The Yuletide Woodsman Page 3

  The experience hadn’t ended well. He had thought that a kiss was some kind of passport to the rest of me, and I had ended up kneeing him in the balls and running home. After that, I had given boys a slightly wide berth, promising myself I would never get into that kind of situation again.

  Now, here I was, being offered as some kind of pleasure slave to a prince in a crazy fairy tale realm. It was a nightmare, and I was sure at some point soon, I would wake to find myself in my own bed.

  “If you are ready,” she said, rising from her throne and walking over to a small insignificant looking door to the right of the room, “then we shall meet with my son, Prince Vargar. He is eager to meet you.”

  Adrenalin surged through my body. “And what if I refuse to meet with him?” I asked, sounding more defiant than I felt.

  Her back went rigid and I saw as she inhaled deeply, trying to keep her composure. I took this small attempt to regain control as a victory. She wasn’t used to challenge, and that put me at an advantage.

  “That isn’t something you get to choose, my dear.”

  I stood still for a moment, asking myself what she would do if I simply refused to move but a sudden searing pain in my back caused me to yelp in pain.

  “Now, move along and let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be,” she said coldly.

  I threw the blackest look I could in her direction, nursing my back from the pain she had somehow magically invoked.

  “Wouldn’t your son prefer a more willing gift?”

  Queen Morag stopped midstride and her mouth grew into a crooked smile. “He’s not in a position to be that picky.” Her skirts swished over the stone floors as she resumed her steps.

  As we walked, I made an attempt to commit every feature of our route to memory with the idea of formulating an escape plan. I was fooling myself, I knew. The woods were full of man-eating wolves, the snow was cold and cruel, the trees endless. But even though in my heart I knew it was hopeless, I wasn’t going to just give in. That’s not how I’d been raised.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The castle was a maze of corridors and steps, up and down, and down and up until I was totally disorientated. Perhaps this had been Queen Morag’s intention. Eventually, we came to a small, heavy wooden door with hefty ironwork. It was smaller than most of the other doors I had seen in the castle.

  Queen Morag fumbled inside the top of her dress and pulled out a key on a long chain. None of this felt good. Why would she need to keep her son locked up unless he was a monster, or a lunatic?

  “You lock your son in his room,” I said, not caring if she took offense at my judgement or not.

  She cast me a look over her shoulder. “No—I lock the world out.”

  Her answer didn’t make me feel any more reassured. I’d turned clammy with anxiety and it took all of my will-power to hold myself together. Fear was rising and the instinct to fight or take flight was battling in my head.

  I tried to imagine the chain of events that would occur if I struck Queen Morag or ran for my life. How far would I get? Not very. But surely I had to try. At least then, when it came to the terrible conclusion of my fate, I could at least say I tried; that I didn’t walk meekly to my fate.

  *

  My feet were swift along the wooden floors. I was so pumped with adrenalin that I almost felt like I was flying. Along with the energy and power rising, so was hope. I let instinct guide me towards my exit.

  I was almost there; I could sense it. I threw open the metal doors and came face to face with Stag, standing on the doorstep, two dead rabbits by his side.

  “Neve,” he said surprised to see me.

  “Stag.” I glanced behind me. No one had pursued me during my flight. No sound of guards running, just an eerie silence.

  “You’re running away,” he stated, searching the courtyard. Like the rest of the castle, it was empty.

  “Yes.” There was no point lying to him. It was pretty obvious.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, but I hadn’t the time for small talk.

  “There’s nowhere to go,” he said, shaking his head sadly.

  “That’s what she wants you to believe.”

  “No. Trust me, I’ve tried. The woods go on and on, the snow falls and falls, and the wolves hunt and hunt. There’s no escape, Neve.”

  My heart was racing. There was something so sinister about the quiet, about the lack of violence and threat and locks. There was nothing to fight against. Nothing to triumph over. How could you fight an enemy who didn’t fight back?

  With a heavy heart, I turned back.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Queen Morag smiled as I approached her, still waiting by the door. I refused to cower and so raised my chin with pride. She was mistaken if she thought she was going to break me.

  I had spent the return journey thinking about how I might possibly survive hiding in the castle. There were very few staff; so far, I’d only seen Eleanor and her brother, but as tempting as that idea was, it wasn’t practical, and I knew it.

  Besides, Queen Morag was a universe travelling witch so the likelihood would be she would somehow magically find me, and I’d be punished for my efforts. I didn’t want to imagine what Queen Morag’s idea of punishment was.

  “I take it you didn’t find a way out?” she said, smugly.

  I didn’t reply but stared at her with a hatred I hoped would burn her to the ground. She returned my stare, until understanding I would never give in, she reached out and turned the handle of the door. It was a small victory but it made me feel good.

  She had to duck ever so slightly to fit through the door, and I followed behind her, into the darkness. As she descended the winding stone stairs, she lit small candle lanterns as she went, casting shadows that danced across the walls.

