East Lodge

In reality, the East Lodge wasn’t as bad as Genevive’s reaction encouraged her to think. The woman had introduced herself as the Castle Cook, which had impressed Wynter as the position in noble houses was usually held by man. Another symbol of their power. Genevive also appeared far too young to work in such a position of authority, but she certainly had the confidence to carry the role.

The beautiful blonde had marched into the nearest store rooms, filling bags with provisions. Some she’d thrown at Wynter before leading the way out into the sunlight once more. Still uneasy, Wynter had looked back at the Castle as Genevive led the way through the grounds towards the east.

The stone wall, now that she was on the other side of the complex of buildings, seemed to stretch on endlessly into the mountains, and quickly the pair of them were walking over trails in the hard-baked dirt rather than the formal paths of a cultivated garden.

They climbed up, so that when she looked back again, she found herself looking down through the forests at the castle complex as it sprawled below. It was huge. Big enough to rival the King’s Summer Palace at Lake Decit.

‘You petitioned the Prince’s protection?’ Genevive studied her as they walked, breaking the silence that had stretched so far.

‘I did,’ Wynter nodded. Her arms ached from carrying the heavy bags Genevive had laid across them. She hoped that they’d reach their destination soon, before she dropped them and disgraced herself.

‘Hmm…’ Genevive shook her head. After a final turn in the path, they reached the wall. There was a large, rusting iron gate to one side, big enough to let a carriage through. But further up the incline was a door that Genevive led them through. They stepped into a dark space, until the Cook cast down her burdens and moved to open the windows. Flooding the room with light.

‘This isn’t technically within the boundaries of the Castle,’ she explained, ‘but no doubt you will be safe enough. And far enough away from the Keep itself.’

Wynter bent, setting down her own bag as she looked around. A little bigger than the abandoned lodge she’d slept in the night before, it had a similar lay out. With a large living space equipped with a fireplace and basic furniture. A quick peek behind the two doors that led out of the space showed her a bathroom and bedroom. This lodge, however was clean. The windows spotless, the furniture well cared for.

‘There is a fresh stream for your water,’ the Cook pointed to a final door, opposite the first that led out into teh forest and wilderness of the Whirewood. ‘You’ll hear it as soon as you step out.’

The Cook looked around the small home again, shaking her head once more. She bent, pulling the supplies out of the bags, setting them out on the countertop. Wynter felt her mouth watering as she took in the baked pies, the vegetables, grains and slices of meat.

‘It’s enough to get you started,’ Genevie muttered, ‘you’re going to be on your own a lot.’

‘I’m very grateful,’ Wynter assured her. She felt overwhelmed by the kindness the Cook had shown. It had been kind to bring up food from the kitchens. She wrapped her empty arms around herself, not sure what else to do. ‘Thank you,’ she said in a voice that threatened to break. How could such simple generosity make her feel like crying? Because everything, for so long, had been a battle.

Genevive looked her over again, tilting her head to the side, ‘beyond the stream, don’t go wandering the Whire Wood,’ she warned, ‘if you cross the Lines of Roses into the Hart Wood then…’ her voice trailed away. ‘You’ll lose your freedom.’

‘I understand,’ Wynter nodded quickly.

‘I’m not sure that you do,’ Genevive sighed, and her expression for a heartbeat appeared sad, wistful. She lifted a hand, slicking back a few strands of escaped hair. ‘But then you’re the one who was desperate enough to petition the Cursed Prince. Maybe you do know what it’s like to lose your freedom.’

‘You call him that,’ Wynter followed the Cook’s steps through the room, ‘I’ve heard it before, what does it mean?’

Genevive stared at her, shocked before shaking her head, ‘oh you pretty fool…’ she reached out, touching her fingers to Wynter’s face. ‘I’m not the one to tell you.’

Wynter flinched away from the stranger’s touch, stepping back. Away from the Castle she’d managed to shake off the sense of wrongness. Even away from the throne room, the Kitchen and stores had seemed so normal.

‘You said that I’ll be alone a lot,’ Wynter took a step back, making sure she was outside of Genevive’s reach. She hadn’t minded the innocent touch, but her own reaction made her feel ashamed, embarrassed. So why hadn’t she flinched near Fin the night before? ‘There’s a whole castle of staff, the Prince’s guards…that doesn’t seem like a lonely life to me.’

‘You can’t come to the castle,’ Genevive was stern then, ‘I don’t know why he didn’t explain all of this to you, but it’s out of bounds unless escorted.’

‘But I’m living beneath his protection.’

‘And that is why you must stay away,’ she replied. The warmth had vanished from her eyes once more. ‘It’s not safe in the Castle grounds, especially at night. Can you promise me that you won’t enter, unescorted?’

‘This is ridiculous,’ Wynter shook her head, ‘I can’t go into the forest, I can’t come back into the castle. Where am I supposed to hunt?’

‘Miss,’ the Cook’s voice was harsh, ‘I’m telling you, for your protection - don’t return to the castle. You have the forest, but don’t venture past the Roses. Not if you value your freedom. Not if you ever want to leave. You can visit the village,’ she gestured to the pile of bags that still hadn’t been unpacked. ‘There is coin in one of the bags,’ she let out a sigh, ‘whatever you’re running from, I guarantee you’ve stepped into a life that is far more dangerous now.’

Frustrated, Wynter watched the Cook go. She had the feeling that Genevive wasn’t going to give her any more answers. In truth, she didn’t have the energy to fight for the answers she needed. There would be another day. She would pick her battles. For now, she was safe. She felt safe.

Wynter stood at the window looking back down the Castle grounds and at the distant Keep. Thom and Artuss wouldn’t find her here. Not if they scoured the forest for weeks. She closed her eyes, gathering her energy to turn and unpack the bags that had been left.

It took longer than it should have done, to put blankets on the bed and store away the food and supplies that Genevive had bought up. She ate, devouring half of the large meat pie, sat on the doorstep -staring down a the castle through the tree’s below. It was a beautiful scene, maybe she could find some painting supplies and capture it one day.

The birds sung overhead and she lent against the door, crumbs in her lap. She would wash up soon, she told herself. Genevive had even left some fresh clothes behind. More than anything, Wynter wanted to bathe and scrub away the journey and her past from her body. To wash away her memories of the night before.

She’d kicked off her boots, bare feet curled in the dirt as she closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face. Was she free? She frowned, free of Malachi. She took a slow breath, taking in the sweet scent of summer air. This was going to be a new start, even with all the strange rules that Genevive had given her.

Prince Fenrir had painted life in Whire as hard work and simple. Without the delights of a big city or the intrigue of court and politics. Happy, Wynter knew, that despite the strangeness of the place, that she could be happy here.

‘Pretty as a picture,’ a low growl interrupted her daydreams, shattering them.