Disenchanted

by Brianna Sugalski

  “I’ll help you find them,” Lilac said quietly as Sable shuffled toward the house. “I’ll organize a search.” With each Darkling promise she’d made, the weight of her words had only increased. Finding and meeting Freya’s sons would make her feel terrible, gut-wrenching things—of that she was sure. But sooner or later, it would need to happen. She owed it not only to Sable, but to herself.

  Sable didn’t reply until she reached the porch. When she turned back, all traces of kindness had faltered. “Man's fire is what brought this forest to ruin. But only fire can make it whole again.”

  23

  After the door closed behind the old woman, Lilac stole one last glimpse at the original Trevelyan farmhouse. Briefly, she wondered what it would be like to retire from society on that porch. To hide away, a farmer’s wife. A simple life, lived not under the pretense of perfection, nor stifling poise of high society. Above her now, the same pinprick tinsel asters winked from the deepened gloaming.

  Then, she remembered who the property had belonged to and scowled. Without a single word she strode past Garin as he stroked the horse’s snout, and made her way down the dirt path.

  When he didn’t follow, she pressed on, using the forward momentum to distract her from the whirling thoughts. Despite Sable’s unwavering kindness—or maybe because of it—Lilac wanted nothing more than to get on with the last of their journey. But Garin couldn’t be more wrong. She didn’t want to be loved like the Le Tallecs. The dislike she held for the family had turned into loathing during her journey. Considering their beliefs against the creatures of Brocéliande, they were no different than her own parents. Worse, even. But the terrible actions based on those beliefs were what set Sinclair’s family drastically apart. The king and queen had only become more outspoken against the creatures since her incident with Freya, and much of their legislation might’ve even been inspired by the Le Tallecs’ infectious loathing—of that, she was almost sure. Sinclair and his father were ruthless in killing creatures every chance they could justify, and no one dared question it.

  The last thing she wanted was to be like them. In any regard.

  But her townspeople would never accept her as their queen with her curse in place. That was why she needed Ophelia.

  So why, despite her dignified resolve, did each step further down the dirt road suddenly felt a smidge less certain?

  The path eventually forked in two directions, so she halted. The path to the right wove through countryside, dirt stomped flat by the hooves of numerous workhorses. Squinting into the mixture of sunlight and dusk, Lilac could see that it led through the hills that made up the remainder of Sable and Jeanare’s property. In theory it would, based on the amount of travel evident in the dirt, pass right through the town.

  The path to the left curved along the outskirts of the trees. A small wooden sign indicated this path led to Fenfoss Pond, which Ophelia’s letter had indicated would be near her home. By locating the pond, they should happen across the witch’s cottage with minimal trouble.

  Then, they’d be on their way back in no time. It would be a long journey with no rest, but at least they’d be at the castle by morning. Then—

  Then what?

  Before she could decide, the muffled plod of hooves snuck up on her.

  “Running away again, are we?” Garin halted beside her. “Come on now, princess. I think we both know by now how that plays out.”

  The mare beneath him gave a satisfied harrumph.

  “No. I’m not running from anything, Garin.” Her reply was almost defensive as she spoke to the fork in the road. “I’m just trying to figure everything out.”

  Garin dismounted and stood beside her, arms crossed contemplatively. This time it wasn’t his wolfish grin that unsettled her. The creamy white and red uniform that Renald had worn rubbed her the wrong way—the man she had feelings for now wore the clothes of a man who she’d ordered to death.

  The vampire squinted at her. He then sighed and pulled her into his arms. She resisted for a moment before feeling herself melt into him. She couldn’t help it. Burying a soft sob into his chest, she inhaled. His familiar scent washed over her, and whether it further deluded or cleared her mind, she couldn’t discern.

  Behind them the horse scuffed its hooves.

  Her eyes shut tightly, and she was unable to stop a shudder as his wry grin—and the perfect teeth behind them—pressed against her hair. “Princess.” He inhaled slowly. “Do you remember what I said to you last night?”

