The Escape of Princess Madeline

by Kirstin Pulioff

  “I know, I know,” he mumbled to himself as he stepped out of the lake. He didn’t feel his body shivering or the heavy weight of his wet clothes. He could think only of those green eyes.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Everything seemed fuzzy to Madeline. She knew the last few days were real; her bruises and bumps proved it. But she wished they were a nightmare. Her head pounded as she woke up, a reminder of her failed escape. She had underestimated these men as simple bandits, but now she knew better. Behind their crudeness lay cruelty to match.

  She strained her eyes, but her vision blurred to gray. In addition to the ropes that bound her wrists and legs, a fabric rag covered her head and mouth. The scratchy cloth stuck to her cheek and reminded her of stale bread. Compared to the stench of the men, this was bearable.

  It seemed to her that they had brought her back to camp. She heard the familiar crackling of the fire and the deep rumbling of their voices. Everything seemed the same, except for the addition of a new cry. Barely audible, she heard a girl’s voice crying out, intermixed with their deep voices.

  “Ouch, what’re ya hitting me for?” one of the men yelled.

  “You idiot, that’s not the princess!” Madeline recognized the voice of the scrawny man.

  “What do you mean it’s not her?” a new voice piped in. “That’s the same dress.”

  “Use your eyes, men. The dress may be the same, but this is not the princess.”

  A moment of silence stretched between them. The girl’s muffled screams wailed in the background. Madeline’s salty tears soaked into the rag binding her mouth, but she didn’t dare utter a word.

  “The princess does not have golden hair,” the smaller man said.

  Grunts of understanding sounded from the other men.

  “You idiot, what have you gotten us into?”

  “Ouch, stop hitting me.”

  “I will when you come up with a plan. I won’t have two sniveling girls in this camp, you’re bad enough.”

  She held her breath at their silence.

  “Look, even if she’s not the princess, it’s a royal dress. The golden trim is worth something and these diamonds up top are worth a fortune,” one said.

  “You’re right,” the smaller man agreed. “The dress may be worth it but not the girl. She’ll bring us no ransom. Get rid of her. And be careful. I don’t want to see any more stains on the dress, not if we want to get any money for it” he ordered.

  “Get rid of her?” he choked.

  “Yes. I don’t care how. Just make that crying stop.”

  “Yes sir,” he grumbled. “What about the other?”

  She inhaled, her heart thumping in the silence before the bandit responded.

  “She’s mine to deal with,” he chuckled.

  As their grumbles silenced into sleep, a deep pit opened in her stomach. Madeline exhaled and bit her lip. She needed a plan, quick.

  She rubbed her head back against the tree, feeling the tender spot where they had hit her, above her right ear. Gritting her teeth, she scraped the tied rag against the bark until it loosened. Through the small gap, she saw dim, gray patches of light. In the early morning light, it would be harder to escape. She needed to go now.

  Without warning, a loud smack followed by a scream echoed in the woods.

  “Now go, before I change my mind!” a man yelled.

  The girl’s sobs faded into a faint rustling in the woods, and then silence. She was gone. Madeline hoped the girl could find her way back home. Home. It seemed so far away.

  A sob stuck in her throat.

  Keeping quiet, she rubbed at her restraints until her skin burned under the rope. She felt the light touch of the morning sun. Time was running out if she hoped to escape before enduring another day of capture.

  The silence did not last long. Less than an hour later, before the sun fully warmed camp, rumbling grew. The heavy breathing of horses and stomping of hooves burst into the camp. She pressed her body against the tree, hoping to remain unnoticed.

  She jumped at a commanding voice.

  “Have you seen the princess?”

  “The princess,” one of the bandits snickered. “I’m afraid we haven’t been honored with her presence here in our humble camp.”

  “Do not joke with matters of royalty,” the stoic voice replied.

  “I do not know what you mean, good knight. We are simple men of the forest.”

  “Simple men with this?” a new, deeper voice asked.

