Frequently Asked Questions

Now

The bitter air nipped at Drea‘s nose, the sweltering heat inside her garments a stark contrast to the world around her. She shifted the pack draped over her shoulder and took another step forward.

This is not how I die, she thought, putting every trace of emotion she had left in the sentiment as she trudged forward into the deep snow. Her resolve was short lived, however, and within another few breaths her legs gave out beneath her.

Now the cold seeped into her thick padding, her sweat-slick skin freezing as she watched the stars above. Her father would be so disappointed. He’d wait a few cycles of the moon, sure, but in the end she would be labeled lost to the wilderness, never to return to the castle she called home.

How soon until her mother would be forced to bear him the next heir? Did she even carry the blood at her age? Drea wasn’t sure. It wasn’t something they spoke about openly, a matter for witch doctors and husbands alone.

At least she would never have to experience childbirth. Her mother always said she was too cold to be a mother. Perhaps the woman was right after all. Perhaps the Gods had seen her true soul and deemed her unworthy, leaving her to die upon the side of this mountain alone.

Closing her eyes, she tried to picture a warm fire — stoked by her servants to just the right temperature. Her massive bed would have been warmed as well, the stones burning the girls’ hands to ensure they remained at the correct temperature for Drea’s comfort.

She missed her castle.

The cry of a lone wolf howled into the night air, and she let out a small laugh. Perhaps they would feast upon her before her last breath had been drawn. It was the closest she would ever get to an honorable death, and at this point she’d happily accept it.

It was too bad that the Gods had other plans.

Age 17

The head guard pushed his way into the throne room, a bitter expression plastered on his face. Drea smiled from her position next to her father, yet no warmth came from her. Like her father, Drea radiated an air of cold stone, an aura of pure royalty emanating from her sun-kissed skin.

She wore a blue dress today, the color clashing sharply with her green eyes. Everyone in the kingdom knew not to mention the vibrant color that set her apart from her father and the cold steel reflected in his own pupils. It was a sore subject for the woman who would soon take her father’s throne.

“You can’t honestly think this is a wise decision, My Lord,” the soldier said, stopping sharply upon the invisible threshold that separated royalty from the peasants below.

Drea’s father raised a single eyebrow, the simple movement rippling through the audience chamber as people shifted uncomfortably. “I can’t?”

“W-what I mean, Sir, is that she will surely be killed in the journey. Who will take your place on the throne? You have no other heirs.”

Whispers broke out around the room, but a single hand raising from the arm of the throne put an instant stop to the chatter. “Your name?” The king asked.

Drea watched as the guard before her trembled, the smile on her face finally reaching her eyes. “S-Sampson, Sir. My name is Sampson.”

“Sampson,” the king nodded his approval as his arm lowered back to the worn gold, his fingers brushing the metal like a long lost lover. “A good, strong name. I think you will lead the expedition.”

Jaw tightening, Drea kept her mouth shut, the corners dipping into a frustrated frown. Her intent was to lead the expedition herself — the objective to capture the fugitive clearly belonged to her, and putting anyone else in charge would only delay the mission further. Yet, everyone in the kingdom knew that opening your mouth in defiance to the King was signing away your right to live. The rules applied to everyone — even his own daughter.

Everyone knelt as her father suddenly stood, pressing their forehead into the smooth marble that lay under their feet. Drea dared a peek, and saw a beetle skittering across the white floor, only to run directly into the sole of her father’s sandals. Drea wondered if the bug were braver than every man kneeling in the throne room, but as her father’s foot shifted, lifting just enough to allow passage to the small insect, she knew that bravery and stupidity were one in the same.

And as the bug died, the crunch of its shell echoing through the large chamber, she wondered just how ‘brave’ Sampson was.

Now

Drea was cold. The kind of cold that bleeds into your bones, seeping your life away over hours. The minuscule change in body temperature giving false hope as the world around you seemed to warm. The truth — that your body had given in and only residual heat remained — too much to bear as you succumbed to death.

At least, those were the thoughts plaguing her as the frost-sealed lashes of her eyes finally broke free.

In fact, Drea was not dead — nor was she dying.

She was thawing.

