Disenchanted

by Brianna Sugalski

  “You hauled her all the way here,” the man chuckled breathlessly. “Bless you. Panic gives you incredible strength, that’s for sure.”

  “It was still a task,” Garin replied solemnly. “She’s gained a bit of weight.”

  Lilac opened her eye a slit—the old man was shooting the bastard a pointed look. Quickly, she shut them again.

  “Sorry, I d-don’t deal with violence very well,” Garin stammered.

  “Aye. I suppose she’ll forgive you after fending off the beast for her.”

  She pursed her lips together, peeved that she couldn’t protest.

  Garin gingerly laid her upon a soft cushion that molded perfectly around her frame. The crackling warmth of a nearby fireplace felt lovely on her cold skin. Fingers with a lighter touch flew over her, shamelessly wiping down the front and side of her neck, then her cleavage. The warm water was soothing on her tight, crusted skin. She could’ve fallen asleep right then and there. The woman’s hand rested on her chest a few moments, then on the side of her neck, opposite the teeth marks.

  “She’s breathing,” the woman remarked from above her head. “It’s a little quick, but better than it being too slow. Very good. But she looks a little pale, dear. Let’s get her out of this filthy dress.” She tsked under her breath. “Such a fine garment.”

  Lilac felt the woman rub the cloth between her fingers in appreciation.

  “Should we undress her right here? We have to see if she’s bleeding anywhere else. I have a nightgown to spare.”

  Before Lilac could think of a way to protest, Garin must’ve given an unsure answer—a widen of his stupidly mesmerizing eyes, or a sideway glance at the woman’s husband, because she followed with, “Jeanare, quickly, you’re so—” she let out a laborious sigh, “The girl is bleeding, put the kettle on, then, and fetch something for them to eat. Get the tripe—”

  “Where do you think you’re rushin’ off to, lad?” Jeneare chuckled under his breath, barely audible. “You’re bashful, aren’t you?”

  At this, Lilac fought to keep her eyes shut. Wife? She supposed it would be natural for an older, more traditional couple to assume they were married. Half of the women and men her age had spouses and children. Still, the words made her blush immensely.

  Just as the woman smiled up at Garin in the doorway, Lilac opened her eyes to see his reaction—and everything else.

  They had settled in what looked like the main room. Jeanare was busy in the kitchen next to them, where a round dining table was tucked away in the far corner near a worn oak aumbry. She’d been placed on a cushioned bench against the back wall, the blazing brick fireplace across them. Garin leaned against the corner of the mantle.

  He smiled sheepishly and pretended to notice her stare, raising his dark eyebrows in surprise and stumbling to her side of the chair. Genuine concern shrouded his entire demeanor. Lilac could only stare back, in awe of his impeccable theatrics.

  Above her, the woman made a noise of relief and rested the cool cloth on her forehead.

  Garin tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re awake, thank goodness. How do you feel?”

  “Fine. Tired,” she admitted truthfully. “Tired and starving.” She widened her eyes at him and then looked pointedly at Jeanare fumbling in the kitchen, wrinkling her nose. Anything sounded appetizing at this point—anything except tripe. She knew it was ungrateful of her, but good god.

  “Where are we?” She sat up quickly to feign mild alarm.

  “Shh, love.” Garin placed a finger to her lips and pressed her shoulder to gently lower her back down. “We are safe. We’re on the outskirts of Paimpont now, in the farmland just west of town.”

  The old woman stroked her hair, and Lilac felt a humiliating amount of forest debris and soil dislodge. “My name is Sable. And my husband Jeanare is just there at the kitchen hearth, about to fix you both something to eat.”

  “Actually,” Garin said brightly, straightening, “I was just going to offer, Jeanare… If you wouldn’t mind—I mean, I don’t feel right, barging in and imposing at this late hour. I’m more than happy to prepare a meal for her, and you all, of course.”

  “Are you sure? We have plenty to spare,” Jeanare said, holding up a hefty bowl of stomach lining.

  “I insist. It was us who have burdened you.”

