Disenchanted

by Brianna Sugalski

  Otherwise, the only other immediate concern plaguing her kingdom involved two runaway prisoners who’d escaped from the dungeon—a young man and woman—after the fire had engulfed the lower cells on coronation morning. Posters were distributed by the town criers of Paimpont, Rennes, and the other surrounding villages. Lilac gladly obliged in allowing the guards to stick a few on the castle interior, especially after noting that the caricatures of those in question looked mysteriously nothing like Garin or Ophelia, whatsoever.

  By the end of the week, she decided she would consult with her advisors on how to tactfully announce the lifting of her father’s law—or resumption of her grandfather’s law, depending on how one looked at it—leading into the uncomfortable discussion with the topic of Laurent’s death. She’d initially intended to approach them about it right away; however, upon further reconsideration, she realized it might benefit her to consult the Darklings about it first. If Kestrel had been right about one thing, it was that the general human populace did not often appreciate surprises that failed to benefit them directly. For the time being, she would develop her plans in private until the time came to act upon them.

  She did, however, take Friday morning to request for several bushels of the finest buckwheat and rye to be deposited in her room. The Fair Folk would be watching from the shadows, after all, and she preferred them to know she fully intended to make good on her promises to the Brocéliande community, first starting with the porridge-loving korrigans.

  Surviving the first week of meetings on minimal sleep and copious amounts of tea, Lilac wasted no time when Friday evening rolled around. The mere notion of a birthday supper or coronation feast frankly horrified her, so she shot down her mother’s half-pleaded requests immediately. Once she managed to convince her parents to let her be, and after proving she wasn’t ill, with child, or transformed into a Darkling herself, she promised she’d be ready to discuss her business in Brocéliande soon enough, and simply required rest.

  Lilac darted up the staircase fast as her aching legs would allow, a hefty bundle of pastries from the kitchen in hand. Once in her room, she finger-brushed her braids until all the hair pins clattered onto the floor and bathed quickly before donning a fluffy white robe. Knowing her next task entailed organizing meetings with the forest representatives and informing the royal council of her goals without causing a complete uproar, she found the confines of her tower more comforting than usual.

  Following her ceremony, Garin had been swept away by the crowd of attendees swarming into the entrance hall to congratulate her. The last she saw of him, he’d been chatting jovially, hood pulled up, with a couple of clergymen from the audience. Vampires, she’d thought to herself in disbelief. It made sense for them to be experts at working even the most scrutinous of crowds. Or maybe that was just Garin. Whatever lies he’d fed them, they devoured right out of his palm—even if it made no sense that a gentleman as young as he had somehow proven qualified to exist in the priesthood… much less ordain the new monarch.

  Lilac was on her third coffee cake when a set of knocks rapped at the door. She groaned mid-bite, hurriedly yanking her robe strings taught. A flurry of crumbs tumbled off her chest as she untangled herself from the duvet.

  “Yes,” she managed politely, swinging the door open just a crack.

  A large bouquet of white star-shaped flowers with green and yellow centers floated in the shadowed doorway. A woman’s voice croaked from behind it. “Good evening,” it said, before the bouquet shakily dipped into a curtsey.

  “Why, thank you.” Lilac hastily grabbed the bundle of flowers—and exhaled in relief. It was the shorter maid who’d helped her on her coronation day. Her cherub cheeks tightened into a taut smile.

  “I apologize for bothering you at this late an hour, Your Majesty,” she puffed. “These were just delivered for you. I didn’t want you to enjoy them any less.”

  Lilac smiled graciously through the confusion. “Don’t worry about that, madame. Thank you kindly. Did you manage to see whom it was? Or was it the courier?” She frowned. “does he deliver this late?”

  “Please,” the maid said, her color deepening. “You may call me Yanna. And neither, Your Majesty. It was left at the gate before the fortress had been secured for the evening, but none of the guards saw who’d deposited them there. We’ve inspected the bouquet, they’re just flowers—lovely ones, at that. The parcel attached was addressed to you, though.”

