Slipping a healthy length of rope from underneath his shirt, Henry reached the prison and peeked inside. He had brought it in case the man guarding needed some coercion to let them go.
Phillip lay sleeping on the guard bed down the steps from the prison doorway. Without a second thought, Duncan moved forward, having brought the spare keys from the castle. Without hesitation, he opened the first door, strode through the hall, and unlocked the final barrier between them.
She stood facing the far wall. Not even the light coming through the door seemed to stir her attention. "Ovinia?" he whispered.
Hearing his voice, she turned to face him.
"I've come to free you, to help you escape. I make no promises except this one: if we make it out alive, I will stay by your side never to leave you again."
A trace of doubt flickered in her eyes, her expression otherwise unreadable, and then a huge smile formed on her lips and she ran to him, jumping into his arms and holding on tight to his neck.
Duncan held onto her waist, basking in the embrace for a moment. "We need to get moving."
"One thing," she said as she turned from him and retrieved her silver brush from the grainy floor.
Duncan took note of his pounding heart. Gripping the rope tightly, he thought if they just hurried, they could quietly escape without even being noticed.
"Is someone there?" called a voice.
Ovinia hurried to the prince's side and grasped his arm. Duncan whispered a reassurance. "Hold on to me and everything will be all right."
Duncan loosened the rope slightly, preparing to use it as soon as they made their presence known. He knew fear was on their side, as the guards were all still sore afraid of her, but he was ready to fight if necessary. Pulling on her hand, Duncan led her slowly back down the hallway.
Unexpectedly, a single loud, quick thud sounded, followed shortly by a body slumping to the floor. Pausing for a moment, listening only to the sounds of their breathing, Duncan wrapped one arm around Ovinia's shoulders. Carefully, Duncan guided her out to the main portion of the prison. Phillip lay on the floor, a trickle of blood coming from his forehead.
"What happened?" Ovinia asked. Duncan could hear the panic in her voice.
"I'm not sure." Walking her to the door, Duncan took a moment to scan the alley before they made their way outside the prison walls. "Let's run for it."
A spark of fearful energy ran through Duncan. Clasping hands, they ran away from the castle, away from the prison, away from the rows and down Northeast Alley, at the end of which he hoped would be the carriage he'd asked Karl to bring. Behind them Duncan could hear the faint chatter of merchants coming out to open their shops; he should have come a little earlier. "Don't look back," he said, as much to himself as to Ovinia.
Reaching the end of the alley, they rounded the final corner, the first glimpse of the vast countryside emerging. The carriage was there, as was . . . "Worston?" Breathless, Duncan halted, pulling Ovinia to a stop as well as his boots skidded across the dirt. "What on earth are you doing here?"
The man's wicked smile set off an alarm in Duncan. He'd avoided killing so far today—or even tying anyone up—and hoped he could keep with that tradition, but something in this man provoked him like nothing else, a thorn from childhood that would not be removed.
"Karl asked me to bring the carriage. Said you'd be taking an early morning ride."
Karl could be such an idiot. He'd probably thought having Worston come would not only save him the trouble, but provide a way for the prince's watch guard to easily find him.
"You are a hard man to follow, Prince Duncan. And who is this?" He began circling Ovinia. "Too plain to have a rendezvous with a member of the royal family, surely. This isn't her, is it? The convicted murderer everyone's been talking about? The one you have some freakish obsession with?"
Duncan glanced at Ovinia, trying to determine if his words were igniting something dangerous in her. She looked calm, but taking care of the problem sooner rather than later would be a good preemptive measure. Thinking for a moment of the few men he'd killed in battle, before he had been pierced himself and fell out of the fight, Duncan tried to catch hold of the bravery he'd needed then. Besides, he'd hit Worston before. It had been a pleasure.
Worston interrupted his thoughts. "You know, I have no interest in the girl, and don't really care what you do with her. But you'll have to buy my silence." The smirk on his face angered Duncan even more. He carried money, but they needed it to survive on, and he would not give even a tiny portion to the imbecile standing before him.
Preparing his fist for the blow, Duncan pulled his arm away from Ovinia, giving her a little shove to the side. Before he could take a swing, a dark figure moved from somewhere behind the carriage.
It was the woman, Ovinia's mother, the witch who'd cursed Eglantine and started the castle fire. She held something in her hand, but Duncan couldn't tell what. With her speedy approach, Worston rambled fearfully about his right to earn a living, about the injustice of escaped prisoners, about witches . . . and then, THWACK. The black and gray haired woman had smacked him in the head with what looked like a heavy stone. His eyes rolled back and he slumped over, falling to the ground with a single thump.
"Thank you," Duncan said. And then he didn't know what to say. There they all stood, on the brink of something: a word, a question, Duncan didn't quite know what. Did she want an invitation to come with them?
Thinking he should at least introduce them, Duncan gently caught hold of Ovinia's arm once more. "Ovinia, this is . . . well, I don't know her name. But don't be frightened."
"Magnolia." She held out her hand, taking a slow, cautious step forward. "My name is Magnolia. I have often been called Maggie."
