The Trial

A warm breeze brushed over the raised hairs of her bent neck; angry winds of a short-lived storm bent the trunks of a tiny forest. The breath was warm and wet as it swept over the hills of her prickled flesh.

She remained where she was, her hand still submerged in the stream, caught as she stole a sip from the sweet waters of the stream. A single, glistening bead ran from her ruby lips to her chin. It hung there, then fell and was swallowed in the waters below.

Across from her, a majestic stag stood, staring at her. Lean muscles rippled beneath the chestnut hair of its skin. The head stood tall with more points than she could count standing out at every angle. Green ivy hung and multicolored autumnal leaves were impaled among them. Something caught the light, throwing glints of gold and silver from the ivory crown. But what held her transfixed were its eyes.

They stared for an eternity; her brown eyes fixed on his unblinking blue.

Blue?

She blinked, the first movement she had made in what felt like hours. They were definitely blue like the largest sapphires she had ever seen.

With a series of slow, sweeping movements, she unfolded herself until she stood on the bank across from the creature. The stag didn’t flinch or run, but the unblinking jewels followed her. At her height, she barely reached his shoulders. She searched upward and found that there was no fear in that stare, or the nervousness of a wild animal with a human. It was serene and confident.

This was the king of this forest.

The turn of the stag on its hooves was smooth and gentle, yet she was startled by the suddenness, her heart racing. But it didn’t take off running through the woods like she thought it would. She needn’t have been concerned. He simply turned to walk away.

Then he paused, head and eyes turned toward her, and waited with expectation.

Bare feet slid smoothly into the cold of the stream. Goosebumps raised again, but she braced against the chills. The frigid running waters caught the torn remnants of her white dress and tried to carry the train away with it. A few steps and she was on the other side, standing with dripping wet calves.

The king of the forest looked her up and down with a discerning eye. Acute awareness of her state washed over her and she felt as though she were on trial.

To be fair, she thought, I am a mess.

The white dress was now a kaleidoscope of browns and greens from the mud and grass stains. Sweat colored the cloth immediately beneath her arms and breasts. Tears in the silk revealed raw, pink skin beneath.

She realized that this was not the kind of clothing that you walk through the woods in. Sleeves were torn and cast aside; extra layers discarded. The last to go was the train and lower parts of the hem.

When she was done, she felt four stone lighter. Her legs and arms were free to move and the drag of heavy silk across the dirt and fallen leaves was noticeably absent.

He seemed satisfied with the preparations and proceeded at a leisurely pace deeper into the forest. The tangled mess of thornbushes parted for him and she fell into line behind. She wondered if there was some sort of magic at work here to provide a path, where she had found none, or if this was just a case of a monarch intimately familiar with his kingdom.

As they walked, she looked at the chestnut brown flanks of the creature in front of her and wondered what that shining coat felt like. Temptation welled up, and she tried to resist.

It wouldn’t be proper, she thought.

She didn’t know why she knew this by instinct, but she did. More than any of the lessons on history or etiquette that her tutors had taught her at court, was this, an irrefutable law of the forest. Still, her impulsiveness asserted itself and she felt an overwhelming urge to touch it; to assure herself that this was real. The hunger, dampened as it was by the water sloshing in her empty belly was real enough, but was this thing here or was it simply her imagination?

As if he knew her thoughts, the stag halted and turned its head and horns over one shoulder to glare with an angry snort. She looked and was shocked to find her uninvited hand outstretched toward him. Slowly, cautiously, she withdrew it and he gave a calmer, quieter snuffle before continuing down the path.

She stayed an arm’s length away. She remembered her imaginary friends growing up. They had spoken to her with words, as friends and equals do. An imaginary animal would speak like that.

He was real.

They kept walking. Light faded from the bright, muted green of day under the canopy of leaves to the gray and brown of dusk and still they continued. With the light went any warmth, replaced with the chill of the autumnal night air. She did not look forward to yet another cold, restless night in this forest.

When it was almost too dark to see him in front of her, the stag veered away into a set of thick brush. He ducked his head and she heard the clink of branches on the antler tines as he pushed deeper. She followed, hand outstretched to detect any unseen branches, until she bumped into him in the dark.

This time he didn’t snort, only sighed. She felt the space change and she imagined him curling into a knot on the ground, legs tucked under himself like she had seen deer do in her father’s hunting grounds.

She shivered and held her hands against the bare skin of her arms, trying in vain to hold her own precious warmth in. It didn’t work. There was another sigh from the stag, this time gentle.

