by E. J. Powell
The witch gave me very little details about the man who had stolen the sacred rose from her that allowed her to use magic and help others. I'm still hesitating about accepting this role to fetch this object for her, when she hasn't even told me her name. She knows my name, my full name, the name we stopped using the minute we arrived in the little village. Father didn't want others to know that we were once royalty, that he was once Duke Monte of the Castle Farms, and I his beloved heiress. Father had lost the rights to the house once we filed bankruptcy, and we had to move far away deep into the withering farmlands of England.
The witch allowed me to stay the night to rest and refresh before leaving at dawn's light to head to the supposed place where the evil man was. I rise from the straw pallet and find the hut empty. The embers of the fire burning low in the hearth give me a sign that the witch hadn't been in the shack for quite a while now. Standing up, I find a wooden platter of food on the table and I walk over, grabbing a slice of hard cheese and sourdough bread that tastes divine.
Once I eat my fill, I move towards the creaky door that swings on its hinges, and grab my flimsy blue shawl off the coat rack, then head out into the brisk morning.
"You are not going to steal back my magical rose with no shoes." The witch scowls as we stand near the river. When I turn back around to face her, she is wearing a beautiful corset dress of a deep rich green that has little woven beads sewn into the seams, making them dangle and giving off the illusion that she's like the rippling tide. Her hair is braided down her back, and her violet eyes are glancing at my ripped stockings.
My cheeks warm, and I bite my lower lip. "I didn't have time to grab my slippers."
"Well, you won't need slippers for where you are going, and you won't need a dress either." The witch beckons me back to her hut, and I reluctantly follow her back inside.
"This is ridiculous! I look like a man." I groan as I stomp through the woods, doing my best not to trip in the heels of boots that men have been accustomed to wearing for a long while. The witch had lent me the boots along with a pair of black trousers that reach to my knees and a white blouse that is tucked securely beneath the trousers. My black hair is braided back so that the one braid flops across my shoulders as I keep glancing around nervously as I move farther into the trees. She'd given me instructions about the whereabouts but never exactly specified as to where I had to go.
I'd been walking all day, and I knew I would no doubt have blisters on my heels once I took these awful boots off of my feet. The sun was beginning to set, and dark clouds rumbled in the distance, drawing closer and bringing rain; I wasn't exactly thrilled about being poured on lightning lights up the sky in a beautiful white arc, and I hurried forward, stopping once I reach a clearing.
The sky grew dark, the sun no longer giving me the light I so desperately seek. Lightning strikes the ground nearby, and I holler at the top of my lungs, stumbling backwards to avoid getting struck. The downpour commences, and soon, I'm drenched from head to toe. I have to stop myself from shouting at the top of my lungs once I have to squint through the downpour to see what is right in front of me.
A large castle rests atop a hill, menacing black iron gates loom in front of me, a good few yards away. The castle has two towers–one on each side–with a small section of stone in the center. The gargoyles do not appear friendly when I spy the stone demons perched on the towers, watching over the castle as if they could prevent the intruders from lurking within.
I move forward till I can reach out and touch the iron gates. I push against them, but they remain locked. I swallow hard, and use all my strength to get them to open, but to no avail; they don't bother to budge. I slap my palm against one of the iron bars and groan my frustration; my body began to tremble from the cold rain that is battering my body.
My back stiffens and the hair on the back of my neck prickled when I hear growling over the rain, and it's not thunder. I slowly turned around, and my heart begins to pound hard against my breast-bone. I take a step backwards, my eyes wide. Four dark shapes are taking form, each moving forward at a different angle, backing me up so that I have nowhere to run, and there’s no space between me and the gates.
Saliva and sharp teeth are visible through the mist of rain, and I have to swallow back the urge to scream. If only the witch could have given me some kind of weapon! My body trembles, and I have nowhere to go. I'm trapped. Oh, Lord, I'm going to die out here!