  A sharp current ran through her chest. She hadn’t heard from Garin since the ceremony. Her week was so hectic, it had served as ample distraction for her unresolved feelings for him. A small part of her still hoped he’d appear sooner than later. “Thank you, Yanna,” she whispered, unable to bury a wistful grin.

  Yanna curtsied again. “The morning, then, Your Majesty?”

  “The morning,” Lilac repeated, still smiling when the maid retreated into the dark hallway.

  Yanna and her maid counterpart were incredibly sweet, but at the thought of Garin, Lilac was also reminded of Piper. Where in Brocéliande, or the world, could she be? Would she return? The wild desperation in the girl’s eyes was something she would likely not forget. Briefly, she wondered if the former handmaiden would ever consider returning to the castle, and take advantage of the anonymity that came hand-in-hand with her new, near-unrecognizable identity.

  A sudden breeze broke her train of thought, causing her to turn. Flames still crackled in the fireplace, but one of the balcony doors was open a crack; answering Yanna probably welcomed a draft into her room. Placing the flowers on her vanity, she rushed to shut them—then paused, her hands on the knobs. She pulled the doors open wider and stuck her head out. The air smelled of clinging dew on leaves—yet, the crispness of a reluctantly receding winter—just as it had on the night she’d decided to run.

  Le foret Brocéliande. Once foreboding, the magical trees now rustled in earnest.

  A sound behind her made her jump, causing her to slam the doors too quickly. A tall, dark figure stood hunched at her vanity, prodding at the bouquet.

  “A few days without me, and I’ve already been replaced?” Garin stiffened and stuffed his hands in his pant pockets. “Who’s sending you flowers, and at this late an hour?”

  He’d once more acquired an all-black soldier’s uniform. She wasn’t going to ask.

  Fighting the urge to throw herself at him, she only shrugged in reply. It was an odd sight indeed, such a roguish creature against the gilded Baroque backdrop of her bedroom.

  “How are you... How did you get in?” whispered the princess. She hadn’t invited him. But Garin threw her a patronizing smile, and through her miraculously functioning exhaustion she realized Sinclair had brought him into the dungeon. If that wasn’t the moment the castle threshold was opened to him, it certainly would have been one of the members of clergy who’d ushered him in.

  Garin folded into a solemn bow. He scanned her once over appreciatively. “This is a new look for you. Well rested. I like it.”

  “I wish I’d known to expect you.” Lilac motioned at her robe. “I’m a bit underdressed at the moment.”

  “I was about to remark that I’ve seen you in worse, but good God, who trained you in etiquette, a squirrel?” He squinted, surveying her crumb-dusted robe and bedsheets amusedly. “Allow me to assist you, Your Majesty.”

  Crossing the room, he picked the remaining pastries off the duvet and deposited them upon her armoire. Then, he grabbed each end of the blanket and gave it a rough shake. A cloud of pastry flakes dispersed onto the floor and carpets. He stared at her, jaw hanging.

  “You dare question me,” she retorted, chin held high. “I’ll bask in my crumby mattress if I please. Now tell me, just what are you doing here, Sir Garin? And—” She hiccuped. A lump caught unexpectedly in her throat, hampering the delivery of what she thought was a clever reply. She busied herself with taking a seat at the edge of her mattress, smoothing her gown and remembering how close she had come to losing him in
the dungeon.

  “How?” Her voice broke when she looked up at him again. It was all she could manage.

  “Magic,” he said simply.

  “The Witch of Lupine Grotto,” Lilac guessed.

  His only answer was a smile that barely reached his eyes.

  She fiddled with the silk drawstrings on her robe, distracted by them all of the sudden. “What became of her? Is, erm… Is that where you were the past few days?”

  Garin laughed. “With her? No, heavens no. I was taking care of business at the Inn. The old hag seemed disappointed I was alive, and Lori almost wrung my neck. But my barkeep position is still secured so…” He cleared his throat, stuffing his hands in his pockets again. “But no, Adelaide disappeared after we broke out of the dungeon. She’s around. Somewhere.”

