Emma walked proudly, her shoulders back and head held high, as her father’s soldiers marched her up the stone steps of the east tower. They were taking her to her old room which, for the foreseeable future, would be her prison cell. Her hands were bound behind her back. Her bow had been confiscated, as well as her shoulder bag—which meant she’d lost her Satyr Pants. But her smile was broad and triumphant for one important reason:
Darrien had escaped.
Oh, how she relished that knowledge. She closed her eyes, inhaling the musty air of the torchlit corridor before sighing peacefully. Despite her circumstances, her heart felt light within her and there was a gentle skip in her step. Her husband was free, and in Emma’s mind that meant she was too—these castle walls could never hold her again. It was only a matter of time before she reunited with him and they made their flight.
Try all you like to keep us apart.
He will come for me.
The gods themselves couldn’t keep him away—I am his, and he is mine.
Forever.
There wasn’t a shred of doubt in her mind about it. She just needed to be patient until the moment of their escape arrived. Emma also decided that she should be as opportunistic as possible during her stay—already the gears in her mind were turning, finding dozens of ways she could create problems during her incarceration.
…Ugh, were there always this many stairs?
I’ll have to insist that we escape in a different direction when the time comes.
The climb was monotonous and tiresome. Emma resolved to count the steps the next time she climbed the tower. She was surprised she hadn’t bothered to do so before in the eighteen years she’d spent at the castle. Emma took a deep breath, only to be assaulted by the sharp smell of the soldiers’ sweat mingling with their oiled mail. The leather boots she wore—those her husband had purchased for her a fortnight earlier—were much more comfortable on the hard stone steps than the heeled turnshoes she had previously worn around the castle. She smiled again as gratitude filled her—for her husband as well as for the shoes. She moved with ease and dignity, and felt ready to run up the stairs—or back down them—if needed.
A thought intruded then, and she felt her confidence wilt just a hair.
If we run now, my father will just keep chasing us…
He wouldn’t leave us alone in the wood, so why would he allow us a peaceful life anywhere else?
Grr! Godsdammit!
Emma understood then that simply escaping wouldn’t be enough. Kalmin’s recent threats against her husband’s life in the Great Hall still rang in her ears. And the image of Sir Kent leading her mother, the tearful Queen Anna, from the room—leaving Emma and Darrien to face the King’s wrath alone—still haunted her. As long as Kalmin lived, she realized, they would never know rest. It didn’t matter how far they fled together—she and Darrien would always be looking over their shoulders, waiting for the next ambush her father sent after them. No home. No peace. No future. That was no way to live. No way to raise a family.
Family…
Gasp! Bastian!
Bastian had such a tender heart, and she hoped he had been strong in her absence. Her mind returned to what had occurred only moments before in the Great Hall. She hadn’t seen her younger brother on the dais beside her parents, nor among the courtiers. Was he alright? Had he been sent away somewhere while she’d been preparing for her return to the castle? Or had he simply been reading in his room when she arrived with her husband to confront the King? She let out a long breath, grinding her teeth.
If anything has happened to him—if anyone has even laid a finger on him—they’d best pray I don’t find them.
They have no idea what I’m capable of now.
Emma hadn’t seen her older brother, Prince Petyr, in the Great Hall either—but she’d expected his absence. Petyr had marched north a few weeks earlier under orders from her father to wage war on the orcs who, they believed at the time, held her hostage in their mountain stronghold. She hoped he was safe. A sudden twinge of guilt turned her stomach. Petyr could be arrogant, self-absorbed, and even cruel at times—but he was still her brother. She wanted to help him if she could.
Should I have returned sooner?
Would it have helped Petyr if I had?
…No. No mistakes.
She shook the thoughts from her mind. She knew she would not have been ready to stand against her father—to save her husband’s life—as she had that day if she’d returned any earlier. The confidence and skill Darrien had awakened in her over the past few weeks were what gave her the determination to loose the arrow at Kalmin. Though she hadn’t planned on trying to kill him before she arrived—that had been pure improvisation.
But if I’m here now, does that mean Petyr will return soon?
…And if he does, whose side will he be on?
It was clear to Emma that, if she and Darrien couldn’t run, her fight was far from over. She could admit that she needed whatever help Petyr was willing to offer in that conflict, and hoped that, despite their past disagreements, she could still rely on him. Somehow.
The group reached Emma’s floor and rounded the corner. She saw the great double-doors of her room ahead, just past the faded tapestries showing her forefathers’ “victory” over the elves, dwarves, and other races they’d driven from Estoria long ago. Her husband was living proof that the story depicted on the walls was more propaganda than it was history.
Despicable.
I’ll burn those if I get the chance…
“Alright, cut her loose,” one of the soldiers said, opening the door to her room.
The soldier behind her began to loosen the bonds around her wrists.
