by Ann Hunter
“All right, Glory,” Alexa nodded, “we’ll help you. We will whisk you away to your midnight rider, but on one condition.”
“Name it.”
“That when you wake up one morning, you will not hold us responsible for your utter misery.”
Glory smiled. “That will never happen. We will live happily ever after.”
Alexa motioned to the door. “Well, then, sisters, let us to it, post haste. The witching hour approaches.”
Glory felt a rush of excitement and grinned.
Alexa smiled wryly. “We wouldn’t want to keep your bridegroom waiting, would we?”
Glory shook her head no.
The princesses padded down the darkened hallways. Murtia slipped a sleeping potion to the guard by their shared common room. Odessa ordered another to keep quiet or there would be consequences (it helped that she passed him a satchel of gold coins); Ophelia turned a corner and sobbed violently upon another who became equally distraught over trying to calm her. At the Great Hall, Portia distracted the guard with a late-night snack. Finally, Alexa seduced away the most stalwart guard close to the doors of the garden with a husky, “Hey, there, soldier.” Odessa spirited Glory out.
Glory ran to the other side of the garden. Her feet could not carry her fast enough. A cloaked rider on a black horse was silhouetted against the inky, starry sky. He reached down with a calloused hand and pulled her up behind him. Glory, ecstatic, waved goodbye and mouthed enthusiastic thank yous to Odessa. Glory gushed to her rider, but he motioned with his hand to keep quiet.
Through the night they rode frantically. The horse’s hooves hammered the ground with staccato, matching the beat of Glory’s heart. The fields rose and fell, undulating with the countryside, as they passed through Edward’s Bane. They splashed through Four Elders Fjord, through all of Iron Berry County and over the banks of the River Trefnwy near Council’s Realm. That was where Glory stopped recognizing her surroundings.
She snuggled close to the cloak, feeling its warmth in the chilly midnight rush. She held her arms tight around the man’s waist and sighed, “Oh, Colin, we’re going to be so happy together. We will make a beautiful home with ample fields and crops, and your falconry trade will afford us a few servants. I would help out, of course, except that I will be too busy keeping myself perfect and pretty for you.”
Glory rambled on and on through the night. The horse’s breaths came rhythmically. He dug in to the earth and sped on when they passed a barren forest of gangly, spectral trees and through a lush, floral fiefdom, barreling up the coast. Cliffs plummeted beside them, the ocean beating against the rocks and black coral. Moonlight glinted off the sea. Something arched through the water that was neither whale nor shark, but serpentine. Glory’s breath caught. “Did you see that?”
The horse’s excitement seemed to grow even more when he raced through an eerie, hilly valley, and crested over a horizon stamped with a wide and ominous Celtic arch.
Glory began to wonder why Colin wasn’t responding to any of her comments. Maybe he couldn’t hear her over the wind and the galloping, so she tried speaking louder, but still no response.
The land changed to high moors, and a castle began to rise in the distance.
A water droplet landed on Glory’s nose. Another on her forehead. One more on her chin as she turned her face skyward. Suddenly she was soaked as the heavens ripped opened and poured out their anguish. Thunder rumbled and a flash of light split the sky. Glory cringed. The castle came into full view. A heavy iron gate began to open.
“Colin, when did you acquire a castle?”
The horse’s hooves clattered into the bailey, slowing to a canter.
Glory felt faint. “You are not Colin, are you?”
Something massive and eerie moved in the shadows ahead.
The horse came to a halt and the rider dismounted. He grabbed Glory’s waist, and the hood of his cloak fell back to reveal a dark-haired man, not at all like Colin. He spoke with a husky brogue. “Do you never shut up? I do not know who this Colin fellow is, but welcome to Blackthorn Keep.”
Glory tried to fight him. “Unhand me at once! Who do you think you are? My father will hear about this.”
Suddenly the massive shape in the shadows took form. It walked through the rain on two scaly forelegs and two furry hind paws. Glory screamed. Her fists pummeled the man’s shoulders, and her feet flailed. The horse spooked. The creature in the rain paced with agitation; its tufted tail swished angrily. “4
An í seo an cailín?” it asked in a clear baritone.
