The Girl in the Glass Box

by Andi Adams

  It was insane, but something deep inside her told her to trust her instinct and have faith. She brought it to eye level and said, "I don't know what you can do, if you can do anything at all, but… I need help. I need to get out of here. Maybe you could find a key, or take a message back to the cottage, or—"

  Genevieve jumped as her bedchamber door burst open. The châtelaine, with her hands full of linens and clothing, kept her eyes focused like she was functioning mechanically. She muttered as she worked her way around the room. "We need to get you ready for the wedding banquet… the prince, or shall I say, the king does not like to be kept waiting… all the guests have already arrived. His majesty wants you dressed in this and— "

  As she lifted her head to ensure Genevieve was paying attention, she caught sight of the bird and dropped the items from her grasp. With a yelp, the châtelaine sprang into action, flailing her arms wildly in an attempt to shoo the bird away. It flew out of her reach, moving like lightning. Flashes of flapping gold wings and red markings flickered around the room. The bird circled above her head just beyond her grasp until she was winded and sweating.

  Genevieve didn't know whether to laugh at the scene or fret about the bird's safety. But watching the nasty woman work herself into a frenzy was the most entertaining thing she had seen in a long while. She covered her mouth to hide her amusement. The châtelaine regained her breath and swatted again in the direction of the bird. But as it dodged the swing, the woman's own force spun her in a circle and sent her stumbling. The contents of her apron pockets spilled on to the floor, and the brass key to Genevieve's shackles bounced across the marble.

  Genevieve moved to swipe the key before the châtelaine could gather her scattered belongings, but encumbered by the weight of the shackles, she could not move quickly enough. Noticing Genevieve’s movement, the woman disregarded the bird and dove in the direction of the key, heaving her weight on top of it. Her thin lanky body curled over it, blocking it from sight. She laughed an evil laugh, relieved by her prowess. She clutched the brass treasure in her hand and climbed to her feet.

  "You stupid girl. Were you looking for this?" She dangled the prize from her bony fingertips, teasing Genevieve like a starving dog. "You think you can escape? And where would you go? You are married to the king — there is nowhere you can go that he can't find you." Genevieve continued to watch the key dance in the air, the chain swinging like a pendulum.

  A flash of brown and red streaked from above and bulleted toward the taunting woman. Before the châtelaine could throw her arms up in defense, the bird plunged his beak into the woman's eye, causing her to scream in pain. His attack did not relent. As the châtelaine fought to shield her face and swat the bird, the key once again dropped to the floor.

  The scene mesmerized Genevieve. The bird dove again, this time catching the woman’s other eye with his beak. Rivers of blood streamed down the châtelaine's ivory face. The commotion was unbearable, her screams deafening. Genevieve stood frozen, as if her feet had grown roots, until a hard peck nipped her shoulder.

  The bird pecked again forcing her to refocus on the key that, for a second time, lay unguarded on the floor. Genevieve dragged her shackles across the room, snatched the key, and worked industriously to free herself from the binding chains.

  The shackles came free with a click. She jammed the key in her pocket and headed for the door, only glancing back once to see the châtelaine folded on her knees, head in her bloodied hands, wailing in the haze of twilight.

  As Genevieve reached the corridor, she became jarred by the eerie silence. The stillness was unnerving and too unusual. Her heart raced even faster, and her brain struggled to keep up with her feet. What was the plan? The bird had already disappeared, perhaps back out the window in her bedroom. She had hoped it might have helped to lead her out of the castle, but it had done its part, and she was grateful.

  She turned down the next hallway, allowing her instincts to guide her, but was struck by the unnerving feeling something was wrong. She soon reached a crossroads of hallways and heard voices approaching. She tucked herself behind a large artistic vase nuzzled in a nook of the wall. She listened as the men shuffled past.

  "The prince is gonna be right pissed if we are late to the reception and miss the grand entrance of the new queen. Or should I say, if we miss his grand entrance. So move your lazy ass, you filthy codpiece."

