Disenchanted

by Brianna Sugalski

  “Probably wasn’t her.”

  “It was too! I’ll bet ye two lizard tails…”

  With effort, Lilac focused on Blitzrik and ignored the conversation at the back of the group. She folded her hands together, trying her hardest to project calmness. “I appreciate your hospitality, really. But I’m on my way to Paimpont to take care of important business. I really must go. I hope you understand.”

  “Really,” Blitzrick said, scratching his silver beard. “At the castle, they send you off into the woods, alone? They are out of their—”

  “Mum!” A shrill voice rang out from behind her.

  Lilac’s stomach flipped. Her bag.

  Forgetting her composure completely, she turned and leaped over one kneeling korrigan, scrambling around the tree. A very small korrigan, apparently the seventh, sat cross-legged on the riverbank while rummaging eagerly through Lilac’s belongings.

  “Aife,” a female voice rasped. The korrigan Lilac had leaped over stumbled to her own feet, curtsying clumsily as she sprinted past the princess to reach the miniature korrigan, fast as her stout legs would carry her.

  “Where in the heavens are your manners, child?” Aife squeaked in pain as the korrigan—her mother, Lilac gathered—grabbed her roughly by the ear. “What’ve you got there? Put it back, this instant!”

  Everyone watched as the korrigan child writhed out of her mother’s grasp. She had two pastries and a dumpling tucked into her armpits, mouth full and dusted with brown crumbs. The expression on her mother’s face morphed from anger into mortified shock.

  “The princess, she’s come to feed us, mama!” Aife did a wee jig in place, giggling exuberantly.

  Helpless, Lilac turned to the other creatures. Most of their tiny faces scrunched in panic, as if expecting her to burst into a fit of rage. Blitzrik clutched his hat to his chest and gripped a tuft of white hair with his other hand.

  The silence was nearly unbearable—almost as much as the tearful little korrigan’s stare. Suddenly, Lilac wanted nothing more than to scoop little Aife up into her arms. She certainly had not come to feed the korrigans, or anyone for that matter. The last time she’d agreed to help a Darkling had traumatized her.

  “Please excuse her, Your Royal Highness,” Blitzrik whispered solemnly. He had silently sidled his way between her and Aife, as if worried she might attack the child. “She’s our youngest, and doesn’t quite know what she’s doing.”

  She put her hand up. “Please, Blitzrik,” she said firmly, watching his ears perk up at his name flowing from the princess’s mouth. At this point, she assumed him to be their chief. “Are there many more of you?” she asked, glancing around.

  The korrigan shook his head. “As far as I know—and I know a lot of things, Your Royal Highness—we are the only band of korrigans in Brocéliande. There are always a few strays, I suppose, who either haven’t found us or refuse to join us. Save about four or five others who basically live at the tavern just west of here.”

  Lilac raised her eyebrows in feigned surprise, stifling a giggle as she recalled the memory of the musical korrigan trio with the mysteriously unending supply of instruments back at the tavern.

  “It is fine, I promise,” she reassured Blitzrik. She then excused herself over to Aife and her mother, suddenly feeling everyone’s eyes continuing to bore into the back of her head.

  “Greetings, my dear Aife,” she said, taking the little korrigan’s hand and winking knowingly at her mother, whose face paled.

  “These are for you to share with all the others. I’m making it your job to feed your friends and family today.”

  Aife nodded vigorously, chunks of red from the raspberry tart wedged between her teeth as she grinned ear to ear.

  Lilac bent to peer into her sack and saw the other pastries had been smashed at some point along her journey. She sighed and pulled them out. “And look, here are a few more,” she said, forcing the disappointment out of her voice.

  She handed the pastries to Aife’s mother in gooey pieces, contemplating how she would survive on the half loaf of bread she had remaining. Her trip would be at least one more sunrise and sundown if she pushed through the exhaustion, but the pastries wouldn’t have lasted in edible form much longer. Only when a hand clutched her finger did she glance up from her sack.

  Aife’s mother stood there, tears brimming her large eyes. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness. This will feed us for days.”