A cold nose bumped against the bare skin of her arm and she recoiled in the darkness, but he was insistent. Antlers tenderly ushered her against him. She stood rigid, unsure and afraid that she was going to violate the unwritten law. The warmth of his body and the coarseness of fur brushed against her. His chest moved with each breath. The muted rhythm of his strong heartbeat was like a song. He did not snort or rebuke her and she allowed herself to succumb to weariness, consciousness and trepidation melting into his invitation.

She dreamt of her childhood in the gardens of the castle. She was playing with a young boy. She knew that she knew him, but she only had the vaguest recollection. Older than her, they played chase, tag and hide-and-seek in the mazes and orchards from first light until sunset. Her mother would call and servants would usher her away to the evening meal. He remained on the garden path, waving to her.

Then she was older, a girl, a young princess being taught the fine arts of diplomacy and grace. Her mother chastised her for not paying attention, but she couldn’t help looking out the window, toward the gardens to catch a glimpse of him. He would always be there, as her lessons ended. She would run out to him and they played in their own world of make believe; monsters and maidens; gallant princes and daring knights, until the sun set and she was snatched back into her parents’ world.

She was older still, a creature of court where princes were no longer imaginary, but increasingly present, and persistent. She tolerated them, using lessons her mother had taught her to maintain a façade of decorum while they attempted to woo her, win her, or persuade her father of alliances a marriage could provide. She had a special seat in her receiving chambers that faced the room and, more importantly, the window onto the gardens. When suitors called on her, she inevitably found her eyes wandering out that window.

Duties done, she would exuberantly run out to the garden, and he would be there. She called his name, what was it, and he would step out from between two tall, impeccably trimmed junipers. She lost herself in his devoted eyes.

Nature had given him a princely frame, despite his pauper’s upbringing. He stood a head taller than her, unruly blonde hair crowning his sharp, handsome features. He always wore hunting leathers, the dark brown of the clothing a stark contrast to his light skinned features. His eyes haunted her.

Green, weren’t they; or maybe blue? What was his name?

She tried with all she had in her to bring his name to her mind. She knew it was in there, tucked away behind some trivial bit of court gossip or a treatise on proper placement of dining cutlery. She just couldn’t find it. Guilt washed over her and she hesitated in her shame. She should be able to remember.

Forgiveness radiated from those kind eyes and in that loving smile. He beckoned her to him with open arms. Overwhelmed with relief, she ran to him willingly. In those arms, she could find rest and happiness, respite from the weary duties to her blood.

She settled into his warm embrace, listening to his heart beat with love for her. His chest was comforting and rough against her cheek. It was real.

She awoke early to birdsong and tendrils of sunlight streaming down through the canopy above in golden pillars. Early risen insects and dust motes floated through the beams to fill the otherwise empty forest. Her companion waited until she was awake before he stood up and, with some difficulty, she followed his example. Her stomach growled and she placed a hand to quiet its loud complaints.

Without any sign that he had heard, the stag walked out of the thick brush to another hedge where bright red and dark purple fruit dotted the green of the vines. Her eyes lit up and her stomach growled. Raspberries and blackberries, her favorite! She barely paused to gather more than one berry at a time before she popped them into her mouth. They burst in her mouth with a rush of sweet and tangy deliciousness. At first, the fruit felt furry against her dry tongue, but the juice was soon running down her chin and onto the already stained remnants of her dress. The stag stared at her with condescension.

What? she thought with berries still in her mouth and juice running down her chin. He just rolled his deep blue eyes at her, then turned and walked away.

Can animals actually roll their eyes?

She walked behind him, a handful of berries still in her hands, munching as she walked. Her stomach, instead of being happy to have something in it, complained as she went, insisting that it needed more than fruit to satiate the burning hunger. In the hours that followed, the king made occasional stops to forage for nuts, berries and mushrooms. The occasional stream quenched their thirst. Her stomach was never full, but she was buoyed by the sustenance.

It was the middle of the next morning when the howls began. The first froze her limbs in place and the blood in her veins. The stag snorted at her and picked up his pace. She jogged to keep up with him.

Another howl behind them spurred him to move even faster. Emaciated shadows of fur and fangs materialized from the brush, streaking toward them. Terror gripped her and added to her haste. She ran, barely able to keep pace with the stag in front of her.

The forest opened and she stumbled into a clearing. Fresh green grass was trampled by hooves and her escort stood tall and panting in the crisp morning air. Great clouds of steam rose from his back and puffs poured from his nostrils. She wondered why he stopped, then saw them.