  The poor man was imprisoned in a dungeon. My immediate compassion was tainted by fear. His mother clearly loved him, if her lengths to kidnap a companion were anything to go by, and yet, she kept him locked away in the dark, cold bowels of the castle. What kind of monster was he?

  Eventually we came to another door and then behind that, a metal barred door. I thought back to her earlier claim she was keeping the world out, but it definitely looked more like she was keeping him in.

  “Prince Vargar… is he dangerous?” I asked, hating the tremor in my voice.

  She didn’t respond at first. She was thinking. “It depends,” was all she finally offered.

  Once through the bars, she closed the wooden door and plunged us back into darkness.

  “He’s allergic to the light,” she gave as explanation.

  I had heard of people with an allergy to sunlight, but never someone who was allergic to all light.

  “What happens if…?” I began.

  I flinched as her finger landed perfectly on my lips and she commanded me to, ‘sssh!” I realised the witch could see in the dark. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the gloom and for shapes to form, but there was nothing. Not a single trace of light in the whole place.

  “Vargar, we have come.”

  “Mother.”

  “I have brought company. This is Neve.”

  A shuffle came from the corner.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady,” he said, indicating he too could see me. He spoke with a soft voice, full of kindness.

  My heart beat like a drum and my breath hitched so that I could barely speak. “Likewise,” I replied, having nothing but social convention to fall back on.

  “Is Eleanor looking after you?” Queen Morag asked of her son.

  “Well enough. Although the boredom is maddening.”

  “Perhaps, Neve could bring some books down from the library and read to you?” she offered.

  “That would be a pleasure beyond any measure,” he replied. I could hear the smile in his voice and wondered how on earth I was meant to read to him in the pitch dark.

  “You’re wondering how that would work,” he said with good humour
.

  The more he spoke, the more my heart calmed. He sounded refined, and gentle. Not the monster I had feared at all.

  I ignored the voice in my head reminding me of all the locked doors.

  “I have a special hood,” he explained. “I use it on occasions such as when Eleanor brings me food.”

  A small candle guttered with light and took hold, casting a bright light underneath Queen Morag’s face. The rest of the room grew into a series of shadows and shapes. In the far corner, I saw movement and the vague outline of Prince Vargar sat in a chair, dressed in black with a hood hiding the distinguishing features of his head and face.

  “Don’t take the candle too close,” Queen Morag warned. “I’m confident enough the cloth is thick enough to conceal the light, but there are breathing holes, which are not so robust.

  “Are you that sensitive?” I asked the prince.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Queen Morag walked to the far side of the room where a comfortable sofa and table had been arranged as if someone had been decorating a trendy apartment. In the far corner, my eyes made out some kind of bath made of wood but I couldn’t be entirely sure. Everything was so tricksy in the candlelight.

  “Prince Vargar has some sight in the dark, not enough to read or write, but enough to navigate the space, well enough. He will be able to see you. You are expected to keep the prince company for as long as he wishes. Whilst you are with him, he may ask you to do as he pleases. When he has finished with you, he will ring the bell by the door, and Eleanor will come and collect you. The room you slept in last night, is yours. Whilst you are above ground, you will be treated as my guest. When you are below ground, you are his servant. Remember that. Respect and subservience are expected.”

  My stomach twisted. Despite Prince Vargar’s initial demonstration of civility and softness, who knew what would happen once the door was locked and his mother was no longer witness?

  “Do you wish Neve to stay with you now, or would you rather I send her back this afternoon?”

  “I would so dearly love to have Neve read to me; perhaps you could introduce her to the library and she can return when she has selected a couple of volumes.”

  Queen Morag nodded and headed towards the door. “I thought we might dine together tomorrow evening?”

  “That would be wonderful, mother. I look forward to it.”

  With that, we left to ascend the stairs to a world that was only a little less strange than the one we were leaving.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Queen Morag pushed open the doors to the library and I gasped. It was one of the most beautiful libraries I’d ever seen. My eyes roved over the shelves crammed full of leather and gold spine books, and up to the vaulted ceiling, where the heavens had been painted.

  “This was Prince Vargar’s passion before...” Queen Morag’s words faded and for the first time, I heard something like emotion in her voice.

  “From being a small boy, he had always loved books, the way they transported him into different worlds. When he was ten-years-old, he began his plans for his library; organised the workmen himself. It took ten years to complete. He had a small weekend party to celebrate the official opening—that was when everything changed and he was cursed to a life of darkness. Life is cruel.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “That’s not my story to tell. Take your time,” she said, inviting me to browse with her hand whilst she hovered at the door. “He had the ambition to read every book in this library during his lifetime. For two years, not a book has been opened. Eleanor, like everyone else in the village, cannot read. When you’re finished, ring the bell by the door and Eleanor will escort you down to Prince Vargar.”

  Queen Morag closed the doors behind her. The room was full of pale winter sunlight, thanks to the ceiling to floor windows at the far end of the library, which overlooked the snow draped forest. Magically, the fire in the two vast stone fireplaces ignited, causing me to jump and spin wildly, looking to see who could possibly have magicked them into life. There was no one.