“I wondered how long it’d take for your eyes to open.” The rough voice was distant, too distant for someone so close, and Drea wondered if her ears were just as frozen as her eyes. She tried to raise a hand — to feel the flesh protruding from the sides of her head and verify that she hadn’t lost them in the snow.

“I’d not do that. They fall off that way.”

A shiver ran through her as she remembered the way ice had shattered beneath her soldiers. Would flesh do the same? She supposed it would, under the right temperatures. Lowering her hand, she tried to open her mouth instead. She needed the name of this stranger who had saved her life. However, the skin of her lips stretched and pulled, keeping her silent.

“It’ll get better with time. You’ll see.” The sound of a chair scraping on a wooden floor met her thawing ears, and she noted that it was clearer than it had been before — more pure and easier to hear. And as the man walked out of the room, she heard him mumble under his breath, “Don’t know why you here anyhow. Shoulda let you die. Shoulda saved myself.”

As Drea wondered what the man could possibly mean, her body decided it wanted to live, her lips finally pulling apart as her teeth rattled hard enough to wake the dead.

Age 15

“DREA!!!” Her father’s booming voice echoed through the castle halls, the mortar holding the stones in place crumbling to pieces and landing around her crouched form. Drea was unsure what it was she had done this time, her father’s rush to anger overshadowing the lesson she was to learn from her punishment.

She wondered if the fugitives hanging from the walls had felt the same.

“COME OUT HERE THIS INSTANT!” Her father’s voice had faded slightly, and she sighed in relief. Perhaps she could survive this tirade unharmed.

But the relief was short-lived as a slender hand wrapped around her wrist and yanked her out from under the table. “Alessandra,” her mother hissed, talons digging into her wrist, “what have you done this time?”

Drea ripped her arm from her mother’s grasp and glared at the woman. “You always think this is my fault. I have done nothing, Mother.”

“I don’t always think it’s your fault, Sandra… I just— your father has such a temper and I’m just trying to protect you.”

Rolling her eyes, Drea turned and crouched, preparing to squeeze herself back into her hiding place, “You say you want to protect me, yet you continue to use a name that is forbidden within these halls. If he heard you calling me Sandra—“

“What?”

Drea’s head whipped around, the sudden pit in her stomach threatening to drag her down. Her mother was on the floor, her forehead pressed so hard to the stone that she was sure to have an indentation when she rose. And there, in the doorway, stood her father.

His face was red-hot, streaked with sweat that ran in rivulets down his corded neck, yet his voice was calm as he spoke again, chilling Drea to the bone, “What would I do, Drea? If I were to hear your mother utter that childish nickname?”

“I— “ Drea began, looking between her mother and father. She knew that if she answered too lightly, her father would lash out in a rage and hurt them both. But if she told the truth…

“Out with it, Drea! If you ever hope to rule this kingdom you must learn how to have an iron fist! There’s no room for pity within these halls, even for your own kin.”

Her eyes met her father’s, and she swallowed back her fear, “Twenty lashes at the stake,” she said before returning her eyes to her mother’s trembling form, “with the pronged whip.”

She jumped as her father’s hands met in approval, the loud boom too much for the small space, but something within her stirred at his satisfaction — pride.

Now

The sound of the crackling fire warmed something in Drea as the man handed her another cup of tea. She took the cup, and let her gaze return to the fire as her fingers ran over the lumpy object. It had obviously been formed by an amateur, not even close to the quality they had at the castle.

The man stood by her side, his eyes boring into the side of her head. What does he want? Gold? Rolling her eyes, Drea turned to face him, the slouch of her shoulders shifting automatically to give her a sense of presence in the small room. She may be in a run down cottage in the wilderness of the mountains, but she was soon to be queen and this man was her subject — she wouldn’t let him look down on her.

“I will repay you with a moderate stipend for your assistance, but don’t get your hopes up. My father is not willing to part with gold. You’ll just have to make due with other necessities.” She took a look around the sparse room and mumbled under her breath, “Gods know you need it…”

An unsatisfied grunt came from the man, but he moved away, taking a seat at the dilapidated table made for one. Drea sat in a rocking chair that had lost its ability to rock, and was perched precariously on the edge afraid that it might collapse entirely under her weight.