  Lilac’s surge of suspicion was instantly blotted with gratitude. Regardless of the past, she couldn’t hate the witch now. “Well,” she remarked with a clear of her throat. “Love is quite a powerful thing.”

  “Forgiveness,” he corrected. “Forgiveness is powerful. And a small golden fruit, apparently.”

  Lilac’s eyes widened. “Was it a golden berry? So, what, she wished for you to walk in sunlight, and it just happened?”

  Garin glanced at her sideways. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. She threw one of her exploding saliva vials at my cell, and the next thing I knew, I was free. We had nowhere to escape within the dungeon halls, at least without the guards cornering us again—and the first floor of the castle teemed with sentries dealing with the kitchen fire, so we were forced outdoors. I was sure I’d perish, then.” He smiled to himself, as if remembering the miraculous moment. “But I didn’t. Then, I found priest Liege.”

  Her eyes bulged. She’d never stopped to think of what’d happened to the actual priest.

  “Don’t worry,” Garin laughed. “I entranced him. He thinks he’s the stable hand for now.”

  Lilac nodded gratefully. Tiredly. It all made sense. Kind of. For now, she was just thankful to have him here.

  Suddenly dizzy, she scooted back further onto her bed. The memories of Brocéliande were overwhelming. It was like she’d escaped to another world entirely. She might need a week or two more for it all to sink in. Or a lifetime.

  Garin reached into his pocket and produced a small white object—Kestrel’s note. “Well, now that you are queen, I can open this old thing.”

  She recalled the faerie king telling him it would reveal the answer to something he’d wanted to know. In their urgency to distance themselves from the madman as quickly as possible, Lilac had forgotten all about it. “You haven’t read it yet?”

  “I thought I’d give it a few days. He’d warned that if I opened it before you were officially coronated, it would self-incinerate.

  I didn’t feel like testing it. Not with it stored here, anyway,” he added, tapping it against one of his trouser pockets. “Right, then. Ready?”

  “I suppose.” She blushed. “But you don’t need to open it in front of me, if you don’t want to.”

  “There’s nothing left for me to keep from you, Lilac.”

  The open solemnity in his eyes made her look away. “That’s fair,” she mumbled. “What do you think it says?”

  “Well, it’s from Kestrel, king of lunatics. Who knows? To be completely honest I thought it was going to tell me something about Adelaide,” he admitted. “For years I’ve searched, for no reason other than my wish to apologize and explain everything to her. So, it could be just that. Or, it could involve Laurent.”

  In all the commotion, she’d forgotten that it was Laurent’s death that indirectly led to them meeting in the first place.

  Garin plucked the seal off and unfolded the piece of paper. His expression remained unreadable.

  “And?”

  At first the vampire didn’t answer. He ran his fingers through his hair. Then, he crumpled the parchment into the smallest ball he could and flicked it into the fireplace. “It was the duchess’ name. Vivien, right?” He scowled disbelievingly.

  “Yes, that’s her. But what does it mean?”

  “Nothing I haven’t already speculated,” he said distantly into the flames. “At the same time I would’ve never expected her, but her husband, instead. The bastard’s hunted me for years.”

  At Lilac’s impatient scowl, Garin turned back to her. “It was the duchess. She murdered Laurent.”

  Lilac shot up in bed, nearly smacking her head on the nearby bedpost. She shuddered, recalling what Vivien had said to her in passing at the ceremony. It had shocked her in the moment, but it also didn’t surprise her; she’d always figured the Le Tallecs envied her parents, but who didn’t?

  “How?”

  Garin shrugged, seemingly unmoved. But by now, Lilac knew him, knew he defaulted to carelessness in his times of concern.

  “Does it matter how? What’s done is done.”

  Lilac breathed through her building fury. All those years of underhand remarks from the duchess, and the way they’d taken advantage of her family controversy after her Darkling Tongue was discovered. Enough was enough. “I’ll have their heads.”