Saliva dripped from three sets of bared fangs and the gray wolves lowered their heads, haunted yellow eyes fixed on them. Two stalked in wide circles to the sides, large white paws with razor sharp claws tore the grass. She glanced behind and saw the fourth close their trap. The smell of fresh-turned soil, sweat and fear hung in the air.

The king looked calmly from one to the other. There was fire in his blue eyes. She adopted a defensive crouch and primal growl slipped between clenched teeth. A snort got her attention. He bowed his head and she knew what to do. She jumped, holding onto one antler while he swung her up onto his broad shoulders. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

Their assailants stopped when they reached the points of the compass, growling and barking. The king snorted and stomped his hoof.

Then chaos erupted. She held on for dear life as the king surged forward under her toward the gray streaks charging at them. She gripped so hard that she thought for sure that she would choke him.

He reached the leader of the pack first and dipped his antlers down. She cringed, eyes closed, and waited for the blood that never came. She heard a sharp yip and looked just in time to see a tangle of fur and paws pass high overhead with a toss of the king’s head.

The stag didn’t slow. He charged forward from the clearing back into the forest at full speed. Her riding lessons returned and she gripped his sides with her thighs. As she rode, she began to feel like they were one. Branches and trunks rushed by in a blur, many colored fallen leaves kicked up in their wake. The wind flew through her hair sweeping away the infuriated barks and howls until they faded into silence behind them.

Eventually they slowed and finally stopped.

She slid down from his back and landed heavily on her feet, a hand on his flank to steady herself. He grunted under her touch and she felt her hand come away warm and wet. Crimson blood stained her palm and she saw the wounds left by their pursuers. Her heart broke and she walked around to stand in front of him. She held her hand up to him and he looked at the blood on her hand. He snorted and valiantly looked away. She threw her arms around his neck in a loving embrace. Her face burrowed into his neck and she breathed him in. His wild scent of sweat, blood and adrenaline filled her nostrils and her heart.

He endured her lingering embrace, then gave a quiet snort. She released him, but kept a hand on his neck. He nodded his head and pointed his muzzle forward down the path. She took a cautious step where he indicated.

The edge of the forest appeared. A well-manicured lawn spread out for acres before her. Beyond, a trimmed garden sprouted among stone lanes and walkways, backed by a stone castle that rose hundreds of feet in the air.

An older woman in a formal dress stood on the lawn. Weariness was in her face and she rested her head against the man who held her. She was waiting, crying, praying.

Mother?

The man was older too, gray in his beard and white at his temples. A shining circlet of gold sat on his brow. Fatigue and despair reflected in his brown eyes. He held his wife, more to support himself than to comfort her, a wilted bouquet of flowers forgotten in his hand.

Father!

A young man stood tall beside them, longbow in one hand and quiver slung over the other broad shoulder. He was clad in dark brown leathers, with sharp features beneath tangled, blonde hair. Sad, blue eyes stared down at a golden ring in his other hand. Tears ran down his cheeks, unashamed.

Blue! Killian’s eyes were blue!

There was a sound beside her. The king of the forest step majestically out of the edge of the woods.

There was a warning shout. Killian made the wedding band disappear, and nocked an arrow. Her mother clung tighter to her husband and tears turned to fear as the stag approached, only to stop a few paces away.

The queen’s eyes narrowed and she held up one hand, placating.

Killian stopped, arrow still aimed at the beast. The queen released her husband and approached the stag. Royalty recognized royalty and the stag gave a respectful nod. She returned a polite curtsy.

With the reverence of a ritual, the stag turned his head to reveal a small, bloody handprint on its neck. The queen gasped and recoiled to where her husband caught her. His face twisted into the most excruciating expression of anguish. They both retreated into each other’s arms.

The bow and arrow relaxed as Killian stared at the handprint. The ring reappeared in his hand and he considered it. The princess watched her betrothed slowly walk to the stag. A tentative hand reached out, then he turned on a swift heel and stormed back to the garden.

Her hand instinctively reached after him him, then she stopped.

The queen collapsed to the ground, sobs of grief and anguish racking her body and the king knelt with her, eyes fixed, not on the majestic animal before him, but on the tiny ring of gold now encircling one antler where it joined many others.

“She…she didn’t make it. Why didn’t she make it?”

The words were whispered over and over in hideous bewilderment until they faded from hearing and yet continued.

The stag fixed her with his deep blue eyes for a moment, then turned from the grieving parents, back to his own domain. Her eyes followed until he stopped just inside the wood line, where he waited. The silent princess looked at her parents.

Then she followed her king.