  “It isn’t a burden at all, but if you insist,” the old man replied, chuckling and waving his hand toward the open cooking hearth before him. “Our home is your home. We have an extra room… Lots of harvest and livestock to spare.” He shuffled back towards the entryway. “Here, erm—”

  “Garin, sir. And my wife, Lysyn.” He motioned toward Lilac.

  “Well. Garin, Lysyn, welcome,” Jeanare said warmly. “Let’s let the ladies alone for a bit. Come with me, I’ll show you the garden before I boil a couple buckets for your bath upstairs.”

  With a small nod toward Lilac, he let Jeanare usher him out into the entryway. The only sound then was the crackling of the fire. Lilac turned an apologetic grimace to Sable, who was watching her intently.

  “I am so sorry for waking you at this time of night.”

  “Please. It’s been a hectic past couple days in these parts.”

  Lilac rubbed her elbow. “Hectic?”

  “I’ll just say you two aren’t the strangest things we’ve seen.” She leaned in close, brown eyes large with intrigue.

  Lilac matched her expression with a sinking feeling in her gut. “What other oddities, madame?”

  Sable pulled her wool sweater tighter over her ankle-length nightgown. Lips quivering, she placed a weathered hand on Lilac’s. “You two haven’t heard, then? The princess has gone missing.”

  Inadvertently, Lilac jerked her hand back at Sable’s touch. She put it back, blushing. “Oh my,” she whispered.

  The woman wrung her hands as she spoke. “You must’ve been on the road for a few days, then. She’s been amiss for half a week now.”

  “What does this mean? For everyone? For the kingdom?”

  She half expected to hear Sable rejoice. It was common knowledge that the duke’s family was next in line to the throne—the absolute last resort, since Lilac was Henri and Marguerite’s only child—and it was safe to assume the citizens preferred the marquis to Lilac. Like Garin had said in the tavern, had anything unfortunate happened to her, the crown would fall to Sinclair.

  In her exhausted state of mind, a small part of her timidly wondered what it would be like to give everyone what they truly wanted. To surrender everything to the Le Tallecs, to retreat to a small-town life. Her inheritance… she scowled inwardly. Had she ever married him, her inheritance would fall to him, anyway. With the money she had on her, she could surely still purchase a farm or quaint home such as this.

  To her surprise, the woman only shook her head, true concern stretching the laugh lines on her face. “My dear,” she uttered, brows creased in urgency. “I don’t mean to bring politics into this, but who gives a damn what it means for the kingdom? That poor princess. She’s just around your age, I’d say. Just a girl. Imagine that, all alone in the forest. The dear child needs to be found and rescued, God grant something hasn’t happened to her.”

  “In the forest?” Lilac gasped, clutching her chest and turning her shock at Sable’s words into the surprised reaction that Sable would expect. “They know for certain she’s in Brocéliande?”

  “The town crier made an urgent announcement yesterday at the request of Armand Le Tallec. He said that she was missing, but that she’d been spotted in the woods.”

  “Spotted where? What other details were given?”

  “None. It was all the information they had at the time.” Sable rubbed her elbows, as if a sudden draft had blown in. “Either that, or it was all they were willing to release.”

  Lilac bit her lip thoughtfully. “Interesting. Poor princess,” she lamented, wring her hands dismally.

  Sable agreed with a sigh. Garin returned noisily with a bundle of vegetables
dangling from one arm, the limp neck of a rooster protruding from his armpit as its body bobbed behind him. He beamed for Lilac’s benefit. If she hadn’t been so nervous, Lilac might’ve even giggled; the thought of the vampire working in the kitchen was ludicrous. What did he know about cooking? She was sure he’d been listening from the garden and would continue to listen still.

  Sable somehow found it easy to ignore Garin. She had something on her mind, and Lilac, it appeared, would be the recipient of her thoughts.

  “But Lysyn dear, I’ve been thinking. Isn’t it strange that the princess was located but not recovered?”

  Lilac assumed what she hoped was a confused expression. “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe the princess didn’t want to be found. Maybe the riots have finally gotten to her head.”

  At Lilac’s frown, Sable leaned in. “This is all speculation, dear, but what if her disappearance into the forest means she’s surrendering the throne? To that horrid Le Tallec boy.” Sable let out a low whistle as she stared into the dancing flames. Lilac thought she saw a slight shudder pass over the woman’s hunched shoulders. “Either that, or the Darklings have her.”

