Something With a Prince

14 Years Ago

The mother of the silent child waited by the window until the dead of night. The forest was still, but she felt as if there was something crawling around the perimeter of the house. A creature with large teeth and a wickedness beyond death or darkness. Her heart was in turmoil, hammering this way and that in her chest like a caged prisoner. She felt just as caged, sitting until the village was deep in sleep, fearing the call of torches and the edges of pitchforks.

The mother looked upon her child, who was sitting by the door like a statue. There were toys around her, but the young girl paid them no mind. The only sound between them was the crackling of a dying fire and the scratching of a mouse in the back room. The young girl was only six and yet, she looked as if she had lived ten times her years. A child should not have dark circles under their eyes, the mother thought, a child should not be like mine.

When the moon was at its peak in the sky, the mother scooped up her daughter from the floor and wrapped her in a cloak. The young girl simply permitted her mother's actions with the occasional blink. This girl did not speak or laugh or mumble. She simply waited.

A knock came at the door, and the mother froze in her place. Her daughter's eyes widened for the first time, and both held their breath. The mother backed away from the door at first, a damp film of sweat beading upon her brow. Fears of a mob, or the Matron of the Dark House coming for her child overpowered the rational systems in her mind. There was nothing but blind terror in this mother's heart. She had yet to mourn her own losses and grieve the leaving of her husband.

She tucked her daughter behind a bookcase before grabbing her husband's sword off the mantle. Regardless of these villagers, of her debt to the crown, she would not lose her child to the shadows of man. So, she opened the door just enough to see who it was, hiding the weapon at her side. Before her stood a young prince with golden hair and a bow and arrow used for practicing and playing. The curve was badly splintered, and the string had frayed considerably but he held it as if it were a real weapon.

"What are you doing here?" The mother whispered, kneeling to meet the young boy. He was the same age as her daughter, and yet had an expression unnatural for his age. A stolidity... a steadying courage that many young children possess but often lose before it comes of use. She had not expected him, but there was a part of this child's bravery that strengthened her own. "It's dangerous to be out alone, Lansing. You know better than this."

"I want to help." His voice was decided. "I want to help Thea."

"How did you know I was leaving?" The mother pulled the little prince inside, closing the door behind them. She looked at the bow quizzically, "And what do you plan to do with that?"

"It's Arlyn's." The prince held the bow closer to his chest, then continued, "He asked me to watch" Was the Prince's reply. "I want to stand outside, like he used to do. Remember? Like a guard."

The mother's heart broke just a fraction more in the wrong direction. She looked at the bookcase, and then beckoned her daughter out from her hiding spot. The young girl stared at the boy before her, and for the first time since the incident, the mother could see a hint of emotion on her child's face. It was a second long, but it was clearly a display of pain, and the mother wished she had not seen it, for it did not relieve her.

"Alright, you can stand watch while we are gone, Lansing. But you must stay inside. Do not leave this house, understand? Do not open the door for anyone but me, and no candles. Stay away from the fireplace and the kitchen. You have to sit perfectly still on the couch...like a soldier." The mother picked up her daughter and ducked into the cold night before he could give his answer. She was running out of time.

The mother and her daughter were swallowed by the woods, and behind them, carrying his brother's bow, was the young Prince.

The only way to find what you are looking for in the woods is to get lost in them. The mother knew this. Letting her intuition drive her deeper into the darkness, she took careful steps and combatted the fear boiling in her stomach. It's the only way. The mother told herself, looking at the young girl, holding limply to her mother's shoulders. She watched passively as the trees went by, even when the branches seemed to have eyes, and the bushes had sharp, toothy grins, the child blinked in despondency. Nothing could scare her; nothing could get to her when she was not here. She was on the doorstep, waiting for her father to return.