They sat in silence for some time, listening to the cracks and pops as the fire consumed the logs. Drea had insisted that the man add more to feed the fire when she had first awoke, sparking an argument between the two. He claimed he only had enough wood to last him the winter, but Drea was used to a balmy atmosphere and refused to let herself be cold any longer. It was bad enough that she didn’t have her warming stones, the so-called ‘blanket’ that he provided too thin to hold heat to her body, but now he expected her to wear a heavy coat inside? She would do no such thing.

“You still haven’t offered your name.” Drea said, finally breaking the silence. She heard the chair behind her creak with his movement, and wondered if he had given her the ‘non-rocking’ chair to prevent her from destroying the more necessary one.

“You nev’r asked, Princess.”

Drea’s head turned slowly, her eyes narrowing at the man. She hadn’t been called princess in a long time — the title deemed ‘too childish’ by her father. “You should be careful with your words, Old Man.”

She couldn’t tell for sure, but she thought she saw a twitch in the corner of his mouth, under the mountain of hair that made up his unkempt mustache and beard. She couldn’t remember ever seeing so much hair on a man’s face, images of monkeys from the rarest tapestries in the castle coming to mind.

The man leaned back in his chair, resting one gnarled arm on the table. “I don’ think I need to tell ya my name. I think ya already know.”

Drea looked closer at the man, the shape of his eyes, the way his ears stood out from between the long strands of greasy hair. She imagined what he must look like underneath, and as the realization set in, she let out a small gasp of surprise.

It was him.

Her father’s fugitive.

Age 13

“I want him caught!” the king bellowed, slamming his fist on the table. The council members jumped in surprise, but no one admonished him for his behavior. Drea knew that if she were to speak to the council this way they would laugh and tell her to go play with her dolls.

It infuriated her.

She wasn’t a little kid anymore, her father made that very clear. She had always known she would one day take the throne, but things had escalated after her 10th birthday. It’s time to grow up Drea, her father had said, I want no more childish behavior from you. She had accepted the declaration willingly, but her mother wasn’t as cooperative.

Drea knew that her mother would be punished for speaking her mind, yet the woman had spewed her disagreement anyway. She looked at the frail woman now, sitting in the corner chair — the wife’s place, her father called it. She wondered when her mother had started to decline in health. Was it around her 5th or perhaps 6th birthday?

“Sir, we’ve done everything we can to find the man. He is but a simple criminal. Why do we continue to send men to their deaths for someone so… beneath you?” This came from Johan, the newest member of the council after the king had ordered the last to his death for insubordination. Johan wouldn’t last long.

“Because he makes a mockery of me and my kingdom!” the king bellowed, his face reddening in anger. “I will not have my people underestimate my power and the power in the orders I give. The Gods put me on this throne and no mere mortal will escape my wrath.”

A sound came from the corner and Drea turned back to her mother, her hand covering her mouth almost as if she were laughing. Drea leaned further back in her chair to get a better look at the woman, but the legs slipped on the stone floor and she found herself staring up into her father’s angry face. “I’ve warned you too many times Drea! If you cannot sit still and listen… Maybe a few weeks locked in your room will help you grow up. Guards!”

As their hands wrapped around Drea’s arms, lifting her into the air, she watched as her father turned his back, addressing the council once again. Turning to her mother, she prepared to stop the woman from coming to her aid, but her mother remained in her chair, her eyes averted from Drea’s gaze.

A few minutes later Drea slumped to the floor in her room, the door slamming closed behind her. Her blood ran cold in her veins, despite the heat from the fire burning brightly in the hearth. Her mind raced, looking for a memory — any memory — where her mother had remained quiet as she was punished.

Her heart sank as she realized there were none.

And Drea hung her head and cried.

Now

The trip down the mountain was mostly uneventful, the older man following dutifully behind, the sound of his shackles clinking in the quiet air reminding Drea that he was there. It had been too easy to clasp the cold metal around his frail wrists, the specifications given to the smith for a much larger man. Drea herself expected to find a hulking beast, the stories of the mysterious fugitive much larger than life.

Instead, she was faced with an elderly man who had to rest more often than not, his muscles withered to practically nothing in his confinement on the mountain. Still, he pressed on without much complaint, and for that, she was appreciative.

When they finally left behind the white covered ground, she had sighed in relief. She could go the rest of her life without seeing snow again and be happier for it.