Ovinia looked at Duncan, as if seeking his approval, or perhaps just looking for some reassurance that it was safe.
Duncan nodded at her, pulling her even closer to him for comfort.
"I'm Ovinia."
"Yes, I know, child." The woman smiled broadly, showing her overlapping teeth and the places where no teeth could be found, even though they should have been there.
"Your journey will be long?" she asked.
"Not too long," Duncan answered as he felt Ovinia take hold of his arm again.
The witch looked to her daughter then, as if trying to decide if she had grabbed hold of him out of fear.
"Are you going somewhere yourself?" Duncan asked.
"I don't know what I'll do next."
Leaning forward, Duncan whispered to her. "We're traveling north. To the seashore. Would you like a ride? We'll be traveling by carriage for a time, but then we will abandon it and walk. You could have the horse. We'd never be able to keep it."
She looked at the horse.
"Or you could come with us," he offered.
Ovinia's grip tightened on his arm, and the witch seemed to notice.
"Oh, I couldn't trouble you." Waving her hand, she dismissed the idea, then looked sternly at Duncan. "Take care of her."
"I will."
After taking one last glance at her daughter, the woman turned to leave.
Duncan helped Ovinia into the carriage, assuring her that he would be right back. Catching up with the woman, he stopped her. "Are you sure you won't come with us?"
She paused, looked at the used-to-be prince, and gave her answer. "It is enough that I know she is free. I could ask for nothing more. She trusts you, but that is where it ends. It would not be good for her if I came, nor do I believe it would benefit her to know who I am." Nodding as she took a deep breath, she thought for a moment. "It is better for her to move on. Maybe better for me as well. But I thank you. I can rest now."
Could she, truly? "What about Eglantine?" Duncan asked, thinking once more of his poor brother, and the sleeping princess whom he loved.
She stared at him intently for a moment. "I don't know why you are so interested in her, but unless there are some other powers at work, I'm afraid her condition is perman
ent." After speaking, Magnolia turned to walk away.
A sinking feeling entered his chest, probably because while Henry had given him the courage and reassurance to follow his heart, he could do nothing for him in return. Coming back to the carriage, Duncan looked up to see Ovinia's worried face.
"Was I gone too long?"
The sun inched up from the horizon. Duncan watched it through the carriage window, just to the side of her face. She turned to see it as well, and then reached her hand out to him, inviting him to join her.
1
Sleeping Beauty and the Beast
17
Beauty
Ocean waves roar in my ear, louder and clearer than ever before. The strong scent of mint bites at my nose, causing me to stir in my bed. And I hear a bird, chirping incessantly, as if warning an enemy to stay away from its nest. The sun is hot on my skin, piercing through the glass, and bright even through my closed eyelids.
I blink once, opening my eyes for a split second and closing them again. The light is blinding, painful, and I keep them closed.
Where am I?
I search my memory. I had been watching Henry sleep, standing at the window, anticipating the sunrise because it meant he would wake and I could see him again. Duncan had come in. They'd spoken, bid farewell, and then Duncan left. He wasn't coming back. I allow this to sink in, knowing how hurt Henry must be. We'd been walking in the garden not long after that, and Henry began to grow dim. At first, I thought it because the weather. Clouds covered every inch of sky, and a layer of thick fog floated around us.
I open my eyes again, and blink several times. The plants are clustered around me, their colors so vibrant—green leaves, purple lavender, white lilies with orange spots in the center.
What has happened?
I lean up on my elbow, looking around. Am I in another dream? I have never seen such color in any of my dreams. Thinking of the roses outside, which I can barely glimpse through the vines crawling up the glass, I wonder if I am to run outside, find the dead ones, and water them with my tears.
Then something moves outside the glass, walking toward me, rustling through the shrubs.
I look to the door, unprepared for whatever surprise lurks in this dream. Will it be the witch? Coming to my resting place rather than the woods? A figure enters through the door and the relief floods through me. It is Stella. What will happen next?
She walks around for a while, unaware of me. A bunch of leafy stems are pulled from her bag, and she prepares the surface of a small table, brushing it clean with her free hand. Then she grasps a knife and begins to chop the leaves.
"Stella?"
She turns toward me. "Eglantine!" Dropping the knife and bunch of stems, she runs to me. "Eglantine, you're awake!"
"Stella, what has happened?"
Her arms fly around me and I fall backward, the weight of her crushing me as she refuses to let go.
"Stella, please get off." As she pulls back, I study her face, clear and bright as the morning sun on a cloudless sky, the outline of her body firm against the background, not blurred as in my dreams. Sitting up, I gaze into her pearly blue eyes, and her huge smile forces a smile from me too. She sits beside me and I throw my arms around her.
"I'm awake." As my head rests against her shoulder, I peer through the glass, straining to see through all the creeping vines, and there it is, the thunderous ocean, waves rushing and clapping. A deep happiness swells inside me, and for a moment I feel whole, complete.
Then I think of Henry, and if it wasn't for the sight of the ocean, I imagine my heart would break. "It's raining in Fallund."
Pushing me away, Stella asks, "What are you talking about?"
