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EVERLEIGH SNEAKS OUT of bed. Her life might not be coming to an end but visiting her mother’s resting place is a habit; a comfortable and familiar thing to her. Besides, she wants to tell her about Halfreda and the teacher, and the prophecy. The wisdom in the teacher’s eyes. Archer. She also wants to apologise that she won’t be reunited with her as soon as she had thought she would be.
Taking her time walking through the woods, she hears a noise, the sound of footfalls, and turns around. She can’t see anyone. “Archer?” she calls out, wondering if he is tailing her. There is no answer. It must be one of the animals that call the woods their home.
She continues, her unease fading as she comes to the circling where her mother was laid to rest. She sits on the rock where she always sits, and she talks like she always talks. Freely and easily. Telling her mother her worries, thoughts, concerns. She talks of the play and tells her all about Archer. Her mother listens. Or does she? Who knows? Like Halfreda’s teacher said, people like explanations for things, they like to understand things. Death is easier to bear if you know that the spirits of the dead can hear you and watch over you from afar. She will never know the truth of it, but she always feels better after a visit.
She’s cold, and it’s darker than she realised. The woods are thick with it and she feels uneasy again. It’s just the cold and dark surrounding her; she knows the forest and she’s safe here. She makes her way towards the castle and then hears another noise. This one isn’t quiet or subtle; not an animal or bird. This is a person.
Brett crashes through the trees, coming to a stop in front of her. He bows low and smiles up at her. “Princess. Kingmaker.”
Everleigh nods at him and moves to pass him. He puts his arm up, barring her way. She feels a swoop of fear in her stomach. She doesn’t like this.
“Goodnight Brett.” She moves forward again.
He shakes his head and burps. His breath smells of ale, and Everleigh turns her head away, disgust mingling with fear, trying to keep a smile on her face. “Goodnight Brett.” She repeats herself, a tiny bubble of panic rising in her chest.
He is a handsome man, tall and broad shouldered, long dark hair, cut in the fashion – the same as most of the King’s men. His lips are full and look soft. He has all the separate features that should be pleasing but somehow, they are not. He looks mean and he doesn’t have friendly eyes. Everleigh thinks briefly of the teacher and how lovely his eyes are. Of Archer, how dreamy his eyes are. Brett is different.
“That’s all I get? Goodnight?” His eyelids are heavy, his expression hard to read.
She stares at him. What more could he expect? She is a princess of the Realm. A Kingmaker at that. As far as he knows she is being sacrificed in four days. What does she have to give?
“The way I see it, princess. Everleigh.”
She hates the way he says her name, the sneering leer on his face. “Brett. Let me pass.”
He shakes his head again and steps towards her. It’s cold and dark and for the first time ever she is frightened. This isn’t the abstract fear of her death day; this is a very real fear and a very real threat. Brett isn’t her favourite person, but she has never been alone with him like this. He smells of ale and looks rough, his handsome features marred by alcohol and ill will. She isn’t happy at all, but she’s not sure what to do.
“No. The way I see it; you’ll be dead in four days. Why not take my chance here and now? No one will ever know.”
He reaches towards her and stumbles, brushing his hand roughly across the front of her cloak.
“No, Brett. Let me pass.”
He comes closer, running a finger along her arm. “No one will ever know.” He repeats himself.
“I will know. I am a princess of the Realm. You must not touch me.” She tries to put both authority and self-assurance into her voice; neither of which she is feeling. She cannot bear for this to happen, not now that she will live. Not now that she has met Archer.
Brett laughs, a nasty, stomach churning sound. “Problem is, my princess, my Kingmaker. There’s nobody here to stop me. I like what I see. I always have. And I always thought it was so sad that you would never know love, never know the feel of a man’s touch or the taste of a man’s kiss. I can change that. Let me.”
Disgust builds up in the pit of her stomach. Brett is foul. She would never be interested in his touch or his kiss as long as she lived; his touch would be sweaty and smarmy and his taste would be of stale ale. Besides she has longer to live than he knows. She will not let this happen.
She shoves him and rushes past him, hoping that the reek of ale means he has drunk enough to make him unsteady. Fleeing through the woods, the branches rip at her skin and her cloak. He’s chasing her and she goes faster. He grabs at her arm but she pushes on even faster. He’s gaining on her, lumbering along he’s still quicker than she is.
He catches her and pushes her against a tree.
“Now, now Everleigh. That was unkind.”
She screams but he is too fast, he puts a hand over her mouth and uses his free hand to undo the ties of her cloak. It falls open, revealing her nightdress.
Trying to get free, she wriggles and pushes against him, but he keeps one hand firmly over her mouth, the other against the tree trunk. She’s pinned to the tree by his hips. He leans in closer, and Everleigh just knows he’s going to move his hand off her mouth and kiss her. She’s revolted by the sight and smell of him and annoyed at how helpless she is.
A whistling noise makes her look up, an arrow shoots past her head, and straight into Brett’s hand. He screams and lets go of her. She darts away from his reach, dropping to her knees. He can’t move; he’s pinned to the tree. Blood is dripping from his wound and he’s screaming in pain.
Archer comes running towards them. “Are you hurt? I am so sorry. I was almost too late.”
Everleigh stumbles up and into his arms, and he drops his bow, holding her tightly with both arms, scooping her off the floor and squeezing her. He had almost failed in his duty on one of his first days in her service. “Can you forgive me?” He keeps his head bowed as he sets her back on her feet.
“Of course. You saved me. That’s all I can ever ask of you.”
He looks up at her. Her lovely face pale with upset. “I should have been watching you more closely.”
Her eyes are locked on his as she shakes her head. Brett groans behind them.
“What will we do with him?”
“Well, he’ll have a hard time winning the joust with only one working hand.” Archer strides over to him. Brett scowls, but holds his tongue. Even he isn’t so stupid as to start a fight with one hand attached to a tree by an arrow.
Archer yanks the arrow out of Brett’s hand and he screams with pain, fresh blood pumping out.
“Clear off,” Archer tells him.
Brett stalks past them, holding his wounded hand close to his body. “This isn’t over,” he mutters as he heads away from them.
“True,” Archer calls after him. “Next time I’ll aim for your heart.”
He moves closer to Everleigh and touches her face. “Are you hurt? Did he...?”
“He’s disgusting. He wanted to, but you rescued me. How did you know I was here?”
“I promised Halfreda that I would keep you even closer. Just in case. I watched you come in here, but you were a long time. I decided to come and investigate. I will never put you at risk again.”
Everleigh touches his cheek. “Thank you.”
“It is an honour to serve you. I will always be at your command. I am yours.”
Everleigh tucks her arm in to his. “Take me home?”
Archer nods, reaches down for his bow, and then walks her back to her room.
He leaves her at her door with a deep bow. Everleigh wants so much to hold him and be kissed by him, but allows the door to close softly.
She falls in to bed, some of the bricks still warm and sleeps, dreaming of Archer.