by Andi Adams
Alaricus found his focus and, in two wide paces, grabbed a fistful of Emmerich's tunic. "Tell me, you fool-born fustilarian. What. Happened?" With each word, he tightened his grip on Emmerich, who trembled in the prince’s grasp.
"I… I don't know, Your Highness. We had difficulty gripping the glass. It… it just kept slipping. We—"
"Enough!" He shoved the young guard aside. "Your incompetence is unnerving and your excuses are worthless."
Alaricus advanced upon Steinner. "And you, what do you have to say for your clumsiness, you pribbling buffoon?"
Steinner's gaze darted between the prince's stern glare and the girl who was dead only moments before.
"Don't look at her," Alaricus said. "Look at me. I asked you a question. And I demand you answer me!”
A voice like satin juxtaposed Alaricus' menacing rumble. "Don't speak to him like that," the girl said, still regaining her composure. "It wasn't his fault. Upon hitting the ground, the piece of apple that had been responsible for my death, dislodged. I don't understand how, but these men… these men saved my life. They do not deserve your reprimanding."
“Hold your tongue, woman. I was not speaking to you, nor was I asking for your opinion. How dare you address me without permission and admonish me for how I address my servants. Are you mad or simply stupid?"
She shook some of the shards of glass from her hair and brushed a few more off her lap before speaking. "Are you asking me to respond or not, because you just stated that, without permission, I am not encouraged to address you. Then tell me, Monsieur, why would you ask me a question if you don't want to hear my response? It seems an unfair position you put me in."
Her tone grated his every nerve. It was supercilious. It was indignant. And it was educated? Alaricus barely liked to hear women speak, unless it was to praise him, and even then he only tolerated it minimally.
Though her tone was unexpected and inappropriate, he found her audacity alluring, and still her beauty was unparalleled, which made enduring her brazenness marginally more manageable. She remained fixed on him, expecting a response.
However, his anger twisted into amusement. "You'll be a fine prize once I've taught you to tame that mouth of yours." A sneer curled upon his lips, weaving deep dimples into his cheeks.
"Well, it's a good thing I won't have to worry about such oppressive measures. For you see, sir, I am no one's prize." She scowled as she struggled to stand, watching carefully where she placed her hands so as to not drive any more glass into her palms. The lush grass beneath her now bared the weight of her body, as she labored to balance herself in a standing position. Her legs were wobbly, and she slightly resembled a newborn foal trying to walk for the first time.
He met her retort with a condescending chuckle. "Oh, we shall see about that. What is your name, maiden, and what on God's Earth are you wearing?"
The girl looked down at her clothing to survey her attire, almost as if she wasn't aware of the state of her dress. She wore a tattered sheet fastened about her with a golden braided rope. She almost looked like a Grecian goddess, the stark color of her hair typifying an inky contrast next to the paleness of the sheet and her skin, which glowed with the luminescence of youth. Her doe-shaped eyes, highlighted by their blue color, grew even more prominent as they expanded almost in exasperation.
"Clothes, sir, if you must know. Surely they are nothing fancy, but they are mine, and they mean a lot to me. Might I mark that you, Monsieur, have been nothing but far from charming — simply rude, in fact — so tell me why I would dignify your offensiveness by revealing to you my name?" She squared her shoulders and placed her hands on her hips.
"For one, I am the Prince of Heiglet and could have your head served at my next banquet if you defy me. So there's that. And two, because you are coming with me, and I can't very well call you 'girl' for the rest of eternity…. Well, I suppose I could, but it would annoy me deeply." He found humor in his own comment and rubbed his hand over his chin to hide his dashing smile.
The young nameless girl's eyes grew even wider. "Excuse me? I must have misunderstood, for you see, I am not going anywhere with you. I will be returning to my family — my brothers — and you, sir, will be leaving just as quickly as you came. I acknowledge your usefulness, seeing as your entourage did unintentionally save my life, but beyond that, my gratitude and tolerance are quickly exhausting."
