The Goose Girl

The Hug

"Come with me, Lottie," I grab her hands and squeeze them. She's standing up, staring at me while I lie in the bed I've lived in since the immediate funeral.
Tomorrow, we leave. Tomorrow, I lose the best home anyone could ever have.
"Of course. I was planning on going with you even if you refused it. After all, what type of best friend would I be if I didn't?" She lets go to straighten my tangled hair, and she smiles, and I begin to think that maybe everything won't be that bad.
But then Maverick bursts open my door and it creates a large rush of wind. It hits my face, and I retreat under my blankets where it is safe and warm, and away from Maverick. I didn't have to hear his feet to know that he was glowering next to Lottie. I could feel his eyes burn into my skin, even through my thick blankets.
"Princess." He says, yet there is no hostility or frustration. It's a first, but I think I hear pity, and not condescending pity, in his voice.
I barely lift the covers off my head, but I press the ends to the bottom of my chin. For once, I didn't care that my eyes are puffy or that my nose is dripping snot. Today is the last day to be sad.
Tomorrow and forever on I will be the proper and perfect princess I should have been years ago.
"You two," he points to Lottie and the boy servant, who I felt guilty for not noticing his presence in my room. "Leave. I need to speak with the princess privately."
Lottie bows her head and scurries away into the hallway. The boy stares at me, his eyes clouded with tears and hands over his mouth. I don't know if he has lost someone like I have and he's emphatic, or if he is shocked that I have fallen so hard in such a short period of time.
I smile at him, weakly, but it is still better than staring at him with my smudged face. His face immediately lightens up, and he whispers a word, but I don't know what he said. He slowly follows in Lottie's direction, but his eyes are focuses intently with hope in them until the door closes.
"For whatever reason that I can't understand, that boy really likes you." He shakes his head, and I see a little smile form at the corners of his lips. "I suppose that I should thank you for being so good with him."
I don't want to say anything, so I just nod. I unroll from my nest of blankets and coziness, and I place my feet on the floor. Not entirely sure of why I would leave my bed sanctuary, I balance myself standing up by grabbing on and utilizing Maverick's arm and sleeve. He doesn't say anything once I am up to my full height, but he drapes a thin blanket around my shoulders.
Once more, I nod, and I walk over to my wardrobe. The blanket stays on my shoulders, and Maverick tails closely behind. I start to pull out two dresses, for the journey. They are fine dresses, because all my dresses are beautiful and rich because I am a princess, but they are the simplest ones I have.
I hang them on the outside of the wardrobe, and the next thing I know, I am being attacked. Maverick is suffocating me.
Well, I suppose someone else might call it hugging.
I cringe because I never suspected the bony man would ever touch me without a good reason, much less hug. But I don't pull away. It feels like the first time someone has cared for me in days, and even though Lottie has been consistently nurturing me day and night.
His hug is elbowy and pointy; it feels as if I am being hugged by a tree instead of a person. It isn't a good hug, hypothetically, but it is mentally satisfying. It is reassurance. It's faith. It's hope. It is family.
Maverick pulls away from the hug first and I realize that my face is soaked with tears and snot. I grin and almost giggle because his fine silk shirt imported from some fancy and rich place is also drenched. He starts to scowl, but it lightens, considering the circumstances.
"There is an ancient tradition in Selenivia," he stuffs his hand in his coat. "When the monarch travels, they must not fetch their own drink. A second person fills their goblet for them. It may be viewed as a silly tradition, but if you pour water into your own cup, then you will bring bad luck upon your travels."
I stare at him, and I am unsure if he is joking. By his grim face and tight skin, I feel embarrassed for questioning Selenivia. My country is very superstitious; only certain days may one wear black and red. All food is prepared first with making a circle of spice around the kitchen, in order to ward off hungry demons. Cracks are always stepped on, because when they are stepped on, it pushes hell further back inside of the earth. It is considered deathly to lead with the left foot on stairs.
"But when I get there, I will be able to get my own beverage?" I ask, and he nods with his lips pressed together. Although we had an intimate momenta few moments ago, I still know that he believes I am stupid. "And how have I never heard of this before?"
"Well, your mother never travelled, and when your father was alive, he enacted on this tradition with you on his horse multiple times, but you were too young to remember." He grimaces, as if he said something bad about the dead.
"Ok, ok." I mutter, and I sit on my bed. My eyes are heavy, and my muscles are sore and wobbly from not using them in the past few days. I want sleep, but even if I demanded Maverick to leave, he would not until he finished his mental checklist.
"Princess," I raise an eyebrow. "Do not lose the handkerchief. It will protect you from evil."
I wasn't planning on parting from it; after all, it was the last thing Mother gave me.
"And until your marriage with the prince, then you must know that I will be in charge of the queendom as temporary ruler." I my fingers into my temple, imagining the horror that Maverick would bring as temporary king. "Don't worry; you and your future husband will be coronated as the queen and king immediately. And you will merge our two countries together."
He sounds bitter about the last part. And I don't blame him, because I am too. I don't mind being married to a random prince whom is probably forty and behaves worse than my eight year old cousin. But, it infuriates me that the current king of Analora acted as if he always knew that my marriage to his son would merge our countries.
"Prime Minister, is there anything else?" I say, now annoyed with him and Analora's impending arrogance.
"Yes, actually," he waits for me to reply with something snarky. But I do not. I want him to leave so I can finish my day crying in solitude and darkness, with Lottie being the occasional interruption.
"I believe that your mother's horse would much rather suit you than the old grey thing you ride." He spins on the heels of his shoes, and starts making his way to the door.
Something in my throat freezes. I become very still, and my mouth becomes dry and dehydrated. My heart slows down, even though my mind is panicking because I believe I'm going to stop breathing. I try to speak, but only a croak comes out.
Maverick stops mid-step and retreats to me. He squats next to the bed and he grabs my hands. I don't cry, not yet, hopefully. Yet, my face is flushed and my breathing is frigid and heavy. His fingers tap in a slow rhythm on my palm, and it is more than impatience. He is telling me when to breathe in and out.
I match my breath to his finger tapping, and after minutes of only listening to my hoarse breathing, I begin to calm down. He does not leave, nor does he look like he wants to. For once, his brow and stress lines are worried for me and my health.
"You can stay in a corner, or wherever you want, but can you stay until I fall asleep?" I finally whisper.
"Of course," he lets go as I lie down and burry myself in my mountain of blankets.
He sits on the corner of my bed, and he watches as I hide my face in a pillow. I hope he doesn't notice the pillow become drenched until I weep myself to sleep.