  Lilac blinked, taken aback at the sudden moisture in her own. “Well, don’t wait too long to eat them. Any longer than a day or two, and mold will grow.”

  “Mold?” Both mother and daughter exchanged glances.

  Lilac opened her mouth and shut it again. She should have known better. For the longest time, the creatures had struggled to feed themselves, she remembered as Freya’s face briefly popped into her mind. She’d foolishly spoken as if they’d have minded a bit of fungus; to the starving, food was sustenance. Molding or not.

  “Not to worry.” She cleared the emotion from her throat. Her parents would never approve. If word ever got out about her decision, the kingdom might be driven to rally for her own execution. Yet, what kind of future ruler would she be to turn away anyone in need—especially of food?

  “Oh, thank you, Your Royal Highness,” Aife cried, throwing herself onto Lilac’s lower calf while juggling the pastries. It was probably the only part of her body that Aife could wrap her arms entirely around.

  Suddenly, the horribly familiar tromp of hooves beating upon the mud rang through the clearing, sending the band of korrigans scurrying back to the campfire. Aife started and dropped half the pastries, and her mother yanked her up by the arm before she could bend over to collect them. They hid behind Lilac, peeking out from behind her elbows.

  No. No. It was the end of her journey as she knew it.

  Sick to her stomach, Lilac spun, eyes darting between the nearby shrubs for a better hiding spot for the three of them.

  It was too late.

  She spotted it through the trees. A royal Camargue cantered towards them, its rider in a billowing robe emblazoned with the signature red and gold of the kingdom coat of arms.

  “Steady… Whoa.”

  The newcomer halted abruptly in front of Lilac. The steed whinnied and puffed out his chest self-importantly, his equine coat luminous against the roaring bonfire.

  While the rider preoccupied himself with smoothing his shoulder length hair and unmounting the horse, Lilac hastily threw her hood back on. Swallowing her panic, she exhaled a string of expletives under her breath.

  It couldn’t be.

  It absolutely could not.

  The young boy she knew from the Le Tallec soirée was no more. In his place stood a towering soldier, platinum hair silver and rippling in the moonlight. His rounded cherub face had thinned into boxy cheekbones and a jutting chin, though his stifling pride had evidently persevered through the years.

  “Mademoiselle!” Sinclair said, offering an arm. Lilac could have imagined it, but he stepped gingerly, almost as if unable to put his full weight on his right leg. Knowing him, he’d try to hide even the smallest injury in the presence of a woman. “I mustn’t let these vile creatures harass you any further! Certainly not a lovely maiden such as yourself.”

  He didn’t recognize her. Keeping her chin tucked, Lilac pretended not to see his outstretched gloved hand. Unsure of how her unfortunate ability worked, she prayed her impromptu lies wouldn’t come out in the Darkling Tongue

  “I was only passing through to get a drink of water,” she directed at him with her head down and a gesture toward the river. “I was so thirsty that I failed to take notice of their camp until after. They were not doing me any harm.”

  She heard Sinclair draw his sword from its sheath as he positioned himself between Lilac and the camp of trembling korrigans. Aife and her mother still stood beside her, trembling against the trunks of the princess’s legs.

  “What have we here?” His proud voice rang
through the tight clearing, and Lilac chanced a look up from under her hood. Sinclair eyed the sweets in Aife’s arms and the rest which had fallen beside Lilac’s sack. “Ah! Stealing from the damsel, I see? I hold no mercy for thieves.”

  Without regard for the child, he pointed his blade downward. The tip of his sword came to rest just centimeters from Aife’s round nose.

  “Don’t!” Lilac and Blitzrik shouted simultaneously. Lilac took a step forward and Blitzrik had leaped out from his hiding place, behind the nearest tent.

  Sinclair blinked at the appearance of Blitzrik. The rest of them had retreated into their tents, but Lilac could see a couple peeking out from behind the entrance flaps. Their chief stood guardedly between Sinclair and the campground with what looked like a makeshift wooden sword.

  “Don’t you dare touch them. Don’t you… That is a mother and child. Remove your blade from them this instant!” Blitzrik’s grey face had turned purple. A single vein was visible above his bushy eyebrows.