“Don’t much like the snow, do ya?” the man asked as he stepped over a fallen log in the path — if you could even call it a path.

He had been trying to start up conversation for days, but Drea wasn’t in the mood. She was not in the habit of speaking to commoners, revealing information about herself to the low-born. They were prone to gossip, and she had no intention of giving anyone ammunition against her future role as queen.

But, she found herself responding now, the change of scenery giving her a boost of spirit she hadn’t expected. “I think having a negative opinion on something after it tries to kill you is completely valid.”

A thud came from behind and she turned to find the man sitting on the ground, his legs splayed out in front of him, his left boot covered in a thick mound of mud. She followed the gouge in the earth, the moss that had once covered the forest floor replaced by a clear line leading from further up the hill to where the man now sat.

“Ya know, it’d sure be easy to walk if I had ma balance back,” the man said, rolling to his side to push himself back to his feet. His back was smeared with the dark mud of the forest, pieces of moss stuck here and there.

Drea trudged through the close trees, grabbing the man’s arm and pulling him to his feet. “You are a criminal. I will not give you the means to run while my back is turned.” She took a few steps back as soon as he was stable, the stench from the mud overpowering her senses.

The man smiled at her, his crooked grin reminding her of the devious acrobat who came to the castle on Summer’s Eve to perform. She hadn’t seen the boy in years, and assumed he had died in his travels, but now she wondered if the man before her… No, that was nonsense. “Yes, Princess. You maintain control ov’r your prisoners. Can’t let me slip away like I did from your da all those year ago.”

Drea’s eyes narrowed at the man as she parsed his garbled speech. She opened her mouth to ask just how he had managed to escape the prison, but closed it again. A queen never stooped low enough to request information from others.

A queen knew all that had transpired within her kingdom.

Age 10

Drea ran through the halls, her slippered feet sliding under her as she rounded a corner, her breath coming in pants. It was time. Today was the day. She would see him again.

The sound of music hit her ears before the voices, the sound of large string instruments — cellos, he called them — reverberating through the castle walls. They had lay under the stars for hours the year before, him tracing patterns in the sky with a finger while she gasped and giggled, the sound of the music lifting them high amongst the clouds. At least, that’s what it had felt like to her.

But the days had passed too quickly, and the memory of his hand sliding out of hers after their tearful goodbye stabbed into her heart every night as she fell asleep.

That was all behind her now as she rushed into the ballroom and took in the sight before her. Streamers hung from every surface, transforming the usually drab room into a multicolored vision that could only be captured by a master artisan — of which there would be many.

She ran through the colorful dividers that separated the main stage from the ‘wings’ where performers would set up their acts before running into the spotlight for all to see.

“Hey!” a voice called as she ran by, her quick movement causing a streamer to wrap tightly around her ankle. Pain radiated through her as she pulled herself into a sitting position, the world spinning.

“Princess!” The room went silent at the shout, whispers breaking out amongst the troubadours as they looked about for castle guards. But Drea didn’t flinch at the title, not like her father did.

A man crouched down in front of her, his head turned inquisitively as he balanced perfectly on the balls of his feet, his toes gripping the ground like the suckered feet of frogs. “You okay?” he asked, hesitantly reaching forward.

Drea nodded, pulling her hand away from the painful knot that was her nose. She knew if her father got wind of it, there would be punishment for those involved, and she didn’t want any of the acrobats to get in trouble — they didn’t trip her on purpose, after all.

The man, however, didn’t believe her assurances, and turned to speak to another, “Grab Maria. Tell her it’s—“ he looked back at me quickly then away again, his cheeks turning red, “—it’s the boy’s best friend.” He finished.

The words sank in and Drea suddenly remembered why she was there, “Oakley! Where is he? Is he here?” She whipped her head around, looking for her dear friend, but everyone around her just glanced at each other before turning their backs and resuming their duties.

“Sandra…” the man said, reaching out and cupping her cheek in his large calloused hand.

“You— you shouldn’t use that name. Not here. Not anymore.” Drea said, staring into the kind man’s eyes. She didn’t want him to get in trouble. She didn’t want anyone to get in trouble.

His eyes filled with tears, but he held her gaze. “Drea, Oak isn’t here.”

