The Prince and the Witch

Chapter 7: An Uneasy truce

Rowen woke the next morning with the worst headache he had ever experienced, even after one of his drinking escapades, and no reallocation of what had happened the night before to cause it. What's more, he was surrounded by hay. He sat up quickly and instantly regretted his decision. Once the white stars had faded from his vision he slowly took in his surroundings. He had being sleeping on a bed of hay in what he could only assume was someone, somewhere's old barn. Dawn light peaked from a gap in the 'A' frame ceiling like a missing tooth in a row of straight edged boards. The dust motes swirled gracefully, dancing away like little fairies. As he watched them, Rowen slowly came to his senses. He had gone to the market and had found his witch just like he had planned. But after that everything had spiraled out of his control. In foolishly believing he had held the upper hand, he unintelligently drank what she offered, which naturally, turned out to be poison. He followed her until cobblestone became soil under a bank of willow trees. Then whatever remaining dignity he had, he lost when his legs fell out from under him. She got answers to her questions while all he could do was try not to froth at the mouth. Then-then she had cradled his head in her lap, looking down at him like some kind of angel. Perhaps more suitably an angel of death. He had been dying. That at least he was sure of, and yet, here he was, the next morning, lying in some abandoned barn. Unless this was the afterlife, except as he pulled chicken feathers out of his hair Rowen realised how ridiculous that sounded.

Nursing his shoulder, Rowen made his way towards the barn door. It stood ajar as if someone had passed through recently. Outside it was his favourite kind of morning. Dew sparkled on the green grass like a thousand crystals and the air was crisp and clean as he breathed deeply. He was out in the country side somewhere. There was no sign of any nearby settlements between the rolling hills, bare of any colour but the rich yellow of blooming gorse flowers. A slender frame of the girl, Sorrel, approached slowly from down the hill. In her hands she seemed to be carrying a bunch of wildflowers that hardly seemed in character for such a lethal person.

"So this isn't heaven after all?" He said once she was in earshot. "In all honesty I truly didn't think I was the kind for hell, but seeing you here, it is hard to argue with such strong evidence."

"You're not dead, halfwit." She growled at him. Rowen was pleased to see a new day had not brightened her personality.

"So you decided to save me did you? Grew tired of watching me writhe in pain?"

"As if I could grow tired of that." She walked past dumping her bag next to the barn and started digging around in it.

"How did you do it then? Did you heal me?" Rowen remembered the cool pressure he felt against his lips just before blacking out. "You didn't kiss me did you? Is that how it works, you kiss somebody and-"

"No idiot! I used this." She abruptly stopped her rummaging a threw a small bottle at him.

He turned the clear glass over in his hands watching the silver liquid roll over the sides.

"It's the flower's anti venom. It takes effect almost immediately."

"So you don't try murder everyone you meet?"

"No, like I said, I just wanted answers. Still do. Like for instance you know my name, it seems only fair I know yours."

He made his way over to where she was standing. When he was within a foot of her he handed back the vial with one hand and rested the other against the coarse barn wall. Wearing a smirk he knew with certainty woman received most positively he replied. "Rowen Castelle."

She snatched the bottle off him, grabbed her bag and ducked under his arm as she stomped into the barn. As she brushed briskly past him he could hear her just audibly mutter "idiot" again under her breath. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch. For some inexplicable reason he did not feel nearly as afraid in her presence as he should. The only logical reason for this he concluded, was he particular liking for attractive females.