10 Chapter Six: The Devil in the Woods
ERICIA HEARS THE startling sound of anguish echo out from the woods behind the palace. Then, there are the double-timed gallops of a horse. She stares out from her balcony into the darkness before her. A black silhouette appears from the eerie woods –tall, mysterious, bone-chilling, riding out on a white stallion, reminiscent of a devil in the flesh. The silhouette jumps off of the animal and pulls a large beast that had been hanging off the back of the horse, swinging it over his shoulders and stumbling towards the palace with the weight of it on his back. Ericia then hears the footsteps of soldiers rushing towards the silhouette –at least five of them.
There’s a knocking at Ericia’s door –she wakes up.
“Your Highness, are you awake?” It’s Avie’s voice. “Ericia, darling, it’s Avie.”
Ericia sits up on her bed, shaken up by the vividness of the dream. “Come in, Avie.”
Avie bursts through the doors, the maids following behind her and getting to work.
“Ericia, you would not believe what I’m about to tell yo-” Avie says just as Ericia stands to her feet, takes a step forward and crashes to the tiled flooring. “Oh Heavens,” Avie exclaims, rushing over, “Are you alright?”
Ericia hadn’t had enough time to process the situation –she’d completely forgotten about her injured ankle. She sits on the floor, crying out in pain as Avie raises her dress slightly to look at the injury.
“Someone get the doctor here immediately,” she says to the maids. “Dear God, Eri, what happened?”
“I fell last night on my way to the wine cellar,” Ericia says, “but I didn’t realise the injury would be this bad. It didn’t feel that way at all.”
“Ericia,” Avie says, frustrated and in utter shock, “Are you daft? You’re a Princess, you’re supposed to call for help in situations like that. Dear God, why were you going to the wine cellar? Where were the maids?”
“All busy entertaining the soldiers,” Ericia mumbles, pouting. Avie gives her a disappointed look. Ericia looks away in shame. “Rowan said he wanted red wine, so I went to fetch a bottle for myself.”
The royal physician rushes in to take a look at Ericia. All other conversation after this point ceases.
***
“A week,” Ericia says, shaking her head as she repeats the phrase yet again. “I’m lucky it’s not the worst injury in the world, though it’s still terrible.”
“Are you alright?” Rowan asks her, his face flooded with concern. “Would you like me to get you anything? Some water? A eat? Would you like to go back into the palace and sit in the Queen’s lounge? Tell me –anything, really. I’ll try to help you out as much as possible.”
Ericia places a warm hand on Rowan’s cheek. “I’m fine, Rowan. Really. I just want to look out at the city from here. The breeze is calming me down. You’re making me feel tense by making a big deal out of this.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t realise you were injured last night,” Rowan says, frowning. “What a poor excuse for a gentleman I must be.”
“Hey,” Ericia says, “It’s alright. I didn’t know it was this bad. It was my fault for ignoring it.”
Before Rowan could say anything else, Avie approaches, bowing to them both in her manner of formality and relaying her news to the Princess.
“There will be a feast held in the grand dining hall tonight for the Montien army, Your Highness. It was a request made by Prince Henry to His Majesty. Everyone is invited to attend, but you may decline if you desire, since most of the guests there will be from the army of Phillimont. This is a message from Her Majesty, Queen Olivia.”
“The Montien guests are having their own feast? What fun,” Ericia says, laughing with intrigue. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind going, but I’ll have to see about that considering I won’t be able to stand for too long or get in the way of others walking by.”
Ericia then realises that this must have been the news that Avie wanted to tell her from the moment she had knocked on her door this morning.
“Ah, Henry,” Rowan says, stretching his arms upward and his legs out as he sits beside Ericia on the concrete bench at the edge of the palace garden, “that Royal Bastard.”
“Bastard?” Ericia notes, raising a brow.