“Where is he? Why didn’t he come?” Oak and his family had made the trip to her kingdom for as long as she could remember. The boy was the only friend she had ever made, most of the peasants too afraid to socialize with the princess — No, the queen-to-be she corrected.

“Oak and his family…” the man trailed off, but he took a deep breath and continued, “They won’t be back. Ever.”

Now

The next day Drea gave in and went to remove the old man’s shackles. They had been trudging through thick forest, and even though she cut down most of the branches and brambles that blocked their path, the man was unable to keep moving for more than twenty minutes at a time. He would either slip on the moss or leaves or become too exhausted to continue — requiring time to rest for both cases.

Drea was frustrated.

She knew she had to get the man back to the castle, but how was she to manage without an army by her side? She cursed Sampson again, remembering how he had been adamant they scale the mountain at dusk, despite the warnings from the villages at the base that avalanches were common and unpredictable. Had she been left in charge as she was promised, her army would be alive and she could have them pick up the frail prisoner and carry him through these cursed woods.

Instead, she found herself pulling the key from her belt and walking up to the man, the smile on his face hiding secret joy behind his thick beard. “Don’t give me that look,” she said, reaching out for his hands. “I need you to keep up, and this will at least prevent you from falling over your own two feet.” She put as much malice in the words as she could, but in reality she knew the cuts and bruises that littered his body were starting to take a toll.

She had watched the night before as he undressed and waded into a nearby hot spring. He had waited for quite some time after dark, and she suspected that privacy was his goal. She had thought about enjoying the spring herself, but a queen naked in the woods? No. That was definitely not proper — especially in front of an unwed man, no matter how old he was.

Yet, despite his age and the expectation of horror hidden beneath the rags, she found herself staring as he peeled the old shirt from his body, the moonlight silhouetting his frame.

What she saw surprised her.

His skin was firm, tightly stretched over strong muscles. Her mind raced for an explanation and her father came to mind. He was considered one of the strongest men in the kingdom, his large muscular arms a source of pride. Yet, his belly stuck out more every year, the gossip from the seamstresses confirming what Drea had noticed with her own eyes.

The guards mirrored the appearance, their work with sword and bow enlarging their arms and shoulders. Could it be that this is what a ‘normal’ man looked like? What she had taken to be frailness was just musculature of a type she hadn’t yet known? And if that was the case, then the prisoner before her was not as fragile as he seemed. Yet, he hadn’t corrected her assumptions once, despite the blunt negativity with which she referred to him.

She rolled over on the hard earth, turning away as the man began to remove his underthings, her curiosity tempered by the realization that she had been wrong about something so fundamental.

For Drea now knew that if this man wanted her dead, there would be no stopping him. Yet, she closed her eyes with ease, her mind replaying his surrender again and again. She knew without a doubt that this man would never lay a hand on her.

If only she knew why.

Age 7

The sound of the bells quickened Sandra’s step, her arms tightening around the single possession she couldn’t leave behind. The doll was ragged, its straw hair sparse and wilted, but she had had it since birth, according to her mother, and couldn’t imagine going anywhere without it.

Its name had changed many times throughout the years, taking on characteristics of people Sandra had found to be noble or good natured, but now it went without.

“Do we hide, or do we run?” Sandra asked the doll, not expecting an answer — not anymore. She was grown now, and knew that the fairy tales her mother told were nothing but whispered dreams of those trapped in despair.

She had outgrown them.

Spotting guards ahead, their backs turned toward the girl as they rushed deeper into the city, Sandra ducked into a side alleyway, the stench suddenly overwhelming her. She stopped, her hands going to her nose in an attempt to stop the vile air from entering her lungs, but it was too late. Her throat burned in protest, her stomach heaving against her wishes.

She stared at the remnants of her breakfast, lamenting the fact that her last good meal had been wasted. Sandra wasn’t stupid. She knew that life outside of the castle would not be glamorous, and food would be scarce, but it had to be better than what she had been through.

Doubt washed over her again, and she instinctively turned to face her home, the sound of the peeling bells still emanating from the structure. The bells signaled her disappearance, and the guards would be on high alert looking for a small noble girl who would someday be their queen.

Sandra turned back to the piles of trash that surrounded her.

She picked up a pile of rags soaked in an unknown substance and swallowed. As the rags went over her head and the doll fell from her grasp, a single thought reverberated through her mind.

