by Emma Hamm
Had she hit her head harder than she thought?
“Father,” she said, reaching up to tug the neck of her cloak again. “What might I do for you?”
It was clear he didn’t approve of her clothing, though he couldn’t see much underneath the cloak. “Where have you been?”
“I thought to gather more plants for our esteemed herbalists.”
“We have servants to do that.”
She sank into a low curtsey, ducking her head so she could stare at the ground and not his angry eyes. “You taught me a princess is no better than her people. I enjoy helping them.”
Fabric rustled as her father leaned back in his chair. A good sign.
“I thought we talked about this. If you’re going out into the wilds, you need guards with you.” His voice had lowered, not softened, merely quiet.
The tension in her shoulders eased enough so she could breathe again. “My sincerest apologies, Father. Next time I will bring guards. I had only thought to spend a few hours, but time slipped away from me.”
The low hummed response made her blood run cold. “See that it never happens again, daughter.”
If he wanted to punish her, he would. She’d been on the receiving end of such anger only once. Danielle wasn’t sure she would survive it again.
Her sister was more likely to be punished than her, but her sister was destined for the army. Diana would become the King’s General someday, leading them into battle all around the kingdoms.
Danielle would never forget the night she’d found her sister in the dungeons. Arms chained to the wall, head hanging down, lank blonde hair unwashed for days. She was punished for talking back to their father when she should have been training. Having opinions in the palace was dangerous. Her father’s opinions were all that mattered.
She would need to be more careful when she snuck away. Although her father frightened her, he would never take away her adventurous nature. Her entire life had been dedicated to becoming the princess he wanted. She deserved a few moments to herself.
Danielle swallowed hard and whispered, “You have my word, father.”
But the word of a doll-like princess held little weight.
He flicked his fingers at her, dismissing the princess of Hollow Hill as though she weren’t important at all. As though she were nothing more than a child for him to guide through life. She’d trained for years to be the perfect noble, the one who would take over this kingdom and rule just as her father had.
And he still didn’t see her as anything more than the blonde haired dandelion running through the halls. If only her mother knew what happened in her absence.
Danielle stood from her deep curtsey and left the room. She was careful not to look at her father too long. He didn’t appreciate someone who was too strong willed. And she closed the door quietly behind her, fingers pressed against the wood as she listened for the voices behind the barrier.
The men didn’t speak. Instead, all she heard was silence in the study.
He knew she lingered. Hadn’t she done so a hundred times as a child? And whatever conversation they needed to continue was one her father didn’t want her to hear.
She shook with the urge to run. The more distance she put between herself and the study, the more likely she was to find some kind of freedom.
Danielle slowed as she reached her own door. They redid the pale blue paint every single year, and she was the only one in the palace with a blue door. Why? She had no idea. Her father insisted each of his children have a different color door.
Perhaps because he couldn’t remember where he had put them in a palace as large as this one. Or perhaps so he didn’t have to think of them by name, but by color.
A knot in her stomach twisted. This door didn’t provide safety. It was a flimsy barrier between herself and her father. Danielle ghosted her fingers over the door and passed it by.
She checked her hood still covered her bruises and the twigs in her hair. Instead of seeking her own personal haven, she made her way down the long residential hall where all the royals lived. All the way to the end with a door painted blood red.
A single guard stood in front of the door. His eyes watched her, narrowed and angry that she would dare disturb the woman beyond the door. But he couldn’t refuse her. No matter how much her father tried to censor Danielle, this was the only room which he could never bar her.
“Good morning,” she murmured to the guard.
“She won’t be happy to see you dressed like that.”
“I’m perfectly respectable.”
The guard snorted, but kept his eyes forward. He knew better than to test the princess who could call her father at any point. Unfortunately, Danielle could use her bloodline as an excuse, even if she hated it.
Pushing open the door, she made certain no one could see past her as she slipped into the room beyond.
After all, no one wanted to see the mad queen.
Her mother had once been the most beautiful woman in all of Hollow Hill. She had been a stunning woman, formidable in height and breadth of shoulders. Her eyes could have cut through an entire army just with a single glare.
Now, the queen was little more than a raving mad woman. Once golden curls hung in tangled hanks around her face. Her cheeks were sunken, her body too thin, and rarely did she know where she was.
The Queen of Hollow Hill had fallen to what many of the women in Danielle’s family called “the sickness”. Someday, her father feared Danielle would also succumb to such a fate. Which was why he wanted her to be married. Her offspring could rule in her stead.
The room stank of smoke. Sage and candles burned at all times. The healers said the scents would help her mother’s madness. They kept the curtains drawn tight. Darkness and smoke were all her mother knew, unless Danielle visited.
Smoke clung to the thick drapes on the bedframe to her left. The fireplace had long since died. The servants were afraid to come into the room. Rumors claimed the queen was possessed and spoke in tongues. Danielle had rolled her eyes when she heard such things, even as a child. She’d never seen her mother be anything but sweet and kind, although the queen spoke of impossible things.