  As Sinclair faced the campfire, Lilac tried to catch Blitzrik’s eye, frantically shaking her head and patting the air in signal for him to take things down a notch. If provoked, Sinclair would kill him where he stood, without blinking. It wouldn’t take much at all.

  Blitzrik finally met her gaze. “Princess,” he cried. “You won’t let this man harm us, will you?”

  Lilac’s face drained. He totally missed the signal. And here she thought she might actually get out of it without Sinclair recognizing her. She steeled herself, preparing for Sinclair’s reaction.

  But Sinclair only shifted his sword from Aife to Blitzrik and shouted. “He’s yelling. Mademoiselle, he’s shouting at us! That’s a-a known act of aggression! Why, quickly gather your belongings and mount my horse. Mount it with haste!”

  Frowning at his word choice, Lilac realized something. He couldn’t understand the korrigans the way she could. Still, she was in no rush to obey Sinclair’s direction. Hesitantly, she looked down at Aife and her mother, who in turn watched her face carefully for cues. They didn’t understand a word Sinclair spoke; as expected, they looked terrified, and Aife kept stealing nervous glances at Sinclair’s sword.

  Lilac grimaced. There was but one surefire way she would be able to convince her unwelcome savior to leave the poor creatures alone.

  With a deep breath and square of her shoulders, she slinked slowly toward Sinclair. “Pardon.” She hesitated before placing her palm as delicately as possible on the back of his neck, as she’d seen her mother do many a time when her father was distraught. As she’d hoped, his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. “I am so grateful for you coming to rescue me,” she said softly, though the words stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  “It is my honorable duty, Mademoiselle,” Sinclair said. “Now, I must slay this foul beast. You needn’t watch this, so shield your eyes if you must!” As he spoke, he raised his blade high above Blitzrik’s head.

  Lilac cursed and flung herself between them, her hood falling back as she did. She threw him her coyest smile and allowed the cloak to drop even further, exposing the tops of her shoulders above the stitching on her dress.

  “Woman, what in the bloody hell are you—” He stopped, blinking in the shadows. “Lilac?”

  She bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from grinning too widely at Sinclair, hoping the look would pass as coy flirtation. He gaped and lowered his blade.

  His translucent skin turned the color of beets. “What on earth are you doing here? The entire kingdom is searching for you—though, my men and I have been the only ones brave enough to scour Brocéliande tonight… Never mind any of that. Allow me to first finish these monsters, and then we can chat.”

  He readied his weapon, but the princess sidled even closer and looked up at Sinclair through her lashes.

  “Sinclair, my sweet,” she insisted demurely, reaching to stroking his bicep with her fingertip. “We haven’t seen each other for nearly a decade. We were merely children then, but in the years since, I could not help but think of you.” Of how stupid and priggish you are.

  Lilac watched his ego swell along with his chest.

  “Is that so? All this time, I’ve been under a different impression entirely.”

  He obviously wasn’t as dumb as he’d led on. Lilac wracked her brain for something more convincing to say; in all those years with her limited freedoms, she’d at least learned enough of persuasion and stealth to retreat to the queen’s rose garden whenever the tower grew too stifling. Romance, however, was an area she lacked experience with, and could not feign well.

  She forced a smile. “Indeed. Now, you can waste your time on these useless korrigans,” she waved a dismissive hand behind her, “or, you could allow me to show you just how grateful I am.”

  Each word left Lilac’s tongue like scathing iron, and she held back a gag.

  “Grateful, you say?” The wolfish grin on his face widened.

  “So grateful. You see, I’d gotten lost…” She looked around at the lush greenery, trying to think of the most idiotic thing that could lead a damsel astray. “Picking flowers. The bluebells here, they’re simply beautiful.”

  “Ah, well. I shall fetch you a whole bouquet of them. Or, Enzo will do it for me—no matter. But I first must ask…” He cleared his throat, placing his fingertips together. “Can you truly speak to them? The monsters, I mean.”

  “I am able,” Lilac replied, again feeling the korrigans’ probing gaze prickling the back of her neck.

