It was a dark night, and quiet. Quieter than any night had ever been in all her fifteen years, at least as many as she could recall. She hadn’t even bothered to change, or to turn off the light, or even lay down in bed.
She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, not for a long while. Instead she sat on the edge of her bed, still as a statue, and watched the tops of the trees sway outside her window. Part of her, she felt, still did not realize that her parents were dead. Perhaps it never would. A deep part of her who desperately refused to see it, refused to accept it, would not even consider the possibility.
She longed to have that part of her consume her entire being. Would it not be better than to live in a world without them? Slowly, as if pushed by an outside force, she rose from her bed and crossed the room to the vanity, sitting down on the simple padded stool and staring into the mirror as though it would reveal a hidden truth to her, a secret antidote to the pain.
Instead, it only did as mirrors do, and reflected her face back at her, in every unpleasant detail. She could see the signs of the long hours she’d spent sobbing, wailing, the redness in her cheeks, the puffiness of her eyes. She could see the exhaustion in the faint lines of her young face, the tangled mess of hair she still had not allowed anyone to take care of.
Once, she had been the spitting image of her beloved mother. A miniature Queen, with the same eyes, the same flowing hair, the same dainty, doll-like features.
It seemed, now, that every part of her world had abandoned her mother’s memory.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the curtains framing the window flutter out from the wall with the night time wind. For a split second, she could have sworn, there on the floor, stood a pair of slippered feet, half-obscured by shadow.
She stood from her stool and turned, but sure enough – She was still alone in her bedroom. She shook her head. The lack of sleep must be playing tricks on her, drawing out her fears and hopes and making phantoms.
Morning came much too fast. She tossed and turned all night, fighting nightmares and ignoring the way her body complained with every movement, every minute spent lying still under the covers.
Before she knew it, the sun had risen and was shining in through the window, and the birds she had sat watching the day before had begun to chirp and titter back and forth to each other. She could hear the gardeners working in the courtyard below her window, their shuffling feet, the snip-snip of their garden shears, their voices echoing off of the castle’s tall outer wall.
Eventually, the usual activity began to creep into her bedroom. First a knock on the door, then the creaking of a servant entering. Things were shuffled around throughout the chamber, put away in their proper places. She did not look up from the sheet under her pillow, opting to pretend to be sleeping.
Soon enough, it sounded as if there were a small group of people in her room, adjusting every little thing and creeping around so as not to wake her. And then the door swung open wide and in walked a pair of confident feet, unbothered with the thought of waking her.
They came closer, rounding the end of the bed and emerging into view.
Bishop.
She lifted herself from the bed, still heavy, and reached for his arms. He smiled, and lowered himself towards her, wrapping his arms around her.
“Good morning, my dear,” he purred. “Did you sleep alright?”
She shook her head.
“Ah, well,” he continued. “That’s alright. There will be plenty of time to rest during the day. Are you hungry?”
Again, a simple shake of the head.
“Nonsense,” he said, waving his hand at her, and then motioned towards the door. She turned and watched as a pair of male servants from the storehouses carried in a small metal table with an assortment of breakfast bites. They left it at the end of the bed, lingered for just a moment to bow, and then hurried out of the room, along with everyone else who had gathered in her bedroom, seemingly to clean it.
Bishop lowered himself to sit down at the end of her bed, regarding her with a look of interest.
“Would you like to go riding today, your Highness?”
Elodie perked up at this. It felt like ages since she’d been on the back of her horse, striding through the vineyards behind the castle.
“Will you come?” She asked him. “It’ll be fun– We can race, if you want.”
Bishop’s face became lighter, and he nodded. “I’d love to come, my dear. We can do whatever pleases you while we’re out. But,” he said, pointing an authoritative finger at her. “Breakfast, first.”
She scooted towards him, allowing her blankets to fall away, and reached past him to grab a small fluffy piece of bread, piled with what appeared to be fish and savory sauce.
She took a big bite, staring at Bishop as if to say, ‘See?’ It was delicious, the first thing she’d had to eat since mint tea the day before.
“Mmm,” she hummed, and took another bite.
“Slow down,” Bishop said, reaching out and wiping sauce from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. “And chew. Or you might choke.”