“Best take those arrows as well—just in case,” the first soldier said, and another soldier to Emma’s right began to empty her quiver.
Emma scoffed and rolled her eyes.
What do you think I could possibly do with them now?
Throw them at the King?!
At the same time, a soldier to her left drew the small, amethyst-hilted knife from the sheath at her belt. Emma immediately turned on the man in a rage.
“Return that to me at once!” she roared.
She hadn’t uttered a single word as they’d climbed the tower, and now she was inches from the man’s face, a righteous fire in her eyes.
“I…” the soldier started, taken aback. “I’m sorry, Princess—no weapons. Those are the orders.”
“It’s not a weapon!” Emma shouted. “It’s a tool—and it’s an heirloom! You will return that to me now, or I swear before the gods that when I have my father’s head, I shall have yours as well!”
Emma couldn’t remember the last time she had been this angry. Her face and chest were hot, and her breathing sharp. Her vision narrowed to the shaken soldier before her, and she felt ready to pounce.
That blade is the only thing left of Darrien’s mother and I will kill you for it or die trying.
The soldier swallowed, a bead of sweat dripping down his face. He stole a sidelong glance at the first soldier who had spoken.
“Uh… Captain?”
The captain reached out and took the little knife from the man. Then he withdrew a red kerchief from his pocket. He cleaned the blade with the cloth as he turned it over in his hands, examining the size and edge of it. He looked at Emma.
She met his gaze without blinking.
He gave a short nod, and handed the knife back. The soldier let out a long, relieved breath, taking the knife from the captain and offering it back to Emma. She snatched it roughly from his hand and returned it to its sheath. Then she turned without a word, strode through the doors into her old room, and heard the soldiers turn the lock behind her.
Emma immediately collapsed against the door.
She sank to the floor and wrapped her arms around herself, trembling as the heat pulsed behind her eyes—the tears would begin pouring soon. She took a deep breath, steadying her heart as she sat there, wishing desperately that Darrien could take her in his arms and stroke her hair and tell her that he was proud of her and that everything was going to be alright.
Darrien, my love…
Where have you gone?
When will I see you again?
The tears erupted then. Emma took a few more shaky breaths, and wiped her eyes. She looked around her old room to distract herself from her grief. The gossamer curtains and sheets upon her four-poster bed. The drapes hanging from the balcony. The nightstand. The vanity.
Everything was pink.
Too pink.
She retched as she remembered that she used to live here—that this was who she used to be. She longed for the sight of tall green trees beyond her windows, and for the scent of pine fresh on the wind. She wanted to hear the soft sound of the long grass blowing in the breeze, and the song of birds. Emma turned toward the fireplace against the wall, and felt a sudden compulsion to start a fire just to hear the crackling of the flames in the oppressive silence. She was just about to stand when she realized there was no wood, and deflated again against the door.
She heaved a defeated sigh, and sniffed. The whole room smelled of rose water and stale linens. A fine layer of dust covered the furniture. The cold stone floor was dusty as well—even her rugs were dulled with it.
It looks like they forgot this room even existed…
Why couldn’t they have forgotten about me, too?
Her eyes drifted again across the room and settled on the open door to the balcony at the far end. Another memory sprang unbidden to mind: how the orcs had climbed her balcony in the dark of night, ripped her from her bed, torn off her nightgown, and carried her into the forest. She had been terrified, though she had done her best to convince herself otherwise… That was when Darrien had come to her rescue, and the course of her life changed forever.
She smiled to herself, sniffing again.
It’s funny…
Looking back now, getting kidnapped is the best thing that ever happened to me.
…Still, it’s not something I’d recommend.
Emma stared at the balcony for several moments before she realized what she was looking for—something that wasn’t there.
There’s no sign at all of the break-in… they’ve fixed it all up.
She was still staring at the evening sky when one of the decorative pillows atop her bed tumbled to the floor.
She heard a faint chittering sound, and looked to the bed just as a white-and-silver polecat poked its head above the pile of pink pillows.
She blinked, uncomprehending, as she stared.
And then Emma’s heart skipped a beat, and fresh tears flowed—those of absolute joy and relief.
Darrien!
She leapt from the floor and ran to the bed. Darrien became himself again, and she dove into his arms. She sobbed quietly into his chest for a moment, holding him tightly.
“You’re real!” she whispered. “You’re really here!”
She listened to his heartbeat, and breathed him in. He still smelled like their forest.
Darrien stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head over and over. Finally, she looked up into his eyes.
They kissed.
She sighed, melting into him as he cradled her in his arms.
They collapsed onto the bed together. As they did, the stone walls and pink pillows of the room melted away, leaving only the two of them. Their lips parted, but lingered close to each other for a few moments, sharing breath.
I’m home…
“So,” Darrien said at last, “I suppose meeting your parents for the first time could have gone a little better…”