The man nodded. “5Is í.”
“How dare you! Do you even know who I am?” Glory howled.
The creature drew closer, its amber eyes fixed on Glory, studying her features. It was a gryphon, something Maeb had scared her with during bedtime stories as a child. Always imagined, she believed, never realized until now. The hair on the back of Glory’s neck stood on end. The gryphon reeked of wet hide and raw meat, a stench far worse than any of her father’s dogs after a soggy foxhunt. Glory felt hollow.
“Send her back,” said the gryphon.
Glory stopped fighting. Both she and the cloaked man asked simultaneously, “What?”
The gryphon’s black beak clacked, yellow ceres flaring. “You promised to bring Eoghan a beautiful princess, Xander.”
“And I have.”
“Indeed!” Glory concurred.
The gryphon’s golden feathers ruffled, and it shook off some of the rain that continued to pour.
“I am the most beautiful princess in all of the kingdoms,” Glory declared.
The gryphon hissed, the fur on its back bristling. “Greannmhar6. All that I can see is ugly.”
Glory’s fear was replaced with fury. She started to flail again, trying to get at the gryphon, but the man wouldn’t let her. “How dare you! Why I never—”
The gryphon’s eyes flashed at Xander. “Níl sí tarraingteach dom. Send her back.”
“Please be reasonable,” Xander petitioned.
Magnificent wings spread over the gryphon’s body. With an angry screech, he leapt into the air, beating the sky in an upward spiral until he disappeared behind Blackthorn’s highest bastions.
Xander’s face was haggard. “I am sorry, Princess Glory. I hope you will not mind.”
Glory, held together only by her indignation, clenched her fists. “I certainly do mind! No one speaks to me like that.”
Xander sighed. “If you come with me, I’ll take you to your quarters.”
Glory stomped her foot in the mud. “I will not!”
Xander respired. “Look, you self-fawning tot, you have two choices. You can come inside and not catch your death, or you can stand there and rot in this bloody rain.”
Glory’s breath rose like a specter on the air.
Xander offered a sarcastic, toothy smile. “We wouldn’t want to spoil that pretty little head of yours, Princess.”
Glory crossed her arms. “I am not going anywhere.”
“Fine. We’ll do this your way, My Lady.” Xander threw Glory over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and trudged through the mud to the keep. “I’ve had enough theatrics from royal children for the night!”
Part III
THE MAN
AND
THE MONSTER
CHAPTER FOUR
Beauty is a Beast
Glory threw herself onto the bed in tears. How dare that… that… monster call her ugly! No one had ever called her ugly before. From the day she was born, she was the fairest in all the land. Even the sun worshipped her. Colin had said so.
Colin. Glory wailed. I’ll never see Colin again. She imagined him waiting by the gardens of Winterholme, wondering where she was, realizing she would never be coming, all thanks to her backstabbing sisters.
Her sisters. Those low, lying, unmuzzled dog-hearted strumpets! Glory punched the mattress and screamed into her pillow. Traitors! And where in the Twelve Kingdoms was this dark Blackthorn Keep? S
he hadn’t recognized the countryside they rode along. She had been too busy dreaming of a future that had now been robbed from her. That future most certainly did not include a gryphon. That hideous, stinking, talking beast. Glory wiped her eyes. I am not the ugly one!
She rolled off the bed, found some dry night clothes in the wardrobe to change into, and sat before a mirror in the corner. On the table beside her was a beautiful gold-plated brush, which she began to smooth over her dripping locks, counting each stroke. She stared into the mirror, transfixed on her image. Her glorious, perfect image.
It was soothing to her, her conviction in her beauty. The reflection did not lie about her fair, smooth skin, golden locks, and blue, blue eyes. Mirrors did not lie. That is, until, the one before her began to blur. Glory paused, mystified. The mirror was clear again. She resumed brushing her hair. Eighty-one… eighty-two…
The mirror’s surface seemed to ripple.