She grinned at him, and settled in beside him on the bed to eat her fill of the breakfast he’d brought.
As she ate, he spoke of inconsequential things, the refurbishing of the East Wing library, a room her father had always complained about – It lacked any large windows, which made it extremely inconvenient as an office, and it was too far from any other frequented rooms, making it almost useless.
He told her about the new batch of guards being trained down in the guardhouse, a promising group of young men, healthy for where they came from, and full of potential to be powerful members of their army.
And about the new batch of kittens the barn cat had birthed the week before. They were progressing well, and their mother was looking after them diligently.
She set down the unfinished piece of turkey sausage she’d been nibbling on.
“Are you all done?” He asked, reflecting her eager smile back at her.
She stood up, and crossed the room to slip her feet into her riding boots. “Can we go?”
“Of course.” He rose after her and followed, kneeling down and helping lace up the tall, stiff leather. “Do these boots still fit you well?”
She nodded. “They’re more comfortable than they used to be.”
“Oh, good. That’s what I like to hear.”
He slid over the other boot and held it firmly in place as she stepped into it, plunking down on the ottoman beside the door as he laced up the second boot. She watched his fingers work with the woven strands, tying them into a tight, complex knot.
As soon as he had stood up and stepped back, she jumped up and rushed through the door, racing down the hall and taking the stairs two at a time.
She paused halfway down and looked back, watching Bishop round the corner and follow her down at a much more leisurely pace.
“Come on, come on!”
“I’m coming, be patient,” he told her, smiling as he passed her and tucking a lock of her snow-white hair behind her ear. “These old bones don’t move like they used to, my dear.”
“Excuses!” She scolded him playfully, following him down the steps and floating around him as he walked. “You’re walking slowly on purpose!”
He laughed, and she found herself almost laughing with him. And suddenly, as if the wood of the stairs had cracked underneath her and sent her falling into a void from which she could never escape, the weight of it all fell back on her, and she remembered that she would never, ever, for the rest of her life, see her parents again.
“Oh, darling–” Bishop paused, noticing the sudden change in her face. He studied her for a split second, watching the tears well up in her eyes, and then reached out to wrap his arms around her again. “I know, darling. I’m here.”
She hugged him tightly, squeezing as hard as her arms could squeeze. Perhaps, if she held him tightly enough, for the rest of her life, he would never disappear as they had. Perhaps she could force him to stay forever, keep him indefinitely.
Her lungs got tighter and tighter, until finally she let out a pained sob, and Bishop squeezed her tighter in return.
“It’s alright,” he soothed. “I know. It’s alright, I’m here, darling.”
Bishop took a deep breath, leaned down slightly, and hoisted her up into his arms, lifting both her feet clean off the ground. Without hesitation she wrapped her legs around him, clinging to his torso like a small child.
He carried her down the stairs, teetering with the effort of carrying her. When she was much younger, this had been a common practice for them both. It had been a long time since he’d carried her, as she’d gotten much older, and much bigger, and much less tolerant of being treated like a baby.
He traversed the rest of the stairs and continued down the hall toward the South courtyard where the stables stood in a nest of hickory trees. He pushed the door open with his back and the sun flooded over her face, warming her cheeks. Her eyes, still wet with grief, opened in an instant, and she peered over his shoulder at the large building that housed all of her horses.
“Do you still want to go for a ride, darling?” He asked, lowering her to the ground. She extended her legs underneath her without complaint, and continued walking towards the stables.
“Yes,” she replied. “Where is Sugar?”
“Sugar is in there,” he said. “Near the back.”
She hurried further into the stables, passing the half-a-dozen horses that were not hers, and were instead here just for storage purposes. Most of them were warhorses, ridden by archers and cavalry during wartimes. But there, at the back, her red-and-white spotted mare peered through the door of her stall and whinnied.
She shoved open the door and was immediately headbutted by the tall, powerful animal. She wrapped her arms around Sugar’s head and gave her a kiss beside her eye.
“Hello, my love,” she said. “Do you want to go for a ride with me?”