  “Personally, don’t think the princess would willingly give up her place,” Lilac replied. “If she left on her own accord, she might have needed time to herself. To think.”

  “Perchance, the Darklings kidnapped her. You never know,” Garin retorted dryly from above the iron pot, oblivious of Lilac’s mortified grimace and Sable’s gasp. “People disappear all the time. Children run away from home. Housewives take the ale money and jump the next carriage out of town. Creatures sneak into windows at night to drain victims in their beds.” He shrugged. “Most of those who disappear are found. I reckon she would have returned home by now, had she left by choice. Plus, that vampire snuck up on us so quickly.” He stared into the hearth absentmindedly, as if shielding himself from the terrible bits of faux memory. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone—astonishingly powerful creatures, Darklings are. Especially vampires, but that being said,” he added, returning to stir the stew, “being captured by monsters isn’t a death sentence or end-for-all. It certainly isn’t necessarily the end of her reign. People are just dramatic. I’m sure she isn’t entirely hopeless.”

  Sable looked down her nose and frowned at Garin’s vague rumination. “Aye. I suppose whatever situation one’s in, there is always hope. Good thinking, lad. I’m so glad you both escaped the vampire when you had the chance. Now we can only hope the princess has the same luck.” She shook her heading, tsking. “Right stupid of you to even think of taking the Brocéliande shortcut.”

  Garin nodded vigrorusly and let out a mouthful of air in agreement. His ease at lying was unsettling.

  Lilac was quivering inside, but her voice was steady. She forced a laugh. “We were foolish.”

  Sighing, Sable went back to studying the princess’s profile. Panic began to rise in Lilac’s chest. “Madame?” she said meekly, when she could no longer bear it.

  “Not to worry, dear. Your secret is safe with me.” Sable whispered, winking.

  Lilac blinked and side-eyed Garin, who was busy kneeling before the iron pot, sliding an assortment of chopped vegetables The aroma of boiling poultry swam with that of fresh rosemary, sage, and sweet carrots. He didn’t bother glancing up, instead rocking back on his heels absentmindedly. He stood, opened the nearby aumbry door, and procured a long, two-pronged fork, using it to stoke the red-hot coals in the hearth. She’d never seen him so focused.

  Noticing Sable’s expectant gaze, she shifted uncomfortably. She hadn’t followed through with removing her dress, but the looseness of it after Garin’s unceremonious tear meant it dipped lower than was comfortable. She crossed her arms across her chest while refocusing on their conversation.

  “Sorry. Secret?”

  “No one takes Brocéliande as a shortcut,” she said. There was an undercurrent to her words. “Only ruffians do, and somehow, you two don’t strike me as such. But I do remember the absolute thrill of sneaking off to be alone with someone…” Sadness touched her eyes as she trailed off.

  She covered her mouth daintily and lowered her voice further, speaking against her fingertips. “First thing... Jeanare is my husband, and I love him fiercely,” she insisted, a knowing strength behind the brittle hand that suddenly gripped Lilac’s. “More than life itself. But I learned to love him. There was another gentleman, a couple years before I was introduced to Jeanare. I was just a girl, then. In our foolish youth, we’d sneak away into the edge of Brocéliande whenever we could, daring each other to go further into the dark. It was like a game. Breaking tradition was so liberating in such a stifled society. Wouldn’t you say?”

  Lilac smiled nervously in response to Sable’s knowing grin, still unsure of where the conversation was going.

  “You might have Jeanare fooled, but not I.” The woman chuckled heartily, motioning for Lilac to scoot over so she could take a seat at the edge of the cushion. “I know you two aren’t married, dear.”

  Sable’s smile only grew kinder the further Lilac slumped into the chair. “Even then, it is evident what you feel for each other is no less; that’s what I would tell myself back in my day, anyway. The look upon your face when Garin called you his wife was different from the one you had when Jeanare first said it. There was a touch of surprise—then, longing. Almost as if, deep down, you could picture yourself one day wishing his words to be true.”