With her hands still clamped to my arms, I answer. "It is raining in Fallund." I look up for a moment, wondering how the sun dare to shine so bright here in Cray when the skies are dark and misty in Henry's kingdom. "I have to go to Fallund."
Pushing Stella away, I try to move my legs, but while my mind is alert and active, my body is trembling, my legs unwilling, perhaps even unable.
"No, you must rest. I will have the guards send for your parents."
I dread the thought of lying back down, but my body is so weak that if it doesn't happen voluntarily, and soon, I will surely collapse.
Stella leaves and I am left alone once again, panic seeping into my mind and heart, reaching out and touching every part of me. I worry for Henry and what he must be thinking now that I'm gone. Had I floated away from him, or simply vanished? What had he done then? Was he still in the garden, calling my name and searching for the vision of me?
"Two of the guards are sailing back to the castle."
I look in her direction and am surprised to see such a large group of men surrounding her, each dressed for battle, each armed with a sword. It brings me comfort, to know Father and Mother went to such lengths to protect me, even though they'd sent me away from the castle.
"Good day, your highness," one of them says, smiling like an idiot. They are all smiling, all apparently in awe to see me.
"All right, you've seen her. Now return to your posts. Prepare to receive the king and queen." She tries to wave them away with her arms, but they linger and gawk, moving slowly to follow her directions.
It is agony waiting for Father and Mother. Will Aunt Cornelia be with them? I will be so glad to see them all, but the thought of Henry gnaws at me. I close my eyes, trying with all my might to settle my brain, to find the rest that will lead me to my dreams again. I want to find Henry.
It is no use. The spell is broken, and having slept for most of my life, I am not remotely tired.
I watch the ship getting closer, able only to see it in patches because of all the greenery, but it grows bigger and bigger to my view as it approaches. A giddy excitement dances in my stomach, like a million tiny moths flapping their wings inside me.
"They're here," Stella says, standing to leave.
I hear voices calling in the distance, some the low voices of men, others the alto voices of women. Then they are running toward me, the sound of their quick paces thrashing through shrubbery rather than around it. I only catch a glimpse of their movements through the glass, but in a moment they are at the door, looks of wonderment on their faces: Father, Mother, Aunt Cornelia, all come to see the miracle of my wakefulness.
Mother clasps a hand over her mouth as she lets out a joyful gasp. Her other hand moves to her stomach. Father's face sends a rush of nostalgia, like breathing a pleasantly familiar scent. He looks as he ever did: trimmed beard and moustache, dark eyes, thin face. Other than the fact he hunches over more than he used to, and the few deep wrinkles on his skin, he looks the same. They rush to me, along with Aunt Cornelia and her bright smile, her hair a lively reddish-brown.
Mother reaches me first. Her arms slide underneath my back and she pulls me to her. I wrap my arms around her head, feeling her soft curls beneath my fingers. Father wraps his arms around us, and Aunt Cornelia leans in, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. I lean my head into her and soak it all up, basking in the comfort of their attention and embraces.
"Can she walk?" Father asks Stella.
"She hasn't tried yet, but I don't think she is strong enough. It will take time."
"I'll carry her." Father lifts me up and walks me to the ship. I hate that I cannot set my bare feet in the glistening sand. So long I've waited to see the shore, to run along the beach, and now that I am awake, I am too weak. A part of me—just a sliver, or perhaps more—prefers dreaming, where I am able to move as I please most of the time, where I can even fly.
The voyage is short, less than an hour it seems; the sun has barely moved in the sky from what I can tell.
A small welcoming party is there to greet us, mostly servants. A face or two is familiar. All are smiling, and a few of them have tear stained cheeks.
"Welcome home, Princess Eglantine," someone says. I don't see who. I am anxious to get in the castle, anxious to tell my parents what has happen
ed.
Inside, a table is set for tea. The five of us sit down—Father, Mother, Aunt Cornelia, Stella and I—Father putting me in a chair and propping me up with a few pillows.
What are they going to think? What are they going to say when they begin talking? I decide to begin the conversation.
"Father, Mother." It is good to address them, to hear their names in my own voice and feel the words spoken on my tongue and lips. "There is something I need to tell you."
"What is it, darling?" Mother asks before pressing the white porcelain teacup to her mouth.
"I need to go to Fallund. As soon as possible."
Father chuckles. "Impossible."
I watch him leaning back in his chair, mouth curved up in a proud smile, one hand gripping the handle of the teacup as it rests on the table.
"Then I need you to write the king. Tell him I am all right. Tell him I am awake and that I want him to come to Cray. To meet my parents." I look at my aunt. "To meet all of you."
"What are you talking about, my little dumpling?" It has never bothered me before, maybe it couldn't in my sleep, but that name rubs against my nerves like a ship screeching against a rock hidden beneath the water.
"I'm talking about the fact that I am married to the king of Fallund."
Father's face changes in an instant, the smile gone, replaced with the most serious look I've ever seen on him. He looks to Stella for an explanation. "Stella, what is this nonsense?"
"I don't know, your majesty."
"Perhaps she is tired from the journey and the excitement of it all," Mother says.
"I am not tired."
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