  “Seize them at once,” the knight boomed, drawing his sword.

  “Wait, I can explain,” the smaller bandit cried.

  “Explain these bloody stains then.”

  A manic chuckle spread through camp. “She wouldn’t be quiet. We had to teach her our ways.”

  “And we’ll teach you ours,” the knight responded.

  A dozen swords were brandished.

  Madeline didn’t want to be there if things got worse.

  The fighting escalated. Behind her, screams rang out, muffled under the heavy stomps of horses. Metal struck metal, and the familiar grumbles turned to grunts and outcries.

  “Give us the princess!”

  Her heart leapt as she struggled to free her hands and mouth.

  The small, wiry man laughed. “Your princess is gone. There’s nothing of her here.”

  “Then prepare to die!” a strong voice boomed.

  “No,” she yelled, wishing they could hear her. “I’m here!” she cried, her voice no louder than a whisper.

  Screams ripped through the air and swords clashed on shields. The dirt moved with the pounding hooves as men trampled through camp, turning over bushes and knocking down branches from above. The screams of pain were worse than anything she had ever heard. A deep thud sounded next to her, and before she could turn away, she found herself face to face with the small man. His eyes were sightless, empty.

  Fear pumped through her, and with a scream, she fumbled forward on her hands and knees. She jumped past the closest grouping of trees and fell backwards over the top of a hill. A blur of green, brown, and blue mixed before her eyes as she toppled over the edge and rolled down the steep side.

  She spun out of control, feeling the wind blow against her and small rocks bite into her ribs and legs. Between the moments of fear and terror, brief flickers of excitement hit her.

  The pain grew with each jab of a new rock or twig hitting her. The tumble gave way to an abrupt stop as she slammed against a large boulder. Pain shot through her body, and for a moment she lay still. The restraints around her mouth had loosened in the fall, and for the first time since she had left the castle, she felt a smile fill her face.

  “Ouch,” she yelped as something sharp cut her hands. A stream of blood ran between her palms. Through the chaos of being recaptured, knocked out, and dragged back to camp, she had forgotten that she had palmed the stolen knife. For once, she welcomed the pain.

  The cool hilt of the dagger weighed down her hands. Twisting it between her fingers, she found a way to comfortably rub it against her legs and wrists to break the ropes. It took longer than she expected, but when the ropes snapped, so did her composure.

  Madeline sighed with pleasure—it felt so good to have her hands unbound—and leaned back against the rock, letting tears well up. She had never felt so happy to be alive. She leaned her head back and listened to the birds between her sobs, hearing the sweet sounds of freedom and rubbing the tender bruises on her ribs.

  She was free.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The morning sun rose over the castle. Nights seemed to lengthen under the extended search for Princess Madeline. Patrols ran every hour of the day. Guards lined the castle morning and night, stewards questioned the villagers for any news, and scouts were sent ahead to all the territories. He did not spare one home, village, or kingdom in his search. As long as she remained missing, he remained awake and the kingdom on alert.

  Golden hues shone through the stained glass windows
above his throne. His soft boots scuffed on the floor as he paced a trail around the empty hall. Morning hours tended to be quiet, but every day, fewer visitors appeared. Except for his trusted stewards and guards, no one approached him. The normally cheerful room had darkened.

  He continued pacing behind the throne, numbly watching the guards change shifts. Their bloodshot eyes and uncharacteristic slouches spoke of their exhaustion. Maybe he had pushed them too far. They needed rest. He wondered when he’d lost touch with what other people needed.

  Leaning against the throne, he felt the cool stone and sighed.

  “Is there any news from outside?” he asked as the new stewards filtered in.

  “No, Your Majesty. No news as of this morning. They will find her. I know they will.” The steward stood straight against the wall, looking refreshed and polished for service.