“He’s quite a nut,” Rowan says, laughing. “During the darkest, earliest hours of this morning, he returned from the woods on his stallion, bringing back a great brown bear. Did you know, Ericia, that the people of Phillimont call him ‘the Devil in the Woods’? It’s no surprise that the Montiens are quite extreme, anyway. It’s like a folktale –only it’s not. Prince Henry goes to hunt as darkness falls, the woods becoming alive with the sound of creatures in anguish. Henry always returns alive, sometimes covered in blood, unafraid, a frightful sight, and he always brings some prize he’d won back with him on his horse –or perhaps if it can’t fit on his horse, he brings it back, dragging it behind the horse. They aren’t afraid of anything, those Montiens. He’s their hero. I’ve heard people say that they call him such a name as ‘the Devil in the Woods’ because it scares off the things that may come out to harm them at night. I’m pretty sure they sleep with their doors open over there.”
Listening to the story, it becomes clear to Ericia that she hadn’t been dreaming last night. She had really seen him –Prince Henry, the Devil in the Woods, returning from his hunt.
“The bear must be the reason Prince Henry requested a feast from King Charles. He plans on sharing it with his men,” Rowan adds.
Ericia doesn’t know how to respond to such an intriguing tale, but before she can say anything, a servant of Prince Rowan’s comes to him, bowing and informing him that his study is ready.
“Ah,” he says, turning to Ericia, “I must excuse myself, Princess. I’ve made time today to write to my parents –there’s a generous amount of news I’d like to share with them.” Prince Rowan stands, bowing to the Princess, taking her hand and kissing it. “I’ll see you at lunch.”
“Send them my love,” Ericia says, smiling up at her Betrothed.
“I will be sure to speak highly of you,” he says, winking. “I hope May isn’t getting herself into trouble with me gone from the castle.”
“Indeed,” Ericia says, “I haven’t met your sister more than twice in my lifetime, but she’s been a mischievous one –don’t tell her I said that.”
Rowan smiles, nods at her, and leaves with the servant. When he disappears, Avie sits beside her best friend, exhaling loudly and relaxing her shoulders. They sit there, talking about the palace servants and maids, the court members hurrying about, the most handsome of the Montien soldiers, and they even discuss Prince Rowan on his various traits on a scale of one to ten from his attire to his singing voice.
“Oh no,” Avie stresses, “look at the time! I’m so late.” She stands. “I’m sorry, Ericia. I need to get to the kitchen to help prepare the meals for the troops. Even though there’s going to be that big feast tonight, the kitchen is still in a mess for lunch. I feel like we’re feeding a dungeon of dragons.”
“Go along,” Ericia says, “I don’t want you getting into trouble.”
When Avie rushes off, Ericia is left alone at the edge of the garden. She looks out at the city in the distance, the river passing through it, the road to the palace, the pastures and the plains. She looks at the mountains in the distance. She admires her kingdom. She shuts her eyes when breeze suddenly begins to rush into her. She allows it to cool and calm her down. The sun is beaming, but it’s not scorching. It would be worse around lunch, and she’d probably have to limp her way back into the palace to avoid getting sunburnt.
With closed eyes, Ericia listens to the sound of the animals –the birds, the cows, the sheep, the goats, the horses... and then she feels a large shadow blocking the sun from hitting her –almost entirely.
She opens her eyes and tilts her head, finding Prince Henry in the place where the sun was standing.
“How’s your ankle,” he says to her, his face neutral.
Ericia looks around –there’s no one besides them. “It’s fine,” she says, casually.
“Clearly,” Henry says, clearing his throat. “You’re obviously still believing what you want to believe.”
“What’s it to you?” Ericia asks him, defensive.
He shrugs. “Nothing, perhaps.” He turns to walk away.
Wait, Ericia says to herself, that’s it?
Ericia can’t seem to stand it anymore –she certainly doesn’t act as though she’s holding it in, because only a moment later, she stands, watching his leaving stride.
“You’re awfully confusing, Your Highness,” she says.
Prince Henry stops, mid-step, and turns to her. “How so?”
“You blatantly ignore me and then startle me with an embarrassing question after having never spoken to me ever before. Then, you extend a hand when I topple over like a fallen dove- in which event you proceed to help me and then leave me alone after spitting a sour expression of the tongue with no less of a sour face. Rarely do you ever smile –most smiles of which there is the bare minimum of enthusiasm... and it seems as though I’m the only royal here who you treat this way.” She pauses, “Have I wronged you somehow? Was it something someone had said?”