"Your brothers? Oh dear. Would he have been one of them?" He asked with mocking sympathy and gestured to a little foot sticking out beyond the shadows of a topiary.
"Oh, dear God, wha…. what happened?" The girl, now careless of the broken glass, sprinted in the direction of the little body. "No! Grog! Oh, please wake up. Please be all right." Her voice was weighted with sobs and cracked as her volume increased. Though petite in stature, she seemed gigantic next to the man she called 'Grog.' She proceeded to drape her body over his and cried without concern that the entire entourage was watching her pathetic display.
After a few minutes of inconsolable weeping, she wiped away her tears, smearing blood across her face from the small glass cuts in her hand. She rose to her feet, determined. "Who did this?"
Her face conveyed she was not expecting the guilty person to confess, and when she heard Alaricus' voice, her body twinged.
"I did it, and I'd do it again," he said. "The fool practically begged me to take his insignificant life. He was insolent and rude, and such atrocities are treasonous when speaking to a prince. And in all honesty, what I did was for his benefit. He looked entirely despondent about your death. I could tell by his vexation he loved you very much. I believe he was acting as your… guard."
He snickered. "Didn't do so great a job on watch, now did he? So you see, I was simply being merciful by putting the little twit out of his misery. I mean, how was I to know you'd awaken from a temporary death."
The girl was horrified. She knelt down and picked up a large shard of glass and slashed in the air toward Alaricus.
He laughed at her silly attempt to ward him off. But before he knew it, like a bull to a red muleta, the girl charged at him. She grunted and yelled with the confidence of a warrior as her legs carried her toward the prince. She struck a prominent gash across his cheek before Steinner and Emmerich managed to seize her.
"Damn you!" Alaricus yelled, wiping the blood from his face.
Now apprehended with her wrists twisted behind her back, she flailed and kicked, exposing her wrath and almost unraveling her loosely clad bed-gown. Even in her rage, she was exquisite, and the very sight of her resistance excited the prince.
"Throw her in the carriage and lock it good and tight," he said.
"I'll kill you for what you've done," the girl said. "Let me go! Do you hear me? I demand you let me go!" Her thrashing made managing her difficult for the guards, but not impossible. As soon as they secured her in the carriage, the sound of her screaming only slightly muted the sound of her fists pounding against the carriage walls.
"We'll see if she's such a wildcat after our ride home," Alaricus said. "She'll have quite a ways to tire herself out. Let's go." The prince mounted Herrschaft in a graceful swoop and led the way out of the clearing.
"No! Eron, Tyne, Flic! Help me please! Sib, don't let them take me! Help!" Her voice resounded through the air, scaring the crows to flutter from the treetops; however, no one was there to hear the echo of her cries as the carriage bounced through the woods, making its way back to the kingdom of Heiglet.
Part III: Ever After
"Beauty saves. Beauty heals. Beauty motivates. Beauty unites. Beauty returns us to our origins, and here lies the ultimate act of saving, of healing."
Matthew Fox
22
From the small-veiled window of the carriage, Genevieve could see trees, different than the ones she knew from around her kingdom or the ones around the cottage. She had lost track of time, but could sense she was rather far from home. She slumped against the velvet seats, and her mind fought between succumbing
to exhaustion and continuing to fight, or at least devising a plan.
But she was too weary. Weary from bizarrely awakening from a seemingly dead state. Weary from mourning Grog's death, as she was forced to watch his lifeless body at her gravesite disappear from sight as the carriage bounded away. And she was weary from fighting the world and, more so, from the world fighting her.
Who is this man and why has he come for me? I have nothing he wants and yet he insists upon kidnapping me away from the only home I've ever known.
At this thought, hot tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She understood crying would do her no good, but between her frustration and exhaustion, she couldn't stop herself.
She blotted her face with the bed-sheet-dress, which was now askew on her thin frame. Grabbing at the material, she attempted to set it straight to at least cover all of her female parts. She tightened the rope about her waist with a tug and lifted her feet upon the cushioned bench. With the sun soon setting and the fact that she was wearing so little clothing, small bumps formed upon her pale arms, and her teeth chattered.