The horse replied with a nuzzle and another soft whinny, and she nuzzled back. Sugar and Elodie had been deeply connected since Elodie first received her as a gift on her seventh birthday. Sugar had been larger then, in Elodie’s memory, but there had never been fear, she never felt a need for caution. Sugar was deeply protective, almost as if she considered Elodie to be her own blood.
Elodie grabbed the saddle from where it hung on the wall and slid it onto Sugar’s back, adjusting it until it was perfectly in place, then she tightened the straps around Sugar’s belly and gave her neck a satisfying scritch-scratch.
Unwilling to wait even a moment more, Elodie hauled herself onto Sugar’s back and ducked under the doorway as they exited her stall. Bishop rode up beside her, also on horseback. His was a tall, broad stallion, dark brown and black with white hooves.
“Where would you like to go?” He asked, slowing his horse to stride alongside her.
“Can we go down to the woods?” It had been a long time since she’d been down in the trees. She knew it was wild out there, dangerous even on horseback, or so she was told. She had first hand experienced the uncomfortable fact of riding in the forest – A constant stream of leaf-filled branches slapping her in the face.
But it was still the most beautiful and freeing place she’d ever been. Just a few steps in and it felt like the entire world was miles away, and she could finally breathe. And, it occurred to her, it was the only place on the entire property that her parents had never been.
Bishop agreed that it was alright, reiterating that they could do whatever she wanted. And so, down the hill they went. Around the bend of the crumbling stone wall marking the edge of the South courtyard, the path through the vineyards stretched out far ahead, winding through the fields and finally disappearing into the darkened forest.
She felt a burst, like the sun had suddenly opened up and was lighting up her skin, and without the slightest nudge, Sugar took off in a gallop down the dirt road, hurtling past a pair of farm workers pulling an empty cart back towards the castle.
“Go!” She urged Sugar, leaning further forward and holding on tight to the handle on the front of her saddle. Sugar huffed and lowered her head, mirroring her rider, and pushed her legs to go faster. All of a sudden, the sunlight was swallowed by the trees, and Elodie ducked low against Sugar’s neck to avoid the branches whizzing past.
Sugar raced down the trail, barely slowing as she rounded sharper and sharper corners.
Elodie grinned. Sugar knew that the next landmark was Elodie’s favorite part. She could see the horse’s ears twitching and rotating, and soon Elodie could hear it, too – The pounding rush of water falling from way up high. The trees parted and just ahead, there was a thin but deep river, and a waterfall sprayed fresh, clear spring water all throughout the clearing.
Sugar braced her legs, and then leaped over the water, and Elodie lifted her head for the split second they hung in the air, enjoying the spray against her cheeks.
With four hard thunks, Sugar landed deftly on the opposite side of the river, and slowed again for the first time. Elodie turned the horse back towards the castle and waited, watching the treeline for Bishop to come after her.
The howl of the waterfall persisted, and she wasn’t sure if she could hear hoofsteps or not.
A moment passed. A moment too long. Sugar whined, and turned her head to point a single prodding eye at Elodie. Without further hesitation, she pushed Sugar forward. Back across the stream and into the trees again.
“Bishop?” She shouted, but the trees echoed her voice right back to her. “Bishop!”
Sugar followed the trail they’d just been down, winding through the trees, until the vineyard came back into view. They rounded the last turn and there, about halfway to the treeline, was Bishop atop his horse, meandering along at a leisurely pace.
She let out a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding, and guided Sugar back over to him.
“What?” Bishop asked, once she was again in earshot.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she admitted. “I expected you to be right behind me…”
“No,” he reassured, laughing gently. “I’m here. I’m terribly sorry, darling. You looked like you were having such fun, I figured I’d let you go on ahead.”
She led Sugar around the back of Bishop’s stallion and up against his side, looking up at him with relief. He faced dead ahead, sitting up high and straight. She pushed her spine up straighter, and continued to watch him as they trotted along.
After several minutes, he turned and looked down at her.
“Is something wrong?” He asked again.
She shook her head. “I suppose not.”
He tilted his head at her, scrutinizing her expression before turning back to face forward, seemingly having decided that she would tell him exactly what was on her mind once she was ready.
She wasn’t sure if such a day would ever come, when the words felt right to say out loud.
I love you.
He was far too important for such a simple, ordinary declaration.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