  “It’s fine,” he reassured her, running a palm over his face. “This is my battle, not yours.”

  “It’s not, it’s—”

  “Lilac,” he said gently. He crossed the room and gathered her fists in his and pinned them firmly in her lap. His closeness quelled her hysteria, as it always had. “Listen. Trust me, you don’t want to stir tensions at the start of your reign. Imagine what everyone would think if your first order of business was to have the duchess executed? Now is not the time to make enemies.”

  Annoyance surged up, heating her ears. Of all times, now the aggressive, proactive vampire encouraged her to lay still, now that he finally had answers?

  She wouldn’t. Not if it meant the Le Tallecs, or the Fae, or anyone else treading on her. “I think I understand what you’re trying to do,” she said slowly. “But you don’t need to do this, Garin.”

  “What is it that I’m doing?”

  “Don’t scare me. Don’t coax me away from what could hurt me by frightening me.” Her gaze was loving, but steadfast. “Advise me. Guide me. But don’t scare me out of doing things.” That was a part of her she’d left buried deep in Brocéliande.

  “I’m not.” He lowered his voice and tightened his grip over her hands. “At least, I don’t mean to. I want to protect you. But you shouldn’t draw more attention to yourself right now. Not after our little display at the ceremony.”

  “What display? You’re the one who decided to pull the theatrics. You’re the one who posed as our royal priest. You poisoned Sinclair,” she hissed, matching his hushed tone. “That wasn’t me.”

  “Look, ‘poisoned’ is a rather strong word. But I’m only telling you this because humans aren’t the only ones watching,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “After the ceremony, I only went to the Inn knowing you’d be safe here. I was curious to hear what others were saying. The interruption of your ceremony is the talk of the town—both in the High Forest and your surrounding villages, Paimpont and Rennes specifically. Which means the Low Forest is already buzzing with rumor.”

  “So? What of it?” Lilac’s neck began to prickle. “We knew that’d happen. Kestrel was the one who ordered you to ensure I became monarch.”

  “Yes, but no one besides Kestrel and his jury knows that. There isn’t one person in the country who hasn’t heard about Sinclair’s episode—which, I’m sure the Fair Folk will learn was my doing, if they haven’t already figured it out by now.”

  Garin placed a palm upon on her cheek. “Nothing is wrong, princess. I’m simply ensuring that you’re informed. The world is full of reasonable monsters and dastardly humans, and vice versa. When you look at it that way, there’s really nothing left for you to prove to anyone. You don’t have to do it all alone. Leave the blood and chaos to me.”

  Ignoring his last comment, Lilac nodde
d. Her mind raced a mile a minute. “You know, after everything… I don’t mind what my people think of me. Not anymore. The tincture Ophelia gave me was supposed to erase the one thing that drinker disliked most of herself. The thing I wished I could change, more than anything. It obviously didn’t do what I’d intended… But I think the tincture at least wiped my self-doubt,” she explained.

  She had pondered this extensively the past few nights; it was the only explanation for the sudden conviction she’d felt during her ceremony.

  But at Garin’s worsening expression, she groaned exasperatedly. “What about this do you find so funny?”

  Garin’s sardonic grimace had only grown wider as she continued to speak. “Now you’re grasping at straws,” he said. “The potion did no such thing; first of all, if there were potions for trivial things like removing one’s hesitancy—God help humanity, the world would be doomed. But no, Lilac. The bottle she gave you was a placebo.”

  She blinked twice, then jerked her hands out from under his. “What?”

  “Ophelia told me before she departed, she said something about liability—who knows. What she did give you was some raspberry vanilla liqueur with a dash of evening primrose honey. Oh, and tons of caffeine. Loads of it. So, no, you weren’t cured of anything. You were, however, completely wired.”

  The urge to vomit threatened to bring up the cakes and meringue. Unsure if she should be proud or furious, Lilac opened her mouth to comment how all of it had been a waste of time—but at the sight of the creature kneeling before her and the glittering crown resting on her bedside table, she closed it again.