Glory rubbed her eyes. The mirror remained blurry. Glory blinked. I must be very tired. She finished her nightly ritual, extinguished the candles in the room and slipped into bed.
The rain had eased to a drizzle now, and moonlight cast its glow through wet, silvery veins on the window. Glory stared at the canopy above her. Faintly, over the soft patter of rain, she heard a song. There were no words, but the tune was clear. It was melodic, even flute-like, and so very, very sad, filled with longing and soft disappointment. Glory’s heart swelled and tears sprang to her eyes. Someone was singing, and she felt the very same way as the song. She turned her back to the window and the haunting tune and let the tears come freely until there were no more, and the world went dark as she answered the call of sleep.
Glory ran through the gardens of Winterholme. “Colin!” She called, “Colin!” She rounded the corner to see Colin standing in the sunlight.
“Where have you been?” Colin snapped, “I waited all night.”
Glory recoiled. “I am so sorry, Colin. I must have fallen asleep. I had this horrible dream…”
“Well, I had a dream, too,” Colin growled, a long tail whipping behind him. “I dreamt I ran away with a beautiful Princess.” His gray eyes turned amber and a black beak suddenly protruded from his face. “We were going to live happily ever after.” Colin’s blond hair grew into a head of golden feathers; his clothes turned into tawny fur. “Then I woke up and was stuck with a hideous, selfish girl.” Colin screeched, spread massive wings, and took to the sky.
Glory ran in his shadow, calling to him in desperation. “Colin!” She broke in to tears, “Colin…”
***
Doves flitted over Lucullia’s reception canopy. Colin brushed his hands against each other and raced toward the little thatched cottage on the hillside overlooking the kingdom. Colin visited from time to time after his father had passed away. He kept all of his most precious things hidden there. The cottage was well-guarded by the patrol that roamed the kingdom’s border nearby. Tonight he came for one thing. He shut the front door behind him and flinted a candle to life in which to see by. He pried a loose floorboard from the ground and reached in to retrieve a leather sack heavily pregnant with jingling coins. One spilled on to the floor beside his foot and oscillated with a metallic ring until it rattled to a stop. Colin stooped and picked it up, regarding the likeness of High King Balthazaar upon its shining face. A reminder how he had come by every cent. He had worked for it; taken what he’d learned from his father and applied it to his craft, honing it with what he learned on the job. When his father passed, he had become a natural choice as successor. His methods were a little unorthodox but they achieved the result the king desired. Colin launched the coin in to the air with his thumb and caught it. He kissed it mirthfully and returned it to its place with its numerous brothers and sisters. He had been saving for this night from the moment he had earned his first coin. Glory seemed proud of him for doing so. And by the gods, he vowed to provide her a life she would love.
Colin locked the cottage and stashed the key under the eave above the window outside. He slung the sack of coins over his shoulder and whistled a tune back toward the reception. A smile ascended his face as he drew closer to the party. He passed from crowd to crowd only thinking of Glory and oblivious to all else until he heard her name repeated by one group and then another. He hung back to listen to two couples walking toward their carriages.
“Can you believe it? Princess Glory being married to an unknown. Why, it’s unthinkable!”
Colin’s brow furrowed. How could they know?
“Yes, it must have taken some nerve to arrange that union. Imagine, a princess and a cursed boy. I wonder what price was paid to Balthazaar for her.”
A red heat rose in Colin. How dare they speak of Glory as if she were property or an animal even! Colin muscled through them, splitting the group in two. He strode around to the garden with a scowl upon his face. His sack of coins jangled as they smacked against the ground. Colin paced beside them. How had their plans been discovered? Colin slid down against the castle wall abutting the garden and ran his fingers through his hair. His foot jittered up and down, thumping against the stones. He took a deep breath and calmed himself. His face tipped skyward, and he gazed upon the glittering stars. Everything would be alright. Glory would soon be beside him, and they would dash away to leave this world behind. The hours passed. Colin spent his time pacing and whittling away at a fallen rose branch, already devoid of its thorns. Where was Glory? Why wasn’t she coming? Colin peeked around the garden gate. He was sure they had agreed to meet here. Where was she? He bit his lip. Maybe Glory had changed her mind. Colin sank to his knees at the very thought. He stared at the stars. What would he do if Glory rebuffed? Colin clutched his heart. Oh, Glory!