Perhaps I should go back to carrying on like a loon. At least it kept me warm.
She sighed and tucked her arms in closer to her body, crossing them over her chest and pulling her legs up to meet them. After only a few minutes, she laid her still damp cheek upon the soft cushion and wandered into a dreamless sleep.
Sib led the way home, like usual, his head down and his mind lost in thought.
"What the…?" Eron said.
Sib lifted his head to see the demolished remains of what used to be Genevieve’s gravesite from about fifty yards away. They picked up their lazy pace and ran over to inspect.
Tyne, reaching the clearing first, asked, "Where is she? Where did she go?"
"What a silly question," Eron said through a wheeze. Talking while jogging was not easy for an overweight dwarf. "She couldn't have gone anywhere. You know she's dead, and dead people can't just up and leave."
Questions plagued Sib's racing mind, and soon the brothers discharged inquisitions in rapid fire, speaking over one another, greatly exacerbating the chaos.
"What do you think happened here?"
"Where did she go?"
"Who could've done this?"
"Where on Earth is Grog?"
At the mention of Grog's name, dread mounted in Sib's chest.
They shouted, one voice over the other, "Grog? Grog? Where are you? What's happened?"
Sib bounded toward the cottage and shouted over his shoulder, "I'll check the house, let me know if you find anything."
But the search did not last for long. Upon encircling the case, Eron shouted out with a raucous howl. "No, Grog! Sib, come quick!" The brothers gathered behind the tomb where Grog's tiny corpse was sprawled in the dirt.
Sib assessed that the color had drained from Grog's face and his skin was firm to the touch.
Tyne muttered, "It's too late, isn't it? Again, we're too late."
Eron shook his head in disbelief, while Flic burrowed his face into Eron's arm to shield his eyes from the horrific sight.
Sib checked for a pulse and dropped his ear to Grog's mouth to listen for breathing. Nothing. Through blurry eyes, he spotted the wound in Grog's chest, his doublet still soaked with blood. Sib's grief instantly turned into white-hot rage.
"Who could have done this?" he said. "We have never seen a visitor or a traveler pass through these woods in all our years here. And now, we have had two deaths in the span of a few days. Deliberate, violent deaths. These were no matters of accident or fate. These were attacks. And where is Snow? She has been taken, her shrine is in shambles, and our brother murdered. I will not stand by and wait for another attack or allow them to think these murders have gone without retribution." Sib's hands shook in fury.
"Brothers, mark me now. For as long as I live, I vow that we will find those responsible for these atrocities, and we will make them pay."
The brothers nodded, still silenced by their sorrow.
"Now, let's prepare the plot for Grog's burial. Eron, grab a few of our spades. Flic, Tyne, go into the cottage and grab a few of Grog's trinkets and treasures to lay with him in the ground. I want him to have his favorite things with him as he passes to his next life."
The brothers did as they were instructed, while Sib knelt by his brother. He held Grog's hand. "I know how much you loved her, even though you never said it. I know, with every fiber of my being, that you died for her. You did not die in vain, and your gallantry makes me so proud." Sib wiped away a tear that had slipped down his cheek. "I know someday we will see you again, brother."
He squeezed Grog's cold hand and exhaled a big sigh. "You are very brave, Grog. You have always fought with the strength of men ten times your size. You have never backed down out of fear, and we will strive to live like you have during your time here on Earth. We will find her, I promise you that. And when we find the people responsible for this, we will not forget to face them bravely like you would have. You will be missed, but never forgotten." He placed one more kiss upon his brother's cheek and then stood.