  She gulped at the memory, of which there had been so many moving parts. There were plenty of things said between them—particularly the pieces of their argument that served as precursor to the things that were unsaid. Her ears grew warm.

  “Bits and bobs,” she muttered.

  Garin didn’t wait for her to draw up an answer. “Lilac, I meant everything. All of it, especially the parts about you being crazy. But it doesn’t mean my disposition changes. Part of me thinks what you’re doing is—”

  “Is what?” She pulled back just far enough to glower up at him.

  “I don’t know. Imprudent. A little impulsive—though there’s no shock there. Erm, what else—unethical.” He shrugged against her. “We both heard what Kestrel and Sable said of Ophelia.”

  Lilac scoffed. She never thought she’d see the day he’d complain about a lack of ethics. “What of her?”

  Garin sighed in defeat. “My thoughts are my own. Either way, I’ll be there to watch over you. It is my duty to see you to this witch safely if you must. And to deliver you to your parents in one piece.”

  Suddenly, Lilac wiggled out of his grasp. She wasn’t quite ready to face the reality that would come after Ophelia—her parents, the castle, becoming queen. All of it seemed so far away, a different world that didn’t fit with the vast wilderness of the woods before her.

  Or with the vampire holding her.

  She inhaled deeply upon realization of her timeline. The long-burgeoning questions she’d been avoiding began bubbling to the surface. What would become of them? Of Garin? Her pulse slowed. Where he would deliver her, he wouldn’t be able to follow. He couldn’t just wait for her in the shadowed shelter of her tower; there would be handmaidens and seamstresses bustling through her room, ensuring she was perfect for the event. Plus, he had his own coven and Laurent’s investigation to attend to.

  “I know you have no real reason to help me,” she said softly. “And I am grateful for all of it. But this is something I need to do.”

  Garin was silent, but his jaw clenched firm.

  “Trust me?” pleaded Lilac.

  “As you wish.” He adjusted the reins in his palm before offering his free hand out to her. “We’re practically there.”

  “Don’t you mount first? You’re steering.”

  “What kind of scoundrel do you take me for?” He threw her an astonished grimace. “Yes, I’m steering, but regardless… ladies always come first.”

  In contrast to her experience with Sinclair, Garin hoisted her up, then carefully followed. She scooted back to make room, and they settled into the hollow of the mare’s back with ease. She wrapped her arms around him gently, relieved he did not comment on her equestrian expertise, or lack thereof.

  “Are you ready for the last bit of our journey?”

  Before Lilac could answer, the wind changed direction. A thick stream of billowing smoke gusted into the air around them.

  Orange flames towered in the distance, silhouetting Sable and Jeanare’s farmhouse.

  “That’s not their house, is it?” she shouted against the winds, prodding Garin ferociously in the back. “Is it? We have to go back!”

  “They’re fine, princess. It’s the haystack on the hill behind it.” He shook his head in pity, tongue against his teeth. “’Tis a shame. Poor drunken palace guard and his torch. Must’ve stumbled into the dry brush. What a horrific accident.”

  Lilac nodded numbly. He’d burned Renald’s corpse. Within the span of less than
a week, she’d gone from utterly useless princess to reluctant damsel. Now, she was a fugitive possibly wanted for murder—and more.

  She turned to the road ahead as rain began to fall. Squinting in discomfort, she looked up to see clouds covering the stars. With a forlorn sigh, she leaned into Garin, whose bulk protected her from the worst, and he nudged the mare into motion. Within moments the rain lessened, but the dark ony deepened as they trodded along the trees.

  Lilac couldn’t seem to get comfortable on the mare’s wide back and kept shifting. The mare, in turn, kept snorting, until one too many shifts finally caused the mare to sidestep in alarm, throwing the princess too far to the right. Lilac clung to Garin’s arm to stay mounted, and he rolled his eyes as he calmly reached back to right her.