  The reception! Of course. That's why the halls were empty.

  A pearl of hope beaded in her chest.

  When she no longer heard the echoes of the men's voices, Genevieve took off in a run, her bare feet slapping against the slate floor. While she ran, her hair unwound like flowing ribbons from its intricate style. The luxurious scents of roasted meats and simmering broths wafted through the air, almost lifting her off the ground.

  But she couldn't allow for such distractions.

  For as hungry as she felt, she could only focus on finding an exit. She fantasized about feeling a rush of cool evening air on her face. The illusion drove her to move faster. Realizing she had been running down the same hallway for quite some time, she turned to glance over her shoulder, fearful someone could see her down the straightaway. Seeing no one behind her, a sudden weightlessness teemed within her. She could almost taste freedom.

  She allowed her legs to carry her forward, but with her attention behind her, she slammed into something hard, knocking the air out of her with a whoosh. The blow threw her off balance, until a pair of thick arms effortlessly righted her. She struggled in his embrace, still not able to look at who was holding her up. But as soon as he spoke, she shivered at the recognition.

  "Where, my dear, do you think you're going? We have been waiting for you." Alaricus' voice dripped with condescension. He was accompanied by several guards.

  Genevieve's mind raced. There was no way she'd be able to escape them all.

  "I… I… have been looking for you, Your Highness." She stopped struggling and looked into his eyes, forcing her face into an expression of confusion. "I don't know my way around this castle and didn't know how to find you. There's been no one around to help or guide me. The halls have been empty. There… there's been an accident." Genevieve took in shallow gasps and squeezed tears from her eyes. "The châtelaine… she… she's been blinded. She gave me the key to go to find help. I couldn't run for help with my ankles still bound. There was just so much… blood." Genevieve allowed herself to cry, her adrenaline aiding in building the hysterics of her story. "I… I was so… so frightened."

  Though the idea repulsed her, she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. She nuzzled her head against his solid chest, like a small animal seeking warmth. He reciprocated the gesture, stroking her hair with his hands.

  "It's all right," he said. "You are safe here. I admit I am surprised by your sudden… affection. Am I to believe that your change of heart is a result of the incident with Gretchen?" He narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips taut. She pulled her head back to face him and wore an expression of puzzlement.

  "Gretchen, your châtelaine," he said.

  "Oh yes, of course. Her unfortunate attack frightened me and, in that moment, I could think of nothing else but you and your protection. As I was running without direction, my first thought was to find you, that you would keep me safe. In that epiphany, I realized I am resisting a life for which I should be grateful. I am so sorry for my disobedience, Your Highness. I know better than to wish for anything more than to be the wife of such a handsome, attentive, strong ruler." The words were vinegar in her mouth.

  Alaricus puffed-out his chest with pride and held his wife tighter than before, almost with genuine affection. "I knew you'd come around. What a remarkable revelation you have made. I feared it would take weeks of … coercion before you changed your mind. But I knew you would. I always get what I want." He raised his chin and smirked a sideways smile. Genevieve tucked herself again under his chin and wrapped her arms around his muscular physique. Like a sculpture c
hiseled from marble, his body was rock hard with broad shoulders and thick arms.

  Alaricus, apparently intrigued by her affection, let go of her with one of his hands and waved a gesture of dismissal to his guardsmen. "Leave us be. We will join the reception momentarily."

  Obediently, the guards backed away and shuffled off toward the feast.

  He repositioned his arms around her, and his tall stature made her feel small and fragile. She couldn't deny his embrace did possess a certain air of protection, but she could never feel safe in the arms of the man who had killed Grog so viciously, kidnapped her from her home, and forced her into marriage. Sure, he was attractive, and it was clear the citizens of his kingdom admired him. He presented the impression of being charming, but she could never love him. Never.

  She grazed her nails gently down his defined flanks, which lay hidden under the thick layers of his uniform. Nervousness bloomed within her, causing her hands to shake. She had never touched any other man aside from Oliver, and she feared Alaricus could see through her thinly veiled attempt at seduction.