My back presses hard against the iron gates, and I swallow hard, closing my eyes as they move in closer. I believe they can smell my fear as it radiates off of me, fueling their hunger and desire to enjoy me as a nice little meal, with what little muscle and bone there is to offer.
Opening my eyes when they stop growling, I find they’ve turned their heads to a rustling sound against the howling of the wind to their right, my left, I suddenly decide to make a very foolish decision and run to the right.
The wolves snarl and all give chase. My feet pound against the dirt, and I have a hard time running in these blasted boots as I scramble over a few boulders and narrowly miss bashing my face against a tree that is lined up along the iron gates, still leaving me with no room to escape from predators behind me.
I jump over a fallen tree, and the top of my foot catches in a rotting hole. I stumble forward, twisting at an angle and landing on my side. Something snaps, and I think it's the bone, I let out a strangled cry but have to keep moving. I pull my leg free and try to get up, but I can't put pressure on my right foot.
I hobbled backwards and almost slip against the mud. The wolves stop when they realize that I can't go much farther. I'm breathing hard and trying to remain calm as they begin to paw at the ground, getting into a half circle, and all crouch down simultaneously as they get ready to spring on me.
Something dark, huge, and lumbering comes up behind the wolves. I gasp as the wolves turn, only to find something sinking deep gouging marks against their flanks. They yelp as they are tossed to the side, some with deep gash wounds. The wolves howl and race away, one doesn't make it very far before it collapses in the mud, rain soaking the fur.
I stand awkwardly, my breathing uneven as the looming figure cloaked in black stands a few feet away from me. I swallow hard, shaking like a leaf. "If you’re going to kill me . . .," I trail off, and shake my head, "You’d better make it quick."
The rumbling noise begins again, and my eyes widen as the figure steps closer, still shrouded in rain, mist, and darkness. "I'm not going to kill you." The voice is deep, rich, and mysterious, but his voice sounds almost like an animal, some words sound more garbled than others as he continues to speak, "I heard the commotion and wondered who could possibly be wanting to enter my domain."
"This is your estate?" I squeak.
"Yes, and I don't take kindly to strangers trying to trespass on my grounds," he says angrily. I can imagine his face scowling at me, but all I see is a dark, towering figure.
"I'm sorry, I was going to knock, but the gates wouldn't let me get that far," I mumble.
"Are you making snide comments on my behalf, boy?" the looming figure asks.
I scoff, "I am not a boy!"
"My apologies, a child perhaps?" The figure growls out the S.
I frown, "I'll have you know that I am not a child. I'm sixteen, and I'm a woman!" I nearly shouted.
The figure stops moving towards me, "You are a woman?" he asks, sounding baffled. "But you’re dressed like a man."
I cross my arms, "A woman can wear a man's clothes if she desires."
"If you believe so, woman." The figure takes a step towards me, standing closer to me. The man is tall, almost seven feet, wearing a long flowing cloak. I try not to shiver at his tall presence that is setting me on edge. I shift on my bad foot and flinch at the pain. "You are hurt," he says. His voice is cold.
I hesitate before answering. "Yes, milord. I hurt my ankle."
"You might be a woman wearing a man's clothes, but a real man does not injure his ankle b
y simply running away from a few measly wolves."
I scoff, narrowing my eyes. "I'll have you know that those wolves were in a pack! Four to one odds aren't exactly favorable. I had no place to go, so I chose to run!"
He takes a step forward and reaches out towards me. I startle, seeing two large hands that are covered in fur and long curved claws are reaching out. I shut my eyes when I feel them trap my waist, and then I'm being lifted into the air. I shriek my disapproval as he slings me over his left shoulder.
I pound his back with my fists. "Put me down! This is not a way to treat a lady!" I shout so that I can be heard over the howling wind.
His deep chuckle vibrates through him and feels odd against my stomach as he turns and heads back towards the gates, keeping his large fur and clawed hand wrapped around my waist, keeping me in place on the curve of his shoulder. "Well then, I'd say it's a good thing you aren't a lady."