  “I hope you are right,” he said, scratching his chin. Its scraggly surface surprised him. In the days he’d been waiting for news, he had neglected to take care of himself. He felt the rough and sagging skin around his eyes and could see the wrinkled edges on his robe. Every moment spent waiting just added to his weariness.

  “Maybe it’s time I get some rest as well,” he said.

  His men nodded but did not respond.

  The door to the throne room crashed against the wall. All heads jerked to the back of the room. Striding toward him, a group of men approached, led by a man cloaked in black.

  “Your Majesty!” Prince Paulsen called, running into the room. The normal polish that surrounded the prince had disappeared under a layer of dirt. The charming smile people knew him for was noticeably absent from his face.

  “Prince Paulsen,” the king returned the greeting, jumping down to meet him.

  “Your Majesty,” the prince began, kneeling. Covering his heart with one hand, he looked at the ground, refusing to meet the king’s eyes. “I am deeply troubled to bring you this news.”

  “Tell me. Have your men found anything at all? Remember, if you bring her back home, she’ll be yours.” He stopped talking when he saw the prince’s men hesitate in the doorway. Their armor was stained with blood, and their heads hung low.

  “What happened, Prince Paulsen?” he asked, hiding his shaking hands beneath the thick sleeves of his robe.

  Prince Paulsen waved his men forward. They approached slowly, keeping their eyes on the floor. The man in the back looked the most uncomfortable.

  He vaguely heard the words but did not move his eyes from the dress draped in the man’s arms.

  “King Theodore,” Prince Paulsen began, his words thick with emotion. “I wish I came with different news, but we were too late.”

  The throne room seemed to spin. “Did you find the men who did this?” the king asked, in a voice no louder than a whisper.

  “Yes, we did. We came upon their camp this morning, in the darker regions of the forest. When we asked if they had seen her, we discovered the truth. I am so sorry. I vowed to bring her home, but not like this.”

  The king didn’t respond. He couldn’t say anything. His eyes focused on the blue dress that hung lifeless in their arms.

  The prince continued.

  “We rode deep into the forest through the night, tracking any signs we could find. There weren’t many. We talked to anyone we could—hunters, forest men. A few mentioned a group of bandits that had been terrorizing the area. So we went in search of them. It was early this morning when we finally found them. We surrounded them from every angle,” Prince Paulsen stopped for a moment to keep his emotions under control. “One of my men saw this. When we noticed the gown and listened to their mocking words, we were outraged. The fight was brief and complete.”

  Prince Paulsen’s voice shook as he finished the story and rejoined his men.

  The room around the king fell silent, and his vision blurred. He was the king of a kingdom, but utterly alone. “I don’t understand. How did we go from one disagreement to this?”

  “Your Majesty, I vow to turn this tragedy into something grand, in memory of the princess. I will clear that forest of all bandits. No more harm will come to your kingdom.” After a quick bow, Prince Paulsen waved to his men to follow and stormed back out the door.

  The room returned to silence. The stewards and knights regrouped in their positions. Everyone watched, but no one spoke. No words could adequately fill the void.

  King Theodore dropped to his knees and tentatively reached toward the dress. The midnight-blue gown looked dull in his hands. Any luster it held faded without her in it. He smelled it, hoping for a lingering scent.

  “Madeline!” he sobbed into the fabric. “Madeline!”

  His anguish echoed throughout the hall.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Daniel woke up shivering. His feet froze, and his clothes clung to him. A night’s sleep hadn’t helped him dry off or forget falling into the lake. Rubbing his eyes, he dragged the gritty dirt over himself with his sleeves.

  Sitting up, he hunched closer to the fire. As he warmed his hands, his mind drifted back to the lake’s images and the magic that haunted his dreams. Lost in thought, he didn’t see the wizards until they surrounded him. He tried to speak, but Elias silenced him with a look.

  The wizards stood stiff behind Elias, hiding their emotions in rigidity.

  Elias squinted through the trees to the morning sun as he spoke. “I trust you found what you are looking for?”

  Daniel nodded.