  She touched his face, running her fingertips across his jaw line, down his neck, and settled her hands upon his chest. He closed his eyes, rolled his head back, and moaned with satisfaction. Her hands, continually in motion, pulled him closer. It was far more forward than she had any right to be, but she took her cue from Alaricus, who clearly didn't seem to mind her advances.

  "I have been waiting to find a woman equal to me in beauty," he said. "Though there have been a few that have gained my interest, none have been able to satisfy me or satiate my hunger. There have been many women who have hoped to win my hand, but no one has been good enough. No one has been beautiful enough for me."

  Genevieve offered a soft sigh of acknowledgement.

  While she raked her hands up his body again, she surveyed the hallway out of the corner of her eye. They were still alone. When he moaned again and his arms unclasped from behind her back to move down the length of her body, she took advantage of his vulnerability, seized the sword sheathed upon his left hip, and pushed him away with all her strength.

  She poised herself to fight, balancing her weight on the balls of her feet and keeping the sword aimed straight at Alaricus. The shift in action surprised him, waking him from his dreamlike state. When the situation set in, a look of amusement swept across his face.

  "What do you think you're doing?" He took a step toward her.

  "Don't come any closer. I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you take one more step." She furrowed her brow and glared in his direction.

  At her threat, Alaricus laughed out loud. The sound of it boomed down the hallway. It had made her jump, but she held her ground and refocused on her target.

  "I'm serious. Not another step." Memories of Oliver holding her arms in the proper position during their hours and hours of fencing lessons flooded her mind. She struggled to not flinch at the pain of the memory. At the pain of missing him. She didn't have time to become emotional now. She needed to be rational and think clearly about the things he'd taught her. Though those moments felt like a lifetime ago, she could hear the calm of his voice guiding her now.

  Stand up straight. Left arm up, right arm out. And advance at me slowly. Heel, toe, back foot step. Heel, toe, step.

  Alaricus smirked, still amused, and rubbed his chin in response to her silence. "I demand you give me back my—"

  He advanced toward her with another step, disregarding her warning and, before he could finish his command, she slashed a deep gash into his cheek, one parallel to the one she'd given him before. His eyes grew wide. His body tensed, his breathing labored, and his face reddened to almost match the blood that oozed from it. He looked as if he was about to charge at her, and she readied her stance to lunge at his first movement.

  "I will have you killed for what you've done, you stupid whore," he said. "Trust me, when I am through with you, you'll wish you took that sword to your own throat." His face flushed with embarrassment in having been tricked by her false seduction. He spat in her direction, but she didn't budge. She held her stance ready and waiting for his move.

  In his very next breath, fueled by rage, he dove at her. She thought she had been ready, but the suddenness of his movements for such a large man caught her off guard, and she was unable to thrust the sword at him in time. Instead, she leapt to the side and pushed him with all of her might.

  His size and his weight, more so than her forceful shove, caused him to tumble to the floor as she dodged his charge. With his balance compromised, he flailed his arms and plummeted to the ground. Genevieve froze while she watched him. He was falling and falling for what seemed like minutes rather than seconds until his head caught the base of an ornamental statue and made a nauseating thud. He bounced off the marble and onto the slate floor, settling on his belly.

  Genevieve waited for him to jump to his feet even more enraged than before. If I take off, there's no doubt that he would catch me in a second. She hesitated, unsure of her next move, until she realized Alaricus was not moving. Still as the statue itself.

  Genevieve thought fast. She tiptoed around to his head and squatted low to take a look at his face. His eyes were closed and there was a wide gash open on his temple, the blood spilling down his face, into the still open cut on his cheek, and onto the floor. He was out cold.

  Is he dead?

  She watched his back for a minute for the rise and fall of respiration. It was shallow, but present. Quickly, she swiped the sash from the middle of her dress and straddled Alaricus' frozen form. She heaved his weighty arms behind his back and secured them tightly with the length of satin.