I will never be queen.

Now

The days drug on, the forest ripping at their clothes, rain plastering hair to their heads. Drea grumbled under her breath as they walked, her mood darkening more every day. She hadn’t spent much time in the wilderness and couldn’t wait to get back to the safety of the castle.

“Look like the rain stopped.” The fugitive said, stepping over a large puddle. Drea had marched straight through the water, her boots sinking in the thick mud beneath.

She paused, resting her hand on a nearby gnarled tree, and looked up to the sky. There, between the branches and foliage, was a sliver of sun. “Won’t do us much good,” she sighed. “The rays can’t penetrate these trees. We’ll still be soaked by sundown.”

The man looked at the trees pressed in around them, “Gonna get cold.”

Drea clenched her teeth and pulled her shirt over her head, twisting the fabric between her hands to empty it of water. “I’m starting to think your crime was ‘stating the obvious,’” she said, her voice low.

But the man laughed, his hand moving to his chest as his eyes closed with the emotion.

She watched him curiously, but her curiosity was pointed inward. When was the last time she had laughed with so much joy? And at a simple remark, no less. A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach forced her eyes from the man, and she turned as she donned the somewhat dryer tunic.

“C’mon Princess, if you don’ laugh you’ll start to look like your father.”

Her hand stopped as it reached to snap a branch hanging across their path, her heart beating hard in her ears. She forced air into her lungs as her mind raced. Drea had been compared to her father many times in her life, the compliment coming more and more frequently as she moved closer to taking over the throne, so why did the same words from this man’s mouth bother her so?

“I have a name, you know,” she said, hand still held before her as if made of stone.

Feet scuffled behind her, but she didn’t dare turn to face him. “Ah, yes, you do, but you haven’ shared that with me, have ya, Princess?” A small laugh met her ears and she wanted to strangle the man.

Drea turned, finally lowering her arm, “I’m not just a prin— a Queen to be,” she corrected, her face heating as she realized she had almost gone against her father’s wishes. “My name is Drea.” She finished.

The man stood tall, looking directly into her eyes, and for the first time she felt small in his presence, like a child looking up into the eyes of a trusted mentor.

“It’s nice to meet you, Drea. My name is Korbin.”

Age 5

“Hang him! Hang him! Hang him!” The chant was loud, the ground itself pulsing with the words, like a beating heart turned sour. Sandra covered her ears, but nothing would stop the sound from seeping between her fingers.

She watched as the back of her father’s hand landed on her mother’s cheek, the blow knocking her to the floor before her.

“Control your child!” Her father bellowed, the words sinking into Sandra’s mind. He hurts her because of me…

Sandra pulled her hands from her ears and clasped them in front of her, laying them on the lace of her gown. She dug her nails into her skin, forcing them to stay put as the sounds of the crowd grew louder still.

“Good girl,” her father said, placing a large hand on her head. She knew that his fingers would ruin her curls, that her handmaiden would fuss at her appearance, but she didn’t reject the sign of approval, only glancing at her mother who was now rising from the stone floor.

She wished she could go back to nursery, to a time where her father ignored her existence and her mother made excuses. Her days had been spent sitting in the window seat, gazing out across the city that gleamed with the reflection of the sun. Stories of noble knights and beautiful princesses replaying in her mind as she wished only to venture forth from her castle imprisonment and walk among the people below.

But now… now she would gladly be locked in the highest tower, never to see the sun again.

Cheers erupted as the large castle doors were thrown wide, the sudden brightness blinding Sandra, the cacophony of people outside drowning out her own thoughts. Her father walked through the doors to the balcony beyond, waving both arms in the air to greet his people.

Sandra watched dutifully, waiting for her queue, and when her father turned, his brown eyes glinting in the sun, she stepped forward. Hesitation would not be allowed. Meekness would not be allowed. She would be queen some day, and she had to learn to act the part.

At least, that’s what her father said.

As she finally reached his side, she looked through the gaps in the railing, trying to see the man she knew would be in the middle of the courtyard. This was her first hanging, and she wasn’t sure what to expect. Her mother had warned her it would be difficult, her father had laughed and shooed the woman away.