  “I hope you understand that you have seen something special, something only a handful of people within or outside the wizarding community are privy to. We expect you to honor that secrecy. But now, Sir Daniel, knight of Soron, you must leave. Take the knowledge you have gained and make your choices.”

  One of the younger wizards handed him the reins to his horse. He continued to stare at the wizards, dumbfounded.

  Elias shook his head. “I am sorry to rush you, but the king needs you. We have spoken with your horse, and he will carry you back as fast as he can. You must hurry.”

  Daniel didn’t understand. He was still tired, and his head ached from sleeping on the hard ground. “I don’t—” he started.

  “Go,” Elias said, his robe glistening in the morning sun. “Go,” he repeated as he disappeared back into the forest. The rest of the gathered men stood still, waiting for Daniel to move.

  He let out a deep breath and gathered his bag. He knew better than to argue with a wizard. Even his horse neighed impatiently.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he mumbled.

  Turning to thank the men, he watched as they methodically erased all evidence of his presence. One smoothed the soft dirt, another scattered the charcoaled wood, and a last leaned over the lake’s edge.

  Daniel secretly wished the man would fall in.

  “Good day, wizards. Meeting you was an experience I shall never forget.” And with a strong kick, he and his horse were off, riding back to Soron.

  He rode hard all day, surprised at their fast pace. Even buoyed with the magic of the wizards, there was a lot of distance to cover.

  The news of Princess Madeline reached him before he was even halfway there. Men from the outlying territories told him about the king’s grief and Prince Paulsen’s story. The whole kingdom mourned for its princess.

  “The mirror was right,” he swore, kicking his heels into his horse. Anger burned within him. He needed to see the king.

  The mountains disappeared behind him as he raced across the flatlands. The monotonous landscape blended together in his unsettled thoughts. All at once, he looked up, amazed. On the horizon, the broad castle stood, its banners waving. He was almost home.

  The horse stomped through the surrounding village, past the thatched homes and tournament grounds, until it stopped beneath the imposing castle gates.

  Throwing his reins to the young boy standing at the gates, he raced toward the throne room. His boots barely made a sound as he flew through the courtyard. The display cart for t
he bakery tipped over, knocking loaves of bread and fresh apples to the ground. Men and women jumped out of his way as he pressed through the crowd. He didn’t stop to explain himself or apologize for the smashed goods. The only apology he had was for the king, for not finding the princess in time.

  A gasp rang out around him as he dashed into the throne room. No one moved when he approached the king. He slowed and looked around. Sheets shrouded the stained glass windows, hiding the chamber in shadows. The red banners had been lowered, and the portraits on the back wall were covered. Everyone stood to the side, eyes downcast, mouths closed. No one uttered a word or moved, afraid of disturbing the sanctity of the king’s grief.

  King Theodore sat on the throne with a wrinkled robe and bloodshot eyes. The midnight blue gown dangled over his legs, and fresh tears rolled down his cheeks.

  Daniel approached the throne slowly and knelt before the king. “King Theodore, I have failed you. I could not protect our princess. I am sorry.” He waited for a response, but none was given. The king buried his face back in the dress and wept.

  Daniel stood back up, feeling the sting of the silent rejection, and retreated to the door. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but he understood the king’s reaction. For the first moment since hearing the news, he felt it in his heart. The princess that he loved was gone.

  Excusing himself from the throne room, he wandered through the gardens. He found himself remembering the brief moments they had shared together. He sat on the marble bench in the rose garden and took a deep breath. His fingertips brushed against the smooth, cold marble, and he smelled the fresh scent of roses, Madeline’s favorite flower. Memories of his knighting ceremony and the single white rose made him smile.

  He remembered the tournament, watching her as he lined up, memorizing her image and grace. The crowds had noticed him too, cheering his every win and reveling in his challenges.

  Most important, he remembered her eyes, those bright green eyes of hers that stared back at him, challenging him, leading him, haunting him in his dreams.