  How much longer will he be out? Did he just flinch?

  She quickened her pace and worked vigorously to tear the hem off her dress to create another binding. She waddled down to his feet, with her legs still straddling his body, and fastened his feet together with tight knots.

  She took a moment to admire her handiwork, imagining the new king having to be rescued from his precarious position by one of his 'lessers.'

  Oh, what that will do for his pride.

  Before she turned to go, she grabbed a ruby-encrusted dagger off Alaricus' hip and seized the sword she had set on the ground while she tied him up.

  Then, without further delay, she raced in the opposite direction of the feast in search of an exit door.

  Just as Genevieve had expected, the cool night air smacked her with a bitter sting. She inhaled deeply. It felt like the first breath she'd taken in days and reveled in how it tingled in the depths of her core. Her feet continued to move underneath her, fleeing in the direction of the forest. This time, unlike before, she was more prepared, more mentally aware of what such a journey entailed. She ran at full speed toward the edge of the wood, and never for a moment looked back.

  26

  With her direction now determined, Agrippine set out with new fortitude and strength. Though her joints still creaked and popped under her own weight, she felt oddly lighter. She hoped it would only be a few days of travel on horseback. However, she wasn't certain, given it had been many years since she had made the journey herself. She was thankful not to have to walk it on her own feeble legs.

  She knew once she reached Heiglet, her task would not be easy. There would be no way to get past the guards without being seen, and there was even less of a chance of appealing to her brother and father. Regardless, she needed to find the princess and kill her once and for all. No secondhand methods, no leaving it to the care of someone else. This was her job to do alone, and she couldn't wait to core out the girl's heart with her own two hands.

  For all the trouble Genevieve had put her through, Agrippine was excited at the prospect of not only ending her own current misery, but also finally putting an end to the source of all of her despair. It would be a sweet victory. Agrippine would return to her former beauty, be restored to her former power as Queen, and would have no other worries or responsibilities aside from enjoying
the spoils of her very difficult labor.

  A sharp ache pulsed in her legs. She eyed her hands, worn and gnarled, and momentarily considered everything she'd been through. The abusive childhood. The loss of her mother. The enslavement. The failed spells. Had it all been worth it? If she had a choice in the matter, would she have chosen any of it? She remembered the day she had been "sold" by her father to the King of Arcana in return for peace.

  When she tried to resist, her father said, "Why do you think I've kept you here all this time? Why I've fed you and clothed you and educated you? Kept you, even though you are a bastard? I kept you…because you are valuable. You are a commodity. Nothing more."

  Agrippine faded back to reality awoken by a persistent throbbing in her legs. She rubbed her thighs with her stiff hands, offering her little relief. It was becoming too dark to travel the woods at night, but she was hesitant to stop. She knew she had a lot of ground to cover, and she didn't know how much more her body could handle.

  After a few hours, Agrippine began to doze off, but caught herself before falling off of her horse, who continued to chug along unprompted. Her eyelids were relentless and drooped again. At the sound of galloping hooves in the distance, her eyes shot open. Alert and perked in her saddle, she scanned the darkness to find the source of the sound.

  What was that noise? Who's there? Was I dreaming?

  The rumbling continued to grow in volume while the ground roared underneath her. She didn’t know whether or not to hide, but she was unsure from which direction the sound emanated, so she remained still, hoping the entourage would simply pass her by.

  Could be a band of thieves. All I have on me are some insignificant items and my mirror and dagger. I am not strong enough to fight a band of men and will undoubtedly lose both if they search me.

  Agrippine wasn't used to the feeling of being threatened. She was the one ordinarily doing the threatening, and it was odd to feel nervous about the prospect of someone bringing her harm. That idea used to be unimaginable. It made her palms sweat and the reigns fell slack in her slick hands. The smell of the woods and the booming sound of the horses' hooves knocked Agrippine back to the past, back to another time when her heart raced in fear at that sound. She struggled to maintain control of herself.