The Fabled

Six

"But now the poor child was all alone in the great forest, and so terrified that she looked at all the leaves on the trees, and did not know what to do." -Brothers Grimm, 1812.

It wasn't my choice to stay up all night. For the few hours remaining of our morning darkness, I tossed and turned until our sun grew from the horizon. Now, with the living room bathed in blinding rays of day, I give into my growling stomach.

It's deja vu: me waking up in a peculiar cottage, recalling the horrors of my night before while enduring both a mental and physical ache. And I will suppress my encounter with the queen just the same. This time, though, I help myself to the kitchen pantry, surprisingly stocked.

I hear a grumble from the living room and look to see the figure stir. She had fallen asleep seconds after we tied her to the chair. Great, the criminal is better rested than me.

"Smells like fruit," the Red Hood sings.

"Jam," I confirm. It's the only thing that looks somewhat appetizing, but the bread is nowhere in sight. I decide to eat it with a spoon, sitting next to the escapee as she attempts to wiggle out of her binds. Been there, done that.

"Can I have a bite?" she asks in the sweetest, most unearthly way possible.

I consume yet another mouthful, letting the berry flavor sit on my tongue before replying, "No."

She gives an exaggerated frown. "You're not nice."

I sigh. Am I really that bad? I'm only angry with the fact that I've been treated as poorly as I had been under Mother's roof. Is it wrong for me to be a bit stubborn?

You have every right to be annoyed, I assure myself. Royalty shouldn't grovel, but your peasants will, soon.

"I'm beginning to think you can't command those wolves at all," I remark.

"And I'm beginning to see the resemblance between you and the queen," the Red Hood replies. "Except for the tasty fact that you don't have any magic."

I squeeze the jar in my hands. "The spell is temporary."

She sniffs the air, probably for dramatic purposes, but I'm disturbed either way. "You don't emit any energy, princess. All I can smell is plain human."

"It's 'enchantress!'" I snap. "You're lucky I haven't killed you for lying to me back at the-"

"Inside voices!" Clay exclaims. He enters the room, for once not in leather. The rebel's hair is unkempt, but stylishly so, and he has fitted himself in a loose pair of trousers along with a frayed, very wrinkled shirt. Peasant fashion, I think to myself as we watch him go to the kitchen. He heats up a kettle, fuming silently beside it.

I can imagine what he must be worrying about: his girlfriend in enemy territory, the kingdom's inevitable fate of famine and war, a murderer under his roof . . .

Am I sympathizing with a peasant?

No, you're just stating the obvious, Talia. Peasant life is expendable and useless; there's no time to feel bad for their stupid problems. All I should be worrying about is getting myself on that throne, and before I starve with commoners.

"I'm taking Red Hood to some higher ups, see what they want to do with her," Clay says, yawning. "You're coming with me, too. I'm keeping my word letting you stay but I don't dictate their decisions."

"But you're going to figure out how to keep me, anyways," I remark, almost to reassure myself. "The information we found is priceless, and you owe me."