Lady of the Wood

I. Genevieve

Screams. Children screaming and crying. Women screaming as their husbands were killed before their eyes. That was all I could hear as I ran. I heard the high-pitched shrieks of the monstrous creatures who had invaded our village, one of many to fall victim to their ruthless cruelty. These raids, albeit few and far between, had been going on for years, always a nobleman’s home, always in search of his eldest daughter, according to the stories, and always in the dead of night. 

    I ran for my life, away from the village I had called home my entire life. I had no idea where I was going, as Father had never let me leave the castle grounds, but I ran anyway. I ran away from the people who had raised me, and the lives we had built together, and tears of guilt streamed down my face, because I knew full well that I was leaving them all to die. The only one I didn’t feel guilty leaving was my father. In fact, when I saw him lying in the great hall, dead, sprawled on his face, I had felt a rush of relief. Ever since Mother died when I was a little girl, he had closed me off from the world more and more as the years went on, and I resented him for it.

    The brush underneath my feet was wet with the midnight dew, which made it quite slippery, but the foliage was thick and muffled my pounding footsteps, so I didn’t mind the extra caution I had to take to avoid falling. My lungs burned, my full, heavy skirt was in tatters, my hair had fallen out of its intricate braid in my rush to get out of Morwyn y Pren, and my legs ached, but I kept running.

    I reached a clearing with a small fire in the center of it, and a warhorse tethered to a tree near the fire. In front of the fire a man was sitting on a log, his cloak hanging from a nearby limb. He looked about my age, so he might have been 18 years old. His head was bent and he looked to be in prayer. The horse looked up at me for a moment before going back to grazing. I peered closer at the man sitting before the flickering glow of the fire, and I gasped as I realized who he was. My hand flew to my mouth in an attempt to muffle the sudden noise. He wasn’t wearing the all black outfit of the wraiths I was fleeing from. Nor was he wearing the more common shades of green and brown often worn by hunters in these parts of Evalor. I almost didn’t believe my eyes when I saw that he was wearing the royal blue, gold trimmed tunic reserved specifically for High King Henry Bartholomew Bennet William III of Evalor, Emperor of the Criecian Islands, and Son of the Queen Mother Hyacinth.

    He must have heard me, because his head snapped up, and he stood quickly, turning to face me. His vivid green eyes widened in shock, but aside from his expression he appeared at ease. His dark, golden blond hair fell to his ears in thick waves that rivaled my own fiery red locks. He had the tall, broad, and strong build of a warrior, and although I was no small woman myself, I felt minuscule compared to him even from where I stood. I had heard stories of the handsome, courageous king, but I had never seen even a portrait of him. He looked every bit the regal, heroic protagonist of the stories I heard the village women telling throughout the market every afternoon from my chamber windowsill. 

    I sank into a curtsy and bowed my head, placing my right hand over my heart. “Your Majesty, I did not intend to disturb you. I offer my sincerest apologies.” I kept my head bowed until he spoke to me, as was expected of me as someone beneath his social station and one of his subjects. I was taught everything I would ever need to know in regard to addressing those of higher or lower station than me, but I rarely got to apply my vast knowledge.

“Rise, fair maiden, and do not fear. You merely startled me.” His voice was deep, and smooth for as young as we were, his South Evalorian accent softer than my much harsher Northern one. It felt like warm honey on my ears, and I felt a blush creeping onto my face. “Now might you answer me this question, who are you, and how did you find me here?” His tone was gentle and curious, but slightly pressing.