  “You know, one wouldn’t expect someone like you to be so jumpy around a horse,” Garin said after clearing his throat. “If we had more time, I’d teach you to ride the comfortable way.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Like this.” He tapped both legs on either side of the horse. “I can only imagine how unbearable riding side saddle is.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened as what he implied registered. “I don’t… I mean, I can’t.” She was probably the only person of European peerage or royalty who didn’t know how to ride in either position.

  “Uh, sure you can. Anyone can.”

  “Well, I was never taught. My parents didn’t want me outside the royal grounds much. By the time I was old enough for lessons, I wasn’t even allowed at the stables.”

  The horse slowed a bit, and Garin swiveled his head back as if to check if she was joking. “That’s horrible. You mean, after what happened with Freya?”

  Lilac nodded. “Could you not say her name, please?”

  “Who’s name? Freya’s?”

  She sighed, half grunting in annoyance. There was something unfamiliar, behind the gentle teasing in Garin’s voice, that struck her the wrong way this time. It was… Pity. And she didn’t want any of it, especially not from him.

  “Careful, or you’ll upset the horse. Look, princess. I know it’s difficult some days. Painful, even. But, burying what happened isn’t going to make you feel any better in the long run.”

  “Thank you,” Lilac replied sardonically, though she couldn’t help it when her cheeks bunched into a smile. “Monsieur Darkling, I appreciate the life advice. I’ll be sure to remember that the next time I plan on putting myself through something as traumatic.”

  “You helped me realize it. I’m only returning the favor.” He gave a one-shoulder shrug, back to give her hand a light squeeze.

  “It’s fine. I had a comfortable enough castle life, and I got out now and then. My mom’s rose hedges were always nice at night.”

  “Comfortable enough,” he echoed. There was an edge to his voice now, as if a lump had formed in his own throat and the only way to dislodge it was with sarcasm. “May I ask you something?”

  She only tightened her grip around him and nodded against his back.

  “Why, curious mortal, do you fight for the crown of a kingdom who despises you?”

  Taken aback, she bit her tongue to keep from replying defensively. Lilac refused to let his natural irreverence derail their tender moment. She thoughtfully chewed her lip and pulled her hood up, deciding to bury her cold nose into the back of his shoulder in response.

  “You haven’t any idea in the slightest, do you?” Garin’s voice rumbled as he lowered it, as if the trees to their left were listening in. “The type of magic you wish bestowed upon you is fickle and can be dangerous in the hands of even the most experienced of wielders. You could end up injured, or worse.” Silence filled the air, thickening it. His voice lowered still. “Do you know what that would do to your kingdom?” He paused to clear his throat. “To me?”

  Lilac swallowed a sullen laugh. Her kingdom might even rejoice. But, to him?

  How long had her plans to consult Ophelia bothered him? Lilac’s chest rose and fell in uneven waves. It was a good thing she’d withheld the truth about her journey until their encounter with Kestrel, or else she might have never reached Paimpont.

  Lilac didn’t respond immediately, instead withdrawing into her own thoughts. Luckily, Garin didn’t seem to mind.

  It was never her place nor intention to fraternize with the creatures of Brocéliande, much less the head of the vampire coven. Yet, here she was, either making a fool of herself or dancing with a disastrous sort of fate.

  Despite Garin’s evident fondness for her, his perception of her parents and the Le Tallecs had remained the same. And, oddly enough, she never felt the need to try and change his mind.

  They both closed the last half league in contemplative silence.

  Finally, they emerged from the path that trailed the outskirts of Paimpont, the putrid smell of rotting greens preceding the Fenfoss Pond. As Ophelia’s note had foretold, the spring trickled into a sizeable basin with a dilapidated cottage perched on its far edge. Through the bare trunks of trees to their right, Lilac could barely make out the manicured hedges of a large estate—the Le Tallec property—towering over the town. She shuddered involuntarily.

  As if in agreement, Garin gave a guttural growl that vibrated through her chest. “Any closer to that den of butchery, and we might as well set it ablaze,” he muttered.