Her mother sat in a padded chair before the stone fireplace, staring at the coals as though there were still crackling flames. Perhaps, in her mind, there were. A brocade blanket draped over the queen’s shoulders, but the fine embroidery likely scraped her mother’s paper-thin skin.
No one knew how to take care of her the right way. No one, of course, but her daughter.
She squared her shoulders and let out a long sigh. “They didn’t open the window for you again. Mother, I thought we talked about this.”
The queen flinched. A great shudder passed through her body and sunken eyes turned to stare at Danielle.
Perhaps that was why the servants were afraid of her. Those eyes had seen more than most people had in a lifetime. They were dark and full of secrets, words no one could ever pull out of her mother. Stories even Danielle hadn’t heard.
She strode across the room and tugged at the window treatments. They screeched as they slid to the side, but the sun speared into the room, illuminating the darkness. The light revealed even more smoke than Danielle had thought.
Quickly as possible, she opened the window and started fanning the smoke out. “How about a little fresh air, Mother? They always keep you so cooped up.”
Her mother still didn’t react, but Danielle knew better than to rush her. It was easier to let the queen come out of her own shell. Pushing could set her into another fit, or a fearful cry that would send her spiraling into darkness for months.
Her mother, though mad, knew her daughter. It just took her a little longer than most to recognize Danielle.
Giving up with her hands, Danielle grabbed a pillow from the bed and used it to fan the smoke out. More and more billowed from the Queen’s room until finally fresh air filled the space. She could breathe again without feeling as though sage and patchouli w
ould stain the insides of her lungs.
“There we are,” Danielle said, tossing the pillow back onto her mother’s bed. “That’s better, isn’t it? It smells like spring outside.”
Her mother stirred, fingers flexing in her lap and back straightening just the tiniest bit. It was little movements like this Danielle had learned to look for. Some of them were warnings, others were welcome.
This time, she knew her mother was waking up.
The Queen coughed, blinked, then said, “Danielle?”
“Yes, Mother.”
A single shaking hand reached up and tugged at the blanket around her shoulders. “Spring, you say?”
“Oh, it’s lovely outside. I just came in from the forest. Would you like to hear about it?”
Her mother nodded and Danielle burst into movement. She crossed the room and knelt before her mother. Quickly, she unlatched the cloak around her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. It didn’t matter if Mother saw the marks around her neck. She wouldn’t recognize them, anyway.
“The grass is green again. It smells like earth and crisp air. I didn’t notice any flowers blooming yet, but they’re coming. I could see them poking through the dirt. Even the trees are full to bursting with red buds. And the streams are still cold, frigid even, but the ice is gone.”
“That was always my favorite time,” her mother replied. Then she reached out and took Danielle’s hands in her own. “There are leaves in your hair.”
At least Mother was noticing details. It boded well for her state of mind. Danielle grinned. “Not so much has changed, even in my old age.”
“I always used to pick them out before your father could see.” Mother lifted a single, shaking hand and pulled out a crinkled, orange leaf. “He hated seeing you so messy.”
“He always wanted me to be the perfect little princess.”
“Instead, we got a gremlin who wanted to swing from the rafters more than she wanted to sit still and learn.” The fog lifted from her mother’s eyes, and it was as if she was back again.
Danielle told herself not to cry, even though tears made her own eyes burn. Moments like this were fleeting. She had to savor them. “I love you, Mother.”
“And I you, sweet thing. Would you help me to the window now? I’d like to look outside.”
Together, they shuffled toward the window where a single rocking chair awaited her mother. It was older than Danielle, and she remembered her mother rocking her to sleep every night. She helped her mother sit down, then crouched in front of her once more.
Mother stared out the window and let her gaze fill with all the colors of spring. Danielle never knew when another clear episode like this would happen. Sometimes they were frequent, other times she might go a year before seeing her mother again.
Most of the time, the queen rambled about monsters in the shadows. She ranted about witches and curses that would end the world. Sometimes, she even spoke in another language. Not tongues, like the servants said, but not their mother tongue either.
Danielle lowered her head onto her mother’s lap. Fingers brushed through her hair, carefully pulling out every leaf and twig, just like she used to when Danielle was a child.
Her mother let out a long, content sigh. “You should be more careful visiting the woods alone, mon ange.”
“You always taught me there was nothing to fear in the forest.”
Her mother’s thin fingers stilled on her head. “I was wrong.”
Danielle closed her eyes, a single tear sliding down her cheek. Apparently, this moment of clarity would be fleeting. She didn’t lift her head. She couldn’t for fear her mother would see how upset she was. “Oh Mother, how many times do we have to tell you, there is no such thing as monsters?”
“You know that’s not true. You’ve seen them as well, haven’t you?”
Danielle lifted her head then. She met her mother’s haunted gaze and her stomach twisted in fear. “Seen what?”
