Reaping A Princess

FROST-BITTEN MOUNTAINSIDE

There was no greeting when I opened the car door and climbed inside the warmed vehicle. The chill of the handle lingered on my fingertips as I sat down; the closing of the door echoing into the silent woods. Echoing throughout my mind as if it were the first nail in my coffin.

The driver didn't speak as I buckled myself in and I tried to ignore the shiver that ran down my spine when the car locks engaged.

I wouldn't be leaving this vehicle until the driver allowed me to.

Silence stretched on for miles as the tires beneath us ate up terrain, after shifting terrain, of earth. Dirt roads, pavement, winding mountain paths, all unrecognizable to me. I'd fallen asleep at some point, cocooned in the warmth emitted from the heater as the frozen tundra outside passed in a blur.

We had stopped a few times for gas and each time I was allowed to use the bathroom under strict vigilance. Even though I was silently passed food and drinks whenever I asked for them, I still felt a gnawing emptiness.

Not a single word was uttered by the man driving me to my ending, and part of me wondered if he knew what he was doing. If he didn't have full knowledge, he had to of known enough to make him feel guilty because he'd avoided eye contact with me since I entered the car.

He cleverly avoided highways and roads with signs indicating where we were going, but in truth, it wouldn't had mattered because I had very little knowledge of where we had even left. The only thing I had ever known was the trees and it seemed like wherever we were going was a land laid similarly.

At some point, I had fallen asleep again, only to wake abruptly when the car bounced along unstable ground, climbing a crudely made driveway before coming to a stop.

My fingers wound tightly around my bag as a man approach the car and I noted how the locks were still engaged as the driver got out to speak to him. I wanted to look at where we were, but I couldn't draw my eyes away from them.

Their voices were low and quiet, as if whatever they spoke of wasn't meant for anyone but them to hear. The driver was given an envelope, no doubt filled with cash for upholding his end of the bargain, and after the men shook hands, he opened his door and disabled the locks, allowing me to exit.

With trembling hands, I opened the door and climbed out on the opposite side of where the man was standing. My legs felt stiff, and I wondered how long I had slept for—how far from home I had traveled.

The man who had approached tapped the hood of the car and the driver tipped his ball cap before maneuvering his car around and leaving the way he came.

I watched as the taillights burned red upon their departure. I couldn't bring myself to look at the man standing several feet away from me, so I looked at my new surroundings instead.

Six homes sat in a semi-circle, three on either side of what appeared to be a large barn—possibly, church—that was nestled at its center. The bones of it said barn, but it's whitewashed wooden siding and cross mounted at the roof's peak was certain church-like, making me unsure of which it was meant to be.

I wrapped my cardigan around me tighter as I turned to the land. We were on a farm high in the mountains. The same pines and oaks stood tall above us, reaching toward the cloud-dotted sky but I didn't feel like they were swallowing me whole or caging me in. There was space. Fresh air. Rolling hills with horses, cows, and goats grazing peacefully in their own respective pastures. But like home, there was still nothing and no one else around as far as the eye could see—just wild, untamed earth and sky.

The man shifted his feet in the gravel and my eyes snapped to him. He was taller than Papa and Caleb, probably around 6'3. His light brown hair was stuffed beneath a cowboy hat and, surprisingly, his deep brown eyes looked... kind.