3
“But I am a woman, and a woman should not be treated in this manner!” I growl under my breath as he uses his free arm to push against the solid arched oak door and shuffles inside, the door closing with a loud echo behind us, nearly catching the tip of my nose. I squeak and cower backwards, as the man chuckles, if he can even be considered a man at all.
“Forgive me your ladyship, but a woman would not dare to walk around in such attire,” he mocks, as he strolls into the grand foyer then takes a sharp left, my head cranes back a little, so I can get a better view than a small winding tail that curls above his buttocks.
“I told you, milord, a woman can wear whatever she wishes! These clothes suit me more comfortably than a tight corset and petticoats any day.” My eyes dart to the gargoyles leaning on ledges, all as if they are alive. I swallow hard and try to steady my pounding heart. The candelabras light only a small glimpse of the castle walls as the monster begins to trek up the winding staircase.
“Are you telling me that you do not fancy such expensive material?” the dark voice rumbles in surprise.
I roll my eyes, “I detest such the satin and silk. I have no need for them.”
“You are definitely from a different village then. The ones I acquire always ask for far too much than my estate can grant,” the man admits, as he takes long strides down a dark hallway before stopping outside two tall arched doors. “This will be your room, until you are healed.” He shoves open the door with his right shoulder, and I gasp as we enter the room.
My eyes stray to the high ceiling where a soft glow of candles light up the room, the walls are an egg-shell blue with golden palm trees covered in spirals of flowers and vines. A four-poster bed sits pressed up against the wall, and the floors are carpeted by a dark wine-red. Before I can even say thank you, the man whirls on his heels and deposits me harshly on top of the bed.
I yell out and push against the soft goose down covers to glare over my shoulder. “What did you do that for?” I scowl and twist my body as he tilts the hood of his head at me.
“I simply removed you to a better position. Are you not satisfied?”
“No, I am not satisfied!” I snap at him, narrowing my eyes. “You could have injured me more!”
“My deepest apologies,” he bows at me as I sit on the bed. “I was only trying to make you comfortable.”
“Well then, perhaps you have an odd way of showing it, milord.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“I will have my servants prepare a bath. And I will start the fire before I take my leave.” The towering man cloaked in darkness turns to the fireplace that has not seen ash or soot in the better part of the year.
“Don’t bother with the fire . . .,” I say, choking out the response. His back stiffens, but he does not answer. “I will be fine with the bath,” I add as an afterthought.
“Very well.” His answer his sharp and cold. I try not to shiver as he moves towards the door, before holding onto the edges, as there is no handle. “You will remain here for the time being. You can travel the castle as soon as your wound is no longer causing you pain. Except for the west wing, the castle is yours.”
“What’s in the west wing?” I ask, feeling curious.
The figure turns, and I swear I can feel his eyes penetrating my own. My flesh begins to crawl with the way he’s watching me. “Your worst nightmare.” Then he turns and pulls the doors closed.
I sit there for a few minutes, contemplating on what to do based on the witch’s instructions, I still didn’t have a name from her, yet she knew my own. “When you get inside the castle, head to his private quarters, for he will keep all his priceless possessions inside his room. This I am certain.” The witch’s words come back into the front of my mind, and I stifle a frown.
This will not be easy, I think to myself, as I glance around the room that is to be called my own. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. The west wing is the last place I will look, it sounds like his personal dungeon. I shudder at the thought, but I don’t have time to dwell on it.
A loud knock sounds on the door and makes me jump nearly off of the bed. “C-come in,” I say quickly, hoping it’s not the dark figure again.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear a woman’s voice calling out, “Milady? We have brought you your bath. Might we come in?” she asks, her voice sounding like a grating stone.
“Of course!” I say, then I wish with all my might that I could take back my words. The doors creak open, and in hobbles three stone gargoyles. I nearly shriek but have to put a hand to my mouth to keep from screaming at the sight. They are hideous! They look like average villagers but have pointed ears, curling tails on their backsides, stone for flesh, and the spindly bat wings jutting from their shoulder blades.