He turned to find a place for Grog's burial plot. The garden, still lush with spring bounty and fragrant with the scent of rosemary, sage, and lilac, seemed a perfect backdrop for the somber monument. He marked a spot, not in but next to the garden, and instructed Eron, who returned with the spades, to drop them where they stood. They remained silent, taking in the sound of the geese, which flew in a v-shape overhead. The evening was eerily still, and the brothers struggled to muster the energy to bury another one of their own. Their silent trance snapped out of focus when Tyne and Flic returned, holding armfuls of Grog's possessions.
"Did you get his pipe?" Sib asked. "It was resting by the—"
"Of course. Right by the fireplace, where he always kept it," Tyne said.
"And his watch?" Eron asked. "He never went anywhere without—"
And before Eron could finish, Flic held up Grog's tattered pewter pocket watch.
"Okay then, we better get started," Sib said. "We are quickly losing daylight."
Together the men pierced the soft ground, and shovelful-by-shovelful the hole grew deeper. Dusk invaded the sky and turned into the darkness of night, leaving only the light of the stars to guide their effort.
23
The metal shackles chafed her ankles, rubbing them raw with every kick of her legs.
"Let me out! I demand you let — me — out!" Her desperate cries were only met with sound of her own echo. She slumped to the floor, her back to the cold alabaster wall.
She examined her surroundings and fell dumbstruck. She had been so busy fighting and carrying on that she didn't even take the time to survey her so-called prison cell.
This madman is keeping me locked up, shackled and confined, in lavish accommodations? Not a dungeon. Not a tower. Accommodations far superior, I imagine, to what any other prisoner would receive. I have a plush bed, ivory linens, gilded crown moldings, and a metal cuff around my ankle. Who can this maniac be?
Genevieve racked her brain, but found the exercise useless. She certainly didn't recognize him, and there was simply no way for her to understand this stranger's motives.
A turn of the doorknob interrupted her thoughts. The door swung open and a stern-looking woman with a puckered face whisked into the bedroom. She held her chin a bit too high for Genevieve's liking.
In a haughty voice, the châtelaine said, "That was quite a stunt you pulled, girl. The prince is more than upset about you marring his face as you did. You're lucky you weren't killed on the spot. God only knows why he spared your miserable little life. I assure you, you will pay greatly for your egregious error." The woman tossed a burgundy gown at Genevieve, the material whipping her face. "Prince Alaricus insists you disrobe and change into something less… appalling so you can face him for your sentencing."
The woman sneered at Genevieve's makeshift dress and pursed her lips even more, a feat Genevieve di
d not think possible. The hollowness of her cheeks, the pertness of her cheekbones, and the pale color of her skin marked her noble decorum. "You'll put it on and be on your best behavior. Prince Alaricus expects nothing less than your complete compliance."
Though she was a house-servant, it was evident she was of the upper echelon of the serving staff by the fact her light skin showed no signs of outdoor labor. The châtelaine did not introduce herself and rather remained aloof in regards to Genevieve's current state. No sympathy. No warmth. Just complete indifference.
"And if I don't?" Genevieve said, finding her nerve. "What then, Madame?" She pressed further. "What then becomes of the girl he wants to collect, but who will never heed his instruction? Will he keep me? Release me? Kill me?"
The woman's face grew cold. "He will kill you. Without doubt. If your violent act does not already ensure your death, certainly any future disobedience will mean your execution. The prince's patience has its limits. Think that over for a bit while you are still in the throes of resistance. Once you settle yourself down and understand the weight of your actions, you'll come around… they always do."
The châtelaine turned to leave, but Genevieve interrupted her departure, "Madame," her voice quieted with submission, "how am I to dress while shackled?"
A sneer crept across her face. "You think you are so clever." She clicked her tongue and shook her head. "The restraint is binding your ankles, which, for one, should not inhibit your ability to dress. And secondly, I have left the garment close enough for you to reach without strain.
"I have heard you pounding your fists like an insolent child since the moment you arrived. I have no tolerance for your ingratitude or your immaturity. Grow up. This is your lot, and, if your life is spared, it's not a bad lot to have been given. Most would kill for the privilege of being at the prince's beck and call. So enough with your temper and your childishness, you will find no sympathy here.