He hung his head. His shoulders sagged.
He heard voices and slowly looked up. A brief distance away he saw two golden-haired young women in the moonlight. His heart fluttered. Glory! Colin staggered to his feet and grabbed his bag of coins. His eyes left the girls for only a moment as he stooped to hoist the bag. When he turned around, there was only one girl in the moonlight, and it was not Glory. Colin raced toward her. He recognized Odessa whose gaze was daggers upon his approach.
“Where’s Glory?” Colin asked breathlessly.
A smirk lighted the older princess’s lips as she pointed toward the horizon. Colin’s eyes followed, and he saw two riders on a black horse dashing off into the night.
Colin swallowed. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”
“No,” Odessa said with dark contempt, “you wouldn’t.”
Her smirk transformed in to a self-satisfied smile as she left Colin standing there downtrodden and with a fat sack of coins swinging by his knee. Colin stared after Glory and the other rider. Her name rose in his throat. He opened his mouth to yell it, but no breath of air escaped him. An ache filled him. He pivoted. Odessa had not gotten far back down the castle hall connecting it to the garden. Somehow Colin found his words. “Where are they going?” He marched after her. “Odessa, tell me where they are going.”
Odessa rounded on him. “It is Your Highness, boy,” she snapped. “And you will begin addressing the rest of my sisters properly as well. You do not need to know where Glory is going, only that she will be safe and far away from this nonsense between the two of you. She is no longer your concern.”
The moon shone down on Odessa in her fury through the arches of the hall.
Colin’s face darkened. “Gods curse you, Your Highness,” he swore. “I will find her. We will be together.”
Odessa lifted her chin. “By the time you secure a horse and saddle it, you will not even remember which direction they went.”
Colin pointed at Odessa defiantly. He crossed his heart. Nothing would keep him from his happy ending.
Colin banged upon the door of the king’s chambers. “Your Majesty. Your Majesty!” He beat on it harder and harder until the king’s steward opened it with a grimace.
“I demand an audience with the King,
” Colin blurted before the steward could say a word.
“Do you know the hour?” the steward growled.
“Of course I know the hour! I demand an audience with the King!”
“The King is not currently accepting calls. You would be wise to chasten yourself and return in the morning.”
Colin grabbed the door and put all of his weight against it. “Balthazaar? Balthazaar, it’s Colin!”
The steward pushed back. Beads of nervous sweat formed at his temples. “How dare you address the king in such a manner. Go away, boy, lest you suffer the wrath of your king.”
Why was everyone suddenly treating him like rubbish? Colin grit his teeth. He had served this family with unquestionable devotion. They had treated him well until this night. Colin let out a cry of frustration as he pushed the door with all of his might. The steward tumbled backwards with a yelp. Colin looked around the darkened room. “Balthazaar!”
He scattered papers from the king’s desk as though Balthazaar were to be found under them. Nevermind the king, perhaps Glory was under there! Colin began scrounging for information on where she was going. The steward regained his feet and moved toward him.
A thin halo of light glowed upon the wall. Colin turned. His eyes were wide. His breath raced. He clutched a number of parchments to his chest with the king’s seal upon them. His eyes adjusted. Balthazaar’s haggard face was framed in grim shadows. He crossed slowly to his desk and placed the candle holder down upon the corner of it. He pulled out the chair and sank in to it. He wove his long fingers together and nodded for the boy to sit down. Balthazaar waved his hand to the steward to stand aside.
Colin’s knees buckled beneath him. The papers in his arms floated to the table top as his arms went limp. He leaned back in the chair and stared at the king.
Balthazaar was the first to speak. His voice was steady and quiet. “What in the world is the matter with you?”
Colin’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly as though to begin his words but only to lose them again.