  “Good. These vermin need to know that they’ve received my mercy this time. The next we cross paths, they won’t be so lucky. I’ve been searching for their kind the past few months; korrigans are elusive, but such a fun kill.” He chuckled at a fond memory. “One swipe of my blade will take three of their heads at once.”

  Lilac pasted on an innocent smile. “All right, so you’d like me to tell them… What, exactly? That they won’t be so lucky next time?”

  “Yes, yes precisely,” Sinclair said, stroking the struggling patch of hair on his chin. “Tell them, next time, they’re done for. That Sinclair Le Tallec says so.”

  Lilac turned away to face the korrigans, momentarily grateful for the chance to address them due to Sinclair’s narcissism. Her vapidness faded into urgency. “Listen to me,” she said to Blitzrik, working to keep her voice level. “You’ll need to pack up your campsite and move.”

  “But where?” Blitzrik asked almost angrily, still clutching his tiny sword. “We settled in just before the storm. The weather has been atrocious.”

  “I don’t care. He says the next time he sees you, he will slaughter you all.”

  Blitzrik’s shoulders rose and fell, nostrils flaring as he weighed his options. He finally lowered his wooden weapon. “Do you know him?” he asked, jabbing his sword in Sinclair’s direction. “That fellow has passed our warded campground before. His torso and weapon had been covered in blood—Darkling blood, from the scent of it.” He tapped the tip of his bulbous nose. “Is he a hunter? A Darkling hunter?”

  Truth be told, Lilac had no idea what he’d been up to. She had maintained an intentional distance from Sinclair since their childhood meeting, only recently overhearing discussion of Sinclair stepping into his father’s position as duke and head of cavalry after Armand injured his leg in a carriage accident last winter. The transition hadn’t happened yet, but when it did occur, Sinclair would gain the resources and authority to destroy all of Brocéliande if he wanted to… Unless forbidden from doing so by the only other person of higher authority.

  Her.

  Lilac exhaled, highly aware of Sinclair’s expression of half wonderment, half revulsion in her peripheral. “He’s nobody. A mere boy, feighning to be a man. However, he is still dangerous to you—to all of you. Please listen to me. If you want to live, if you want your kind to live, you’ll do as I ask. Right away, as soon as we leave… Such is my command. When you set camp again, be sure to keep your wards up. Also,” she added, “as a kind fa
vor to me, please don’t tell anyone you saw me here tonight. The word mustn’t get out.”

  The korrigan chief threw her a hardened glare, and for a second Lilac thought she saw a gleam of mistrust. But then, he gave a resigned sigh, nodded, and turned to assist Aife and her mother with the pastries.

  “That was fascinating.” Sinclair wrung the end of his belt. “Well? What did the tiny brute tell you?”

  “He said,” Lilac began, thinking furiously, “that you are very merciful, and he is grateful.”

  “Ha!” Sinclair sheathed his sword and spat toward the korrigan chief, now laden with pastries and trundling back to the campsite with Aife and her mother trailing close behind. They did not notice the spittle that landed behind their retreating backs—or if they did, chose not to react.

  “I’ll behead the lot of you and stick your heads on spires throughout the forest as a warning for the hell storm to come once I adopt my father’s rank! That, I promise!”

  “Oh yes,” Lilac said, clenching her teeth and walking to the riverbank to retrieve her sack and belt. She could feel Sinclair’s hungry eyes on her backside as she bent over. “They’re afraid. Quaking in their shabby little boots.”

  He grinned eagerly and held an arm out to her.

  Lilac looked at him reluctantly. Now for the hard part of her ingenious plan: thinking of a way to keep him distracted without doing the one thing that would surely distract him. Time to play tired, innocent damsel. She was always tired, and well—innocence was a piece of pie to feign.

  “So, are we going back to the castle tonight?” She felt certain he would have his own campsite set somewhere near. Night was falling quickly now.

  “If you wish, my sweet. Although, I have another idea.”

  It was true that being addressed as “Royal Highness” by servants and strangers mildly irked Lilac, but the egotistical son-of-a-bitch didn’t even bother, despite his lesser rank.

  He grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. “I have a warm fire and blanket set up not far at all from here. I was thinking perhaps we could head back to the castle at daybreak.”