12.15.13.

I waited, still leaning against the same tree, my back pressed hard into its rough surface as he wandered off, searching once more for game. The dogs howled and bellowed, and I wondered how they ever managed to catch anything unaware, making such a racket. One of them lingered, still curled by my side. She was a quilt-patched black and white and grey, her eyes vibrant and blue. Her warm pink tongue brushed my hand.

The huntsman disappeared into the brush and I wondered if he thought I was following him. At this point didn’t care if he left and never came back. I wasn’t even sure if I could go back with him, not if he knew. I plunged my hands into the dog’s deep fur, craving warmth, and the unbiased love of any creature willing to suffer through my clinging presence.

“What’s your name, beauty?” I murmured. As soft as I had spoken, my voice still sounded like a crack of lightening against the silence of the surrounding snow. It began to fall freshly from the sky, a gentle blanket of white. I closed my eyes, leaning into my new friend, who burrowed her nose beneath my arm. Slipping into drowsiness, I swallowed my tears and thought back, remembering all that had been, and all I could never escape, save through death.

~*~ 

The king of Dunleemar was a widower. He had no children and no interest in life outside of his grief.

“Our kingdom will die out if our king continues in this way.” My brother had said angrily, slamming his fist against the table.

“Don’t speak against your leader, Max.” Mother chided disapprovingly. She agreed with him though, and we could see it in her face. Max glanced at me, his face etched in despair: confirmation of my worries. He sank into his chair, preoccupied and exhausted, and I longed for the days when my teasing older brother had been carefree and cheerful. Now, he was stretched thin. Max had been at work for months, a soldier defending the outposts on the edge of the sea. Mercenary pirate clans sailed to and fro, raiding small towns and villages and looting every household. The Dunleemar troops were strong on land, but the pirates always escaped by sea.

“Why don’t you build boats?” I asked innocently.

Max smiled in amusement, but he never seemed to tire of explaining things to me when I didn’t understand.

“We can’t just build boats of our own accord. You see, the king gives the orders to captains and generals, sister. And our king will not. So the captains and generals cannot act. And we, the soldiers cannot act without their permission,” His dark brows narrowed. “Though I doubt the king would notice whatever we did.” He added bitterly.

“Why doesn’t he care anymore?” I wanted to know.

“Because his wife died and left him childless.” Mother interjected, her face sorrowful. “The queen left him alone, and too tied up in his grief to see to his duty.” She shook her head. “It’s a sad business, but I don’t see what can be done about it.”

Max and Mother talked on grimly, but I drifted away, wrapped in imaginings. They said that it was wrong of the king to act as he did, neglecting his people, and maybe it was, but my romantic soul thrilled to the idea of a man losing his mind over his first love.

“It’s as if he died with her,” I murmured absently, glancing up at the silhouette of the looming stone castle where the king and all his court resided through the winter months. My mother and brother looked over at me in surprise.

“My daughter has a way with words,” My father said, smiling proudly as he tramped in through the door to drop a kiss on my cheek. “Speaking of the king again, are we Max?” He raised a brow at his son, and Max turned away. Mother looked distressed. She hated it when they argued, but fathers and sons often have different opinions and none more often than Max and Papa.

“Are there other things to speak of?” Max answered shortly, gritting his teeth.

“Yes. Many other things.”

“Maybe for you. You aren’t met with defeat and failure day after day because you aren’t given the means to defend your post.” My brother hissed angrily.

“Steady, Max. You do good for your country in deed, but not in word. No good can come of criticizing a king.”

“Perhaps good will come, if enough of us grow bold enough to make a change.”

My mother put a hand to her throat.

“What do you mean?” She asked breathlessly.

“Surely you and your friends wouldn’t be rash enough to challenge him?” Papa’s voice was low, but somehow deafening. He and mother had gave faces as they looked at their son. Hers was twisted in fear. 

Max’s gray eyes glowed hot with the fire of youthful zeal. But he said nothing in reply, and mother clumsily moved the conversation to other subjects.

Worried and unsettled, I retreated outside to the fields of snow, while my family endured the growing tension inside. My crimson cloak trailed after me, blowing in the wind, as I walked steadily up the hill to my favorite vantage point. From the top I could see the castle and the city, and all the way down to the edge of the sea gleaming beneath the night’s first stars. When Max was away I would watch the glint of lights from along the shoreline and wonder which was his. Now, I glanced back again at the castle spires, as evening fell and purple twilight bathed the snow-covered landscape in a rosy glow.

He was in there somewhere, up in his towers: our young, broken-hearted king. I watched until Mother called me in, hoping for a glimpse of him. But if duty and honor would not call him out, the admiration of one young girl certainly wouldn’t.