  Sable clasped her fingers together, and Lilac could’ve sworn there was a shimmer to her large eyes at the long, lost memory. She cleared her throat, as if abruptly remembering her place. “Ah, the radiant glow of perpetual summer love,” she added, touching a fingertip playfully against Lilac’s prickling cheek.

  The princess opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. She never knew her grandparents, but this was what she’d always imagined it being like. “Sable… I apologize if we were at any point dishonest. I was a bit shaken from the attack and did not think to correct him. I also think Garin did not want to seem disrespectful, seeking shelter at this time of night. An unwed couple such as we.” The lies surrounding her identity came so naturally now.

  As much as she wanted to move on from the subject, there was something that begged to be asked, lingering at the back of her throat. “What happened to the other one? Your…” she searched for the word with difficulty.

  “My friend, by title,” Sable said fondly. “But we were more than that. He was a Florence merchant’s son, conceived out of wedlock with an embroiderer who couldn’t afford a child. Plus, he was foreigner. My parents simply would not have it. But the feeling was unlike anything else.” Her eyelids closed slowly, as if to shield herself from the memories. “Every sunrise, a small part of me wonders what would’ve been, had I disregarded my parents. Had I not let him go.”

  “Why the sunrise?”

  “Well, my nighttime thoughts are rightfully reserved for the man I married, I suppose. That’s how it should be now, i’nnt it?” She winked. “I do apologize for sharing all of that. Perhaps it was too much,” she said, watching the princess guardedly now. “It’s your eyes, I suppose. They’re beautiful, dear, and hold such warmth… Anyway, as I was saying, if that man’s the one, you’ll know. Others will always believe they know what’s best for you, but we spend life trying to please others. Sometimes, you have to choose to do right by yourself.”

  In the silence that followed, all Lilac could think about was Sinclair. She wondered if the old woman would give the same advice, had she known Lilac’s true identity. She hadn’t forgotten entirely, but the adventure with Garin and their run in with the Fae had served as decent distraction, to the fact that her troubles weren’t going to magically disappear the moment she reached home. Everyone was still expecting her to marry the selfish bastard upon crowning. She cleared her throat and inhaled deep in attempt to banish the emotion.

  There was one other thing—a person—her racing mind did allow, seeping inevit
ably into the fine cracks of her fine misfortune.

  Just one.

  Ears burning, she dared swivel to peek at Garin, whom she knew heard every last word. The kitchen table and its four chairs had been pulled out from the nook and placed beside the hearth. But he was nowhere to be found.

  “Dinner’s ready, madame.” He’d appeared in front of her cushion, one arm extended as he helped Sable to her feet. “I apologize for not doing so earlier, seeing as we had quite the scare there,” he said politely, his accent posher than ever. “But I wanted to express our appreciation for your and Jeanare’s generous hospitality.”

  He bowed his head to press his lips briefly to Sable’s hand. The old woman laughed, blushing right through the fine lines on her face. Garin winked at Lilac and extended his free arm to her.

  She declined, matching his courteous tone. “I’ll be right behind you.” Letting him pass, she pulled her cloak tight across her front and trailed them to the small wooden table.

  It was as if Hedwig herself had popped in as Garin’s assisting chef. The table setup was much smaller than she was used to, but impressive all the same. He had scooped the contents of the iron pot into a boat-shaped serving dish and placed four plates and utensil sets, one on each side of the table. In the middle of the stew dish sat the plump bird he’d killed outside.

  The image of Garin snapping its scrawny neck suddenly flashed through her mind; almighty-hunter-of-man, reduced to vicious rooster killer.

  Lilac bit her bottom lip to stifle a giggle.

  “Coq au vin.” Garin said. “I hope that’s all right.”

  “It smells wonderful down here,” boomed Jeanare descending the staircase and making his way into the room.

  “Thank you, sir. My own mother’s recipe.”

  Lilac took the seat closest against the wall while Garin took the one to her right, his back facing the hearth. Jeanare sat across from her, and Sable across from Garin. Lilac was the first with her fork and knife in hand, ready to help herself to the aromatic stew, when Sable cleared her throat.