Thy Secrets Should Be Sung

Chapter Eight: The Tranquil Blade

 All along the lake wildflowers bloomed, in white and gold and red—their roots crept down between the rocks on the southern shore, they gathered thick along the marsh, they grew amongst the tall grass, where always the sounds of bees could be heard.

The sun was warm, they reached for it.

"What is your secret?" the Knight asked. "Day after day—this calm of yours, this serenity. My crimes have not diminished you in the least."

He shielded his eyes from the light as it shimmered on the lake. "Can nothing stir you?"

"And what reaction, Dark Knight, would you prefer?" the Princess asked.

The sat on the bank by the bulrush. The swans of the lake swam here and there, pruning their feathers, waiting to be fed.

"Should I break down and cry?"

The Princess ripped up little bit of bread, throwing the pieces to the swans as they gathered by the shore. Her hands shook, but her voice was calm. The hungry swans pecked greedily at the meal, and fought amongst themselves.

"Or would you rather I was angry? Furious, even? Is that what you want?" she asked.

"I do not know," the Knight admitted. He avoided her gaze, turning his attentions to a pair of swans on the far side of the lake.

The Princess swept the hair from her shoulders. "I will not show weakness to you, but make no mistake—your actions cause me harm," she said. "I want to breathe free air again, my heart is heavy for its lack."

"Free air?" The Knight spread his arms, extending his reach to every corner of the garden. "Look about you. Here lies a pleasure grove, the likes of which Xanadu could not compare. A prison sweeter than any other!"

He gestured to the swans on the bank. "Look at them!" he said. "They do not fly from here, but have made this land their home—and they are right to do so! This garden is Eden, unspoiled by snake or apple. You chide and condemn, but within these walls, I have given you everything."

The Princess looked around, to the lake, to the wildflowers and bulrush that had found root along the rocky shore. They'd grown tall, and doubled over under their own weight.

She considered the modest summer house, cast in wood. The little gazebo, overgrown with vines and lily blooms. The sacred grove and silver stream. The great meadow, the winding path, the rhododendron garden, the hidden grotto. The iron fence, the barred gate.

She folded her hands on her lap. "A prison remains a prison," she said.

The Knight laughed. "I should hath thrown you in a dungeon! With none to keep your company but the rats and lepers. Where the air is foul with death and dank! A small squalid box, far below the earth."

He jumped to his feet and threw the last of his bread to the swans. A lone swan squawked and hissed, the others paid him no mind.

"Yes! I should have chained you! Kept fresh water from you, fed you only stale bread, and left you with nothing but the novelty of your own misery! You would be begging for the comfort of my bed."

He loomed over the Princess. She rose to him, and stared him down. "And here I thought you loved me." She smiled.

The Knight retreated. "Love! Yes, love can be cruel. I admit my shame: I have hurt you, my clumsy heart has caused you harm. Clumsy, yes, but not cruel. I would sooner kill a dove than see you grieve. Please, I beg of you, believe that, if nothing else."

"I would find that easier to believe," said the Princess, "if you did not make threats." She ripped up another piece of bread for the swans. "Still, it is not too late to make amends. Let me go."