“The monsters in the forests. The winged beasts with fangs and claws.” Mother touched a single finger to Danielle’s throat. “I recognize the marks, daughter of mine.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered, but the lie was unconvincing.
Slowly, she laid her head back down on her mother’s lap and tried not to let troubled thoughts overwhelm her. That her mother, mad or not, knew what she had seen could only mean two things.
One, that the monsters in the forest existed. And that her mother knew far more than anyone had ever believed.
Or that madness truly ran in her blood and this apparition was not the first she would see.
Danielle squeezed her eyes shut and sent a silent prayer to the heavens. Let her not be mad.
And don’t let the monsters be real.
Chapter 3
The Emperor of the Dread hovered before the palace turrets, wings beating at the air. Once, they might have been silent in his watch. Now, there were holes for the wind to whistle through as he waited to see what would happen in the palace of Hollow Hill.
The humans were foolish in their attempts to keep themselves safe. They always placed guards on the parapets, and yet, that wouldn’t save them. They always looked to the land, when they should have looked to the sky.
Had the king learned nothing? He had seen the Dread more times than he’d seen his own children in person. And yet, the king still forgot they should point their weapons toward the moon.
Long ago, he would have attacked the palace simply because there was an opening. He had lived his life knowing the humans were nothing more than playthings for his entertainment.
Their screams were his greatest symphony. Their bodies an instrument to squeeze until their breathy gasps wheezed like flutes.
But war had taken its toll on his body and his mind. He didn’t remember who he was anymore. There was no name whispered in his memories. No faint ideas of a history long past. Only bloodshed and blinding pain.
He reached up and touched a hand to the broken horn on his head. This he remembered losing to the King of Hollow Hill. He’d been captured for only the briefest of moments, but the King hadn’t taken the opportunity to kill him. No. Instead, the human king had sawed off his horn and kept it as a trophy.
A light appeared in the windows of a tower. He beat his wings and backed away from the palace, but the shadow which passed wasn’t a soldier. Instead, it was a spectre of beauty.
He could see her figure outlined by the candle she held in her hand. A tiny little thing, lithe of body and tentative grace.
She had been so afraid when he closed his hands around her throat. She’d fought him, but not well. What was the little hellion doing in the palace?
Curious now, he flew closer so he could catch another glimpse as she rounded the spiral stairwell up the tower. Her nightgown was made of the finest white silk. Her hair intricately braided.
A circlet had been woven into the strands. Golden, it sparkled with gemstones when the candlelight struck the faceted adornments.
Could it be the little woman in the glade had been one of the king’s own daughters? A princess of Hollow Hill?
He watched her for a little while longer until she stepped into a room at the top of the tower and disappeared from sight. She had looked over her shoulder too many times. Perhaps she was sneaking away to do something she shouldn’t.
Then again, he was certain she wasn’t meant to be in a forest glade by herself when she was one of the king’s most precious possessions.
An idea formed in his head. A dark idea, dastardly and cruel.
The flavor of such an emotion, bursting on his tongue like fine wine, made him grin. His fangs pricked at his lips, but a plan unfurled and he suddenly had more purpose than just bloodshed and war.
He turned away from the palace, returning to his people with a story they would fall in love with. It was time to steal a princess from a king.
Chapter 4
“Your mother was the greatest Queen this
kingdom has ever seen,” the tutor pontificated. His droll voice would have sent even the staunchest student to sleep.
He had a horrifically large nose that dipped at the end like the beak of some sad bird. He wore his hair long and lank, unwashed for many days because he was “studying”. Danielle thought it was because he didn’t want to wash his hair. Baths were terrifying to men like him.
He might wash away the genius.
She slumped over her desk, cheek squished against her hand. Her back already ached from the pale yellow corset squeezing her ribs. Bad posture would only make it worse, but how was she supposed to pay attention? The man’s dull voice was a sleeping tonic.
Not to mention her discomfort in clothing choice. Thick skirts tangled around her legs, at least seven layers giving her a rather cupcake-like silhouette that made her want to vomit.
They always had their lessons in the library. Being surrounded by books was lovely, but she wanted to go outside. And any time she asked such a thing, her tutor would remind her he was very allergic to… well. Everything.
He marched in circles around her, lifting his hands and gesturing wildly whenever he wanted to make a particular point. In this case, that her mother was far better than Danielle could ever hope to be.
She wanted to point out his use of “was” suggested her mother wasn’t a good queen anymore. Or that she was dead. Everyone in the kingdom always referred to the queen past tense.
She was gone, they’d say. She wasn’t the same as before, and that meant she was lesser.
Danielle wanted to scream the truth to the rafters. Her mother was the same woman she had been years ago. She had just seen things, experienced adventures no human woman should.
Of course, her daughter had now seen the same things. The hairs on Danielle’s arms raised at the memory of the creature who had held her under the water.
She thought about it for days now. The twigs in her braided locks had been very real. The water soaking her clothing revealed she had fallen into the stream. But did that mean the creature was real as well? Or was he just a figment of her imagination?