  I took my time circulating the space, running my hands along the smooth polished wood of the bookshelves, inhaling the smell of leather, wood-smoke and snow air, that crept through the windows.

  A tear slid down my cheek as I thought on the contrast between this magical wonderland and the dark, pitiful dungeon far below my feet. This had been who Prince Vargar had once been. A man dedicated to beauty and words and nature and light.

  I stood by the window, my palm pressed to the glass. It didn’t take long for my heart to grow heavy with thoughts of home. It had been almost twenty-four hours since I had been snatched away from my world. The police would most likely have been called and my parents told that the first twenty-four hours are the most promising of a happy ending. After that, hope grew small and a mother’s mind turned to the worst kind of horrors. If only I could get a message to her; tell her I was unharmed—so far, at least.

  But what would I write? That I had been whisked away to a fairy tale world to be a companion of a Prince who had been cursed to live the rest of his days in darkness?

  Movement and the flash of red amongst the white pulled my attention. It was Stag. His axe swinging rhythmically as he chopped at the base of a tree. He was too far away to see me watching him and so I watched unobserved as time after time, his axe bit a little deeper into the wood, until eventually, the tree felled and Stag stopped to rest.

  Although not much older than me, he was built solid and tall so that he looked like a man, which I guessed was the result of having been raised in the forest and having to make a living from a young age.

  My heart quickened at the sight of more movement to his right and I tried to cry out from behind the glass, even though I knew it was hopeless at such a distance. A large soft grey wolf loped along the tree line, heading in the direction of Stag, who was oblivious to the wolf’s presence.

  I hammered my fists against the glass, trying to work out if I had time to reach the castle doors and cross the white lawns.

  “Stag!” I cried.

  His axe dropped to the ground as the wolf leapt at him. There was nothing I could do but watch as they wrestled, turning over and sending snow flying until eventually, Stag stood and the wolf leaned into his legs to receive a friendly scragging.

  I began to laugh almost hysterically. Stag and the wolf were friends. The grey beast hadn’t been attacking but playing. As it jumped up, with its paws on Stags broad chest and licked his face, my grin almost split my face.

  How hard it must have been to kill the wolf who threatened me the other day, I thought. And how complicated the world was.

  I watched them for a while until the wolf grew bored of playing, and took a seat like an obedient dog as he oversaw his master take to chopping up the fallen tree, then I returned to my task of selecting books to take down to the waiting prince.

  Some of the titles were familiar and the idea that Prince Vargar had somehow managed to procure books from my world caused me consider how often magical fairy tale characters travelled between our worlds. Other titles were entirely alien to me. In the end, I took one familiar and one strange, relishing in the beauty of the bookbinding and the illustrations.

  I breathed in deeply as I rang the bell for Eleanor to come and escort be back to Prince Vagar. As I waited, I looked back towards the window and saw that both Stag and the wolf were gone.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I lit the candle and took a seat on the sofa, the furthest point away from Prince Vargar. I had never liked reading aloud, feeling so self-conscious when we had to do it in class at school, and now was no different. The darkness and the strangeness of the audience did not make it any easier.

  We’d exchanged pleasantries when I’d arrived, but conversation was not easy when speaking to a voice in the darkness. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him, but they weren’t the kind of questions you asked someone you didn’t know and so reading seemed the least pa
inful of the options.

  At home, I had reading glasses to avoid the migraines but I hadn’t been carrying them on me and now I was sat, squinting in the dim light, with the dread feeling that my life depended on my ability to read stories to the prince.

  And what if my reading did not please him? What if his mind then turned to other things I could do to please him? I shuddered and forced my eyes to focus on the words on the page.

  “Are you nervous?” the prince asked in response to my hesitation.

  “No,” I lied, “I’m just settling.”

  “I don’t want you to be nervous around me, Neve. I appreciate all this must be very strange. When mother told me she had found me a girl who could read, I couldn’t contain my joy. I was under the belief no one in the village could read. The castle is very different to the village, is it not?”

  The village? He thought I came from their world. My mind went into free-fall with the decision of whether I should tell him the truth or not. What if Queen Morag was angry I told him I came from a different world; that she had snatched me against me will? But then, she hadn’t told me I shouldn’t speak of it, which surely she would have done? In the end, I didn’t need to choose between truth and lie.

  “I’m sorry, I digress,” he said. “There will be plenty of time for conversation later. But now, I am so eager to hear you read, if you please.”

  I dropped my eyes back to the book and began, thankful at the familiarity of the fairy tale, which had been one my father had read to me on many occasions at bedtime. The pages turned, the story unfolded and the candle burned down to a stub. It felt like I had been reading for hours, but although a little tired, and although my eyes pinched, it had been nice to escape from my new reality for a while. I reached the end of the chapter and announced, “The candle almost burns out.”

  There was quiet for a moment and then the prince said, “Thank you, Neve, you have a very pleasing reading voice. I was quite transported, although I will be glad to remove this hood. If you don’t mind, please blow out the candle.”