The two male gargoyles drop the basin in the center of the room, and the female gargoyle drags a bucket full of water and pours it into the tub, before her yellow eyes meet my own. She grins and reveals sharp pointed teeth. I try not to flinch, but the smile I give her is more of a grimace. She notices and her smile falters a little, but she curtseys on clawed feet, the nails of her claws digging against the red carpet.
“My apologies if our appearances frighten you,” the female gargoyle says as she straightens up, and the two male gargoyles quickly scamper away. The click-clack of their clawed feet echo down the hallway. “We do not mean you any harm. You are our guest, and we will be happy to serve you with whatever you need.”
I blink in surprise, but nod. “Thank you. I appreciate the kindness more than you’ll ever know.” I leaned forward as she ambles her way to the fireplace and picks up an iron fire poker. “Oh please, do not fret over the fire.” I hesitate before adding, “I am terrified of the flames.”
The female gargoyle glances over her shoulder, but she does not seem surprised. “I do not blame you, m’lady. There was a fire not too far from the estate. A few smoke signals caught our eye, but by then it was too late. A village got swept up into the flames.”
I swallow hard, fighting back the tears. My family . . . gone. Turned to ash before my very eyes.
“It was not your village, I hope, m’lady?” the female gargoyle asks, and I merely shake my head, too stunned into silence to confirm or deny. The gargoyle gives me a soft smile that makes her face crack in certain spots around her cheeks. “That is a relief in itself! I pray that the villagers are all safe and well.”
My heart aches with the knowledge that her prayers have gone unanswered, but I cannot bear to take the peaceful expression from her stone face. “Is there anything else I can get for you, m’lady?” the female gargoyle asks, as she shuffles towards the doors.
“Please, do not bother with titles.” I wave my hand in dismissal.
She smiles, “Very well. My name is Marymagglyn.”
“Please to meet you, Marymagglyn.” I give a small smile of my own, not a grimace this time. “I go by . . .,” I went to say Ravonette, but something holds my tongue from continuing to go by my first name.
Remember, darling Ravonette, I hold your name until our bargain i
s complete. Then your family and your name shall be returned.
“Bella, I go by Bella,” I say to Marymagglyn.
Marymagglyn nods in approval, before asking again, “Do you need anything else, Bella?”
I think for a second, before saying, “Your master said I could go wherever I wished, when I have healed . . .,” I gesture to my foot, “does that ring true, what he claims . . . I mean, is he a man of his word?”
“Aye, miss, that he is!” Marymagglyn says, as she opens up the heavy doors with ease. “He’s never broken a single promise for as long as I’ve known him. He’s an honest man at heart.” She turns and shuts the door with a loud bang.
Interesting, the witch claims that he stole her magical abilities out from under her nose. I will have to be careful around the Lord of the estate.
Taking great care, I lift up my leg and pull gently on the boot, clenching my jaw to keep from screaming as the boot comes free, and my swollen right foot comes into view. It’s bruised along the left side, the heel has a large blister, and the right side of the foot is black and blue. I wince when I put it down to test whereabouts the fracture might have taken place.
I hissed between clenched teeth when I stand up to test my weight. I immediately sink back down on the bed, unable to support my weight at all. Growling under my breath, I reach up and pull off my other boot, before carelessly tossing both aside to the foot end of the bed. Unclipping the black trousers, I pull out the white blouse hem and wrestle with the straps of the trousers, pulling them off of my shoulders.
Before I can take off the blouse, a sharp knock echoes against the door. “Who is it?” I mumbled, feeling the need to ask this time.
“Milady?” The voice is gruff, and I repress the urge to shudder.
“Yes, milord?” I asked hesitantly and begin to chew on my bottom lip, wondering why he’s back so soon.
“I have come to demand that you join me for dinner.” He stops, and says in a cold voice, “and it’s not a request!”