.
The heat of the woodstove made attempts at soothing me as I replayed each of the moments before I had blacked out in my grandmother's secret room. I felt vulnerable, knowing there was a possibility Roland and Herrick might come bursting through the door at any moment.
Whoever had changed me from my dress and taken me from the castle didn’t want anyone to recognize me as a princess, or even a girl. That seemed like an odd act for people forcing a princess into marriage.
My stomach growled at the smell of the soup. I glanced around the empty cabin, seeing the wooden bowls and spoons sitting beside a washing bin on a wooden shelf. I turned, looking at the soup. It was much like the soups I had been fed as a small child, with potatoes, carrots, turnips, and cabbage.
I didn't know what to do or where to go, or even where I was. But I was hungry and leaving the cabin hungry was a bad plan.
I walked across the kitchen to the huge wooden stir spoon and gave a small twirl, seeing the chunks of meat. My stomach growled even more. The broth looked hearty.
Grabbing a bowl and spoon, I scooped the soup into the bowl and took it to sit at the hearth. The heat of the woodstove at my back and the taste of the broth on my tongue was an amazing combination. Almost amazing enough to forget my horrible few days.
Filling my bowl a second time, I ate, trying to hurry. I didn’t want to be mid-bite when Herrick or Roland returned, because then I would have to murder whilst trying to eat. I relished the thought of sticking either one with the poker.
I finished the soup and stood at the door. I wasn’t sure what my next steps would be. I supposed I should find out where I was and try to find Maddox so together we could flee for the woods where Artan was. I took one last deep breath before opening the door a tiny crack. Cold air rushed inside the warm cabin. The door was pushed open by a force greater than the wind. I stepped back ready to attack, but I dropped the poker and leapt into his arms instead.
