Eat the Poor

X

The world was fuzzy when I came to.

Brownie-Paulo was some ways away, munching on a mouthful of grass.

Traitor, I thought.

I could hear the soft thud of hooves hitting the ground, each step slow and calculated. Blearily I looked above me and saw him, first two horses and then one, as my double vision fit back together.

The King trotted around my body in a wide circle, the space between us tightening with each lap.

If you awoke, dazed and confused, and looked up to see a beautiful man circling you on a tall white horse, you might think you were hallucinating. You might think you were dead. You might think, so this is how angels look.

That's how I knew for sure I was alive.

There was no fucking way I was going to Heaven.

"You're such a liar," he said.

This is it, I thought. He's going to trample me now. Crush my skull and leave me out here for the birds to pick at.

The King halted his horse and got to the ground in a solid, sweeping motion. I watched, my head lolling to the side, as he walked across the grass and stood over me, a champion above his fallen enemy.

"You absolute scoundrel." The toe of his shoe pressed hard to my cheek. I smiled, enjoying it more than I should. "You're a terrible rider! You act as if you've never been on a horse before."

"I haven't," I said, because I figured I was about to die anyway.

"Goodness." To my surprise, he crouched in the grass, a crease of worry tight on his brow. "Are you alright?"

I struggled to sit up. "Sort of. I didn't-"

The blow came faster than I could blink. I flexed my jaw where he'd slapped me.

"That's for making up stories," he said.

"It's not my fault if you believe them."

"Mr Murray." He sank into the grass and stared at the cloudless sky. "You shouldn't feel so compelled to lie. I'm sure you're just as interesting even if you weren't taming grand beasts as a toddler."

"I'm not," I promised. "I'm the least interesting person in the whole world."

It wasn't true, I supposed. But all the interesting things about me were awful. Horrifying. The kinds of things that made nuns clutch their rosaries and upstanding townsmen pull out their pitchforks.

"Do you have a family?" he asked.

"Yes." I said it almost sadly, but I didn't know why, because I liked my family. For the most part. "I have my mother and five brothers."

Ronan was the oldest, nine years my senior. He was always kindest to me, but after the war, he changed. We grew apart. After that was Gale, the blacksmith's apprentice, Artwin, who had a lame foot, Martin, who was studying to be a doctor, and Westley. He was the one that made my life hell.

"Your father?" he murmured, still looking at the clouds.

My father? I thought. What about your father?

"He passed serving his duty to England," I said. "To you."

His head turned at that, and for a silent, still moment, his eyes were on mine. A lock of red hair slipped across his forehead.

"My mother used to tell me a story about us," I murmured. "We were born in the same month of the same year, did you know that? Of course you wouldn't." I laughed at myself. "The whole country was going mad, celebrating the birth of a prince."