Royal Family

Wynter slipped out of the tavern, the coins heavier in her purse as she made her way through the village. She felt lighter, more comfortable that she hadn’t made a terrible mistake. Maybe she truly was naive, because she felt that she could trust Gaz. He explained that during the midpoint between full moons, there was always music and dancing in the Wolf’s Head tavern.

Although the idea of a night dancing was tempting, Wynter knew that it would be beyond her. Fenrir had been strict when he’d imposed his rule about wandering the forests at night. Although she considered the idea that, she could perhaps take a room in the tavern and walk back home the next day. It was something to think about.

She moved through the village, buying a fresh loaf of bread to carry back. Although she could find enough food in the forest, she didn’t trust her skill at making bread. There were plenty of berries growing in the bushes and she wondered if she might make some preserves to sell and trade.

Slowly, her plans to make a home in the East Lodge grew. She would hope that Malachi didn’t return, that maybe he would give up his hunt for her. Hope, she reminded herself. She had to have hope.

Wynter passed the weaver’s home once more and Kat, the red-headed woman looked up, with a smile.

‘I see that you’re staying local?’ The woman called. She stood, one hand balanced on the swell of her middle. Wynter blinked, realising that she was pregnant. No wonder her husband had been so protective the days before.

‘Yes,’ Wynter smiled, ‘I have been offered a place to stay,’ she nodded and closed the distance. She lowered her voice, it was too late to pretend to Kat and her husband Ron that she was anything but a stranger under the protection of their Prince. But she hoped, as with Gaz, they might be willing to hold her secrets.

‘I wanted to thank you for your kindness. I appreciate the warnings you tried to give me,’ Wynter explained, her gaze dropped to the woman’s middle, ‘congratulations on your expecting,’ she added with a shy smile.

Kat beamed in response, ‘we’ve waited a long time,’ she said proudly, smoothing her hand over the curve. ‘I’m glad you’re well,’ she nodded, ‘Dorien isn’t such a bad apple,’ she shrugged and peered through the village at the Castle that lurked on the edge before shaking her head. ‘But it’s been a while since we’ve had sight of the Prince.’

‘He doesn’t have any family?’ Wynter wondered aloud and Kat frowned, before shaking her head.

‘His Mother must have died when he was very small,’ she explained, voice dropping and Wynter immediately started regretting that she’d raised the subject. Childbirth could be difficult and dangerous. It was probably the last thing that Kat wanted to think about.

But in the bright sunshine of the mid day, it was hard to feel threatened by any possible futures. So she watched the woman, leaning to one side, her hand resting casually on her hip. But Kat was still frowning as she watched the castle.

‘We never saw him much as a child,’ she explained, brows creased together. Wynter watched her face, taking in the slightly glazed expression on her features.

‘He kept to himself?’ She suggested, kindly.

‘You’d think we would have seen him,’ Kat scowled, ‘because we must have been children the same age,’ she shook her head, ‘maybe they never let him out of the grounds, not till he was grown or his Father died,’ she sighed, ‘what a life is that, eh? Trapped behind the walls, no wonder there’s so many rumours about us.’

Wynter reached out, compelled to comfort the woman as she stood staring intently at the castle, as though there was something she couldn’t quite remember.

‘Kat?’ She prompted and the woman blinked quickly and turned back to her.

‘You’re faring well then?’ Kat smiled and whatever dark cloud had been hanging over, seemed to lift in a heartbeat. Her frown vanished, her eyes were clear and bright.

‘Yes…’ Unsettled, Wynter smiled but took a step back, ‘I was wondering if I might buy some of your cloth? I’d like to sew some clothes of my own.’

They bartered for a bolt of hand woven cloth of a dark forest green. Distracted by Kat’s strange intensity, Wynter paid more than she wanted and walked away with a headache. Looking back over her shoulder. At least the Weaver was also convinced that she was called Bella. Her husband Ron, was nowhere to be seen. Otherwise she would have suggested his wife rested, or stepped out of the hot sun for a while.

There had been something odd in Kat’s recollection of Fenrir as a child, or his family. It had left Wynter with a bad taste in her mouth, and a chill that traced the length of her spine. Unable to place what felt so strange.

In an effort to shake off the feeling, she spent another precious coin on paints and collection of small canvases that she carried back through the forest and the Lodge that she had been given as a temporary home.

Away from the thriving village, the forest felt quiet. Almost too quiet. Wynter had always considered herself to be a solitary person, but she had enjoyed being near to other people. She missed the noise, and the constant sound of other lives going on around her in the village.

The Lodge was a refuge, she was safe her. She set down all the bags she’d managed to trail back through the forest before taking up a canvas and some of the paints. She returned back to the waterfall, and dipped her bare feet into the icy water. With the canvas balanced on her lap, she painted. Sketching out the sunset between the trees.

Soaking in the peace of the forest, the sound of buzzing insects and calling birds. She could smell woodsmoke, rising up from the village in the valley below. In the far distance, she could hear the echo of life continuing without her. It was safer here, hidden in the forests. Far away from the roads and the places that Malachi would look first.

She painted, setting out the beauty of the scene before her in washes of pale pastels and sparkling blues. Finished she lay back, watching the clouds move slowly over the sky as the paint dried. Finally, she returned to her cabin and smiled.

The Lodge felt like home. With trembling fingers she carried her painting. Then set it on the mantel above the fireplace. East Lodge could be home. She was safe here, the pain of Malachi and his abuse, the scent of alcohol on his breath, his rough hands and cruel touch fading to memory.

Every breath was freedom, unrestrained. Without living under the constant watch and criticism of another. Tears burnt the back of her eyes once more. She had come to Whire by accident, desperate and seeking protection from her former lover.

She felt tranquil, excited for the prospect of a future. A life that she could create on her own, without his shadow upon her. There would be no more lies, no more anger or fear of his reactions. Here, in Whire, just maybe she could claim back her own identity and mend the pieces of her heart that had been broken.

Wynter stepped back from the painting with a soft sigh. Unbidden, the memory of Fenrir’s naked body flashed into her mind. Just thinking about him left her feeling hot and flustered. No, she scolded herself. Whatever reclaiming her life meant, it didn’t mean falling in love again. Certainly not with the arrogant Prince with all of his secrets.

She filled her lungs, trying to shake off the sense of excitement that had so quickly filled her lungs. Memories of Malachi were so easily pushed aside by her more vivid dreams of Fenrir. She shook herself before freezing. Darkness had fallen beyond her cabin. She held her breath, focusing her attention on the forest outside.

There it was again, the noise that had disturbed her thoughts. A scabbling, scraping noise. Hairs lifted on the back of her neck. He’d told her not to go outside in the dark, not to wander the forest. She bit her lip, catching up the sword beside the door and taking a breath. Was it Malachi? She felt as though she’d been plunged back into icy water. Whoever it was, she would face it.