Prince Henry raises a brow, though his expression is still blank and indecipherable. “Are you making most of our non-interactions my fault-”
“-I’m curious,” she interjects. “I’m just curious. Not to mention, Your Highness, that we both know you stare at me as though there’s something you want to say but you don’t.”
Henry glances around the garden before returning his eyes to her, metres in front of him. “I have no business,” he says, “interacting freely with another man’s Betrothed.”
Ericia almost feels her breathing stop. She slows her way towards him until she’s close enough to look right up at him from less than two feet away. “Am I just a man’s Betrothed? Do I not have what it must entail to be simply human? Must I be treated like I am less than worthy? Even of something as sacred as friendship? What, must I cross no social boundaries? Is this the prejudice I must face as a woman? I, too, am an Heir, Your Highness.”
Prince Henry’s face softens as he looks at her in subtle admiration and wonder. It’s not enough for Ericia to know what he’s thinking, but it’s enough of a look to make her melt inside somehow.
“Then act like one.”
“What?” she asks, blinking.
“Allow me to ask you yet another question you may fail to answer, Your Royal Highness,” Henry says. Ericia stands, puzzled, and waiting. “If you are an heir, why do you hold your tongue and only let it loose to argue with me?”
“I’m not arguing!” she protests, “I’m just trying to prove a poi-”
“-I’ve been here for a little more than two week and this is the most I’ve ever heard you speak, Princess Ericia,” he says, cutting her off.
Something about the way he says her name makes her freeze and go silent. She stares at him, baffled, unable to form words.
With no response, Prince Henry continues to provoke her, saying, “If you are an heir, truly, then act like one. Speak up where your words need to be spoken. How do you expect to rule a kingdom if you cannot overcome your internal battles?”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ericia says. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.”
“Do I not?” he asks. “Am I completely clueless? Is that why I’m reserved in a world I’ve never been to? Have I been roaming unaware of the situation into which I’ve fallen? Have I been ignoring the places and the people around me? Let me assure you, Your Highness, that it may seem as though I work all day and have no time for the bigger picture, but I’ve learnt far more from being silent around here than from engaging in meaningless conversations. I’m the one acting like an Heir here. I have to. I’m the one who’s going to have to deal with this army some day. Do you think I have time for any low pity party? You seem to think no one else has problems besides you. You seem to think the whole world will forever be unaware that there’s something off and bent and twisted and confusing about you.”
“You really are the Devil,” Ericia says, lowly, and directly to him. She scoffs, giving him a look of disgust as she limps her way back to the concrete bench.
And you must really be the Devil, she thinks to herself, for stirring up such strong and such strange desires inside of me.
***
Prince Rowan stares down at the retreating princess as she limps her way back to the bench. A look of suspicion covers his expression. He studies Prince Henry as he walks away, shaking his head in amusement before dropping it and... smiling?
Rowan squints at the sight of it. Yes, he’s seeing correctly. Prince Henry is walking away from Ericia, his mouth curving upwards before tearing open into an amused smile as he scratches the back of his neck and disappears from view.
Rowan turns to Ericia, who’s returned to staring out at the city once more. He can’t tell what she’s thinking or feeling, but one thing’s for sure –there’s something standing in the way of him and Ericia –and it’s not just a man... it’s an alliance.
***
Ericia limps into the dining hall filled with people, her arm hooked around Rowan’s. They’re greeted by court members, soldiers and servants passing by to simply offer them a drink.
Prince Rowan, determined to keep Ericia on his side and show her off as his own, had insisted that she should attend the feast with him.
There is music filling the air, the great brown bear sitting at the centre of the buffet table, all cooked and ready to eat.
Prince Rowan knows that Ericia cannot dance on an injured ankle, so he takes her to one of the long dining tables and finds a suitable seat for her.
He then gestures to a servant –who brings them two plates of food. The food tastes different. It tastes foreign, like it’s truly made from the very spirit of Phillimont.
Ericia shifts in her seat, poking at the meat, absentmindedly.
“Are you alright?” Rowan asks. Ericia turns to him almost immediately, pretending not to be bothered by nodding her head and smiling. “Is the music too loud?” he asks. “Should I ask them to play a bit softer?”