  Ophelia’s abode was a crooked, circular building with a coned roof of tightly packed straw, shaped much like the red-capped mushrooms that grew in abundance in the surrounding thicket. Curls of smoke rose from the clay chimney, opalescent in the moonlight, while tendrils of dark ivy clung to the rough siding. As expected with such proximity to the Low Forest, an unfamiliar array of exotic flora blossomed haphazardly in the unkempt grass.

  Several of the plants at their feet shimmered, some reflecting the warm yellow light shining from the cracks along the bottom of the stout door. Three shallow steps, flanked on either side by a colony of glowing blue toadstools, led up to the entrance.

  As Garin directed the horse around the muddy pond, Lilac’s pulse began to quicken. She was rightfully nervous—and ready to meet the witch, she thought, abruptly correcting her self-doubt. She tried not to think of what she was about to do. Garin halted them a short walk from the doorstep, leapt down from the horse, and effortlessly lifted her off.

  Lilac paused and looked down at herself. Her clothes had dampened from the rain, and the skirt of her dress crumpled from riding.

  “Ugh. How do I look?” She glanced up at him with a grimace, half expecting the disapproval he’d expressed during the ride to show evident on his face.

  Instead, there was only a burning curiosity in his eyes—almost the same expression he’d worn while lecturing her for trying to stab him through the chest back at Sinclair’s camp, though much softer this time.

  In a familiar gesture, he grabbed both of her hands, then bowed to press his lips to the back of each. She didn’t flinch away.

  “Marvelous as usual. Like you were born to reign a kingdom.”

  Lilac nodded warily, bracing herself for the chiding remark or warning glare meant to deter her plans with the witch.

  But Garin only studied her.

  Suddenly, Lilac was even more aware of her imperfections—the way her lips bunched up discontentedly on one side as she chewed nervously on her cheek, brows knitted above her deep-set eyes. The way shadows of perspiration had already formed under her armpits in the humid air. The further they’d gotten into their journey, the more sure of herself she’d grown—though, less certain of her resolve.

  “If you say so,” she murmured, adjusting the sack further onto her shoulder and facing the cottage, whose smoke swilled invitingly. But then, she spun back on him, eyes bright and desperate. “Garin?”

  “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he offered. “Your people will favor you as you are. They must.”

  She only shook her head. “Please trust me to make the right decision for myself. I can’t fix my par
ents’ mistakes if I don’t become queen.”

  “I know nothing of this witch,” he admitted, gazing past her at the cottage door. “There seems to be a spell up that keeps sound within those walls. And she lives right on the edge of the Low Forest.” He nodded toward the shadowed beech trees across the pond. Not even moonlight reached past the entanglement of thickly wound branches. “The kinds of ingredients she probably has access to, we just don’t know what kind of outlandish magic she’s tied up in.”

  There it was. His fear was founded in his own experience with witches—understandably so.

  Although his words were meant to instill caution, they stoked her determination, blotting the last of her self-doubt. She stood tall. “I have to do this, Garin. You can come in with me, if that would make you feel better.”

  He clicked his tongue thoughtfully and gave a rough laugh. “I don’t think the details of her selfless invitation included bringing a vampire along.” He patted the horse’s rump next to him; the animal remained oblivious as it continued chewing on the cat tails lining the pond. “She and I will keep watch out here.”

  Lilac glanced out into the darkness. Just past the cottage lay the main stretch of cobblestone road, filled with sentries. “Out in the open, like this? What if someone sees you?”

  Before she could take her next breath, Garin snaked his hands daringly around the small of her waist. He kissed her tenderly.

  “And if someone sees this?” she teased against his lips.

  “I wouldn’t mind. But for you, I’ll make them disappear.” He stepped back. “Go on, then. Ophelia awaits.”

  The finality in his voice made her uneasy. “What scares you?” she asked. It was a general enough question.

  A desperate sadness had found its way into his eyes, into depths even his devastating grin could not reach. He reached up, almost hesitantly, to pluck a crumpled leaf from her hair. “Your fearlessness, princess, is what frightens me.”

  In three steps, Lilac was in front of the door. Before she could knock, the door opened and closed, swallowing the princess whole.