Sandra didn’t understand why the man was being hanged, but she did know what it meant. He wouldn’t live anymore. He would be dead. She wondered again what happened after people died. Where did they go? Did they just float away with the wind? No one had been able to answer her — not really. They just told her the person was gone. No more.

Sandra couldn’t understand that.

Her father raised his hands again, and the crowd fell silent. He gestured toward Sandra as if the crowd could see her clearly, yet she was not yet level with the banister before her, and the marble blocked most of the view, “I want you all, my people, to meet my daughter. It’s time I let the world see their future queen.” He turned toward Sandra, his voice carrying through the city with stark clarity. “My dearest Drea, would you do the honors?”

Sandra swallowed, she had been warned of this part, but hadn’t been aware of how dry her mouth would get. As she looked through the gap before her, and met the green eyes of the man standing on the platform below, she opened her mouth and did her duty. “Let him be hanged.”

The words hung in the air, a whisper on the wind, and then the crowd cheered.

Now

Korbin’s green eyes watched her closely as she worked, setting up camp for the evening. This was it. Tomorrow she would finally walk back into the city, the famous fugitive that had escaped all those years before in tow.

Her father would cheer at her arrival, and she would stand tall as she was praised by the people of her city.

Yet, the image that formed in her mind didn’t bring the comfort that she expected. A sense of dread had settled into her stomach, and she found herself turning away the food that Korbin offered, instead taking a seat upon her makeshift cot.

She had become used to the feel of the hard ground beneath her as she slept, her nose slightly frostbitten by the night air as she stared into the stars above. The trees had become a comforting presence, the forest hugging her close to keep her safe.

Drea wondered if she would ever return to these woods again.

“Why so sour, Princess?” Korbin asked, taking another bite of the dried meat they had packed weeks before.

It would likely be his last meal.

“Can I ask you a question?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, her rule quickly discarded in the final moments of the man sitting across from her, yet she didn’t feel ashamed.

Korbin lowered his food and straightened, his posture suddenly wary.

She laughed as she realized that nothing she had done so far had worried this man, despite the fact she was escorting him to his death — and now here he was, afraid of a simple question.

A smile cracked across his face, his eyes twinkling in the light of the fire as he ripped off another piece of meat. “Al’righ,” he said, “I s’pose I can part with a secret or two.”

Drea’s laughter faded away, and she looked down at the ground in front of her. Taking a finger, she started to swirl patterns in the dirt, something she had wished she could do as a young girl locked away in the nursery. “Why didn’t you run? Why did you come with me, knowing that this is your end?”

The air hung quiet, and she eventually raised her eyes to find the man looking curiously at her. He nodded slowly and leaned back on the pile of blankets beneath him. “A lon’ time ago, I was accused o’ a crime. I was set to be hung. Almos’ did it, they did. But a young woman felt pity fo’ me, and with her help I ‘scaped. I owed that woman my life, so I ran. I hid. I lived a full life — fo’ her. Now my time has come. My penance due. Don’ feel bad fo’ me, Drea. I’ve lived a happ’r life than most.”

He looked deep into her eyes at this, and she couldn’t help but compare her own life to that of this man. She had done nothing but her duty her entire life, yet how happy could she claim to be? Tears welled, and she diverted her gaze quickly, finding the smooth shapes she had etched into the ground marred by her suddenly shaking hand. “Did you do it?” She asked, her voice a whisper in the night.

But when she raised her head again the man was lying on his blankets, his back toward her, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep.

She lay down on her own makeshift bed, and stared at the stars far above. If she were to be sentenced to death, would her life feel fulfilled?

No, she didn’t think it would.

Now

Neither spoke the next morning as the shackles clicked into place around his thin wrists.

Neither slowed their steps as they marched toward the city gates.

Neither smiled as the citizens cheered.

Neither looked away as the noose fell around his head.

Neither shed a tear as another life left this world.

And as Drea walked down the castle halls to her room, she heard the whispers of the people around her.

“I can’t believe she actually did it— ”

“— he put up a big fight, I heard— “

“— killed the whole guard!”

She would never know what the man was convicted of all those years ago, but as she dismissed the handmaiden with the burned hands and turned to pull the rocks from the fire herself, she thanked the woman who had helped him escape, and her mother smiled back at her, “You’re welcome, Sandra.”