“No, it’s alright,” Ericia says, beginning to eat.
Rowan turns, smiling as he bites into his food. He would make everyone believe that the Princess is alright. He would make everyone think she’s having the time of her life with him. He would make it look that way –even if it wasn’t truly that way.
There’s silence as they eat.
Ericia looks around the crowded room, thankful that her parents hadn’t shown up yet. She’s hoping to enjoy the feast and leave before they arrive, but with Rowan by her side, such a plan might be difficult.
Ericia is hoping she would not come face to face with Prince Henry tonight. She’s hoping she will have no more interactions with him –none, for a very, very long time.
At the thought of Prince Henry, his deep, blue eyes, his messy chocolate hair, his softened expression, his deep, soothing voice and his responses, his demanding questions, his push towards her improvement as a person –as an Heir- Princess Ericia stops eating mid-chew, staring out distantly at the dancing Montien soldiers in front of her.
How do you expect to rule a kingdom if you cannot overcome your internal battles?
“How indeed,” Ericia says to herself.
“What was that?” Rowan asks, biting into a chunk of bear meat.
Ericia blinks unaware that she had spoken out loud. “How did they manage to cook this all the way through? It’s well done. I’m impressed,” she says, covering up her error.
“It’s the cooking of Phillimont,” Rowan says. “Who knows what magic they wield with their food?”
The couple eats in silence as they allow the music and the dancing to entertain them, and then, people at the entrance stop dancing and begin to bow. The musicians stop, acknowledging the King and Queen at the doors and proceeding to play a royal tune.
Charles and Olivia walk in, arms hooked together as though they are a perfectly happy couple, and they stroll into the room, greeting guests.
Ericia wants to leave, and so she asks Rowan if they could get some fresh air.
“The room feels stuffy,” she says. “Don’t you think? How about we go for a walk?”
Prince Rowan smiles, resting his knife and fork down and standing. “We’re done eating anyway. Shall we, Princess?”
She takes his extended hand, standing and slowing her way out of her chair. They walk past everyone in the room and make their way out, mostly unobserved.
When out of sight, Rowan turns to the Princess.
“What’s the matter?” she asks, confused.
Without a word, Rowan lifts Ericia up into his arms in a bridal style and takes her into a separate section of the garden, close to the area of red brick palace walls. He sets her down to stand for herself. Ericia looks at the Prince standing just before her –close enough to touch –close enough to see into his dusty green eyes. The Prince frowns as he looks at her, his eyes straying from hers to her nose, to her lips, and back to her eyes.
“I...” he starts, slowly, “I need to apologise, Ericia.”
“Huh?” she asks, “Why? You’ve done no wrong.”
“I don’t think,” he says, “that we’ve been doing this right.”
“Doing...” she says, slowly, “what, exactly?”
“We’re engaged,” he explains, “but I don’t make enough of an effort.”
“Rowan,” Ericia says, scoffing in disbelief, “I cannot believe you, right now. Are you seriously doubting your own efforts? You’ve made a tremendous amount of it. I appreciate it,” she says, placing a hand on his cheek and the other over his heart, “more than you’ll ever know.”
Rowan’s head drops to stare at their feet –their toes would be touching if not for the polished and shiny shoes. They’re that close.
“I have to be as genuine as possible, no?” he asks, his eyes reaching hers again, looking sad and broken somehow.
“Rowan, what’s bothering you? Come on, talk to me. We’re meant to share things with each other,” says the Princess.
“Ericia,” Rowan says, swallowing. “Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you. You don’t know what it’s like,” he says, “to look at you... to listen to you... to observe you... to wonder what you’re thinking... to wish I could see more of you in your eyes rather than see the reflection of myself. I’d,” he pauses, licking and biting his bottom lip as he stares at the princess, “I’d do anything, Ericia, to make this last.”
Ericia stares up at the Prince, her heart going soft. “Rowan,” she whispers, studying the his expression, “do you...” she pauses to swallow the lump of nervousness in her throat. Something inside of Ericia shatters just then. She has to find the courage to continue. “Do you love me?”
