This feeling will trap you. There is no freedom in this.
Imelda knew this… So then why was she so sad that their journey would soon end?
***
The inn where they had stayed lay at the end of a long, sloping meadow filled with nodding daisies beneath a late-afternoon spring sky. At the top of the meadow sat a golden door that had no hinges, next to a sign that read WEDDING ENTRANCE. The seemingly endless line of would-be guests had already disappeared through the door, whisked to the palace at the height of its wedding celebrations, and so she and Ambrose stood alone, staring at the doorknob.
We should go; otherwise, the stables will be full, and it would be in poor form to bring a horse inside a reception hall!tutted the cloak.
Ambrose and Imelda spoke at almost the same time.
“What’s our plan?”
“I thought you had a plan!”
Ambrose pinched the bridge of his nose.
“We know that the queen—thewitch queen—has a potion that turns people to statues,” he began.
“Must endeavor not to break that,” Imelda put in dryly.
“We know that the kingdom will let us in because we’re—” Ambrose paused, gesturing between the two of them.
Stubborn?asked the cloak.
“No,” Ambrose replied.
Foul-smelling?
“NO.”
Flesh-encased pillars of walking mortality?
“Do not make me turn you into glue because I—”
“Married,” Imelda interrupted. “They’ll let us in because they believe we’re the married king and queen of Love’s Keep.”
Married! Congratulations!
Ambrose ignored it and continued, “After we’re inside, we just have to get close enough to the witch queen. Then we’ll grab the potion and make a run for it. Once we’ve found our way back and give it to the witch, we’ll get what we want.”
When Ambrose said that, his eyes lingered on her face. He was openly smiling. He had no plan. He didn’t even have the right clothes for a wedding, though Imelda would never dream of saying that in front of the horse cloak. But it didn’t matter. He didn’t seem so much the stiff and stuffy man who had prowled the halls of Love’s Keep. He seemed unburdened, adventurous even, and Imelda found herself smiling back.
Ambrose held out his arm. “Well? Shall we?”
Imelda took his arm gracefully. “With pleasure.”
And she realized that she meant it.
***
The moment they stepped through the door, they found themselves at the top of an opulent staircase, standing beneath the arching glass dome of a grand palace. A courtier dressed in golden livery waited to announce the line of guests. Five impressively dressed couples stood ahead of them. Rows of enchanted candles and pale white flowers netted over the thick crowd of merrymakers. Statues surrounded the circular room. Their hands were flung out, their eyes frozen wide with a wild panic now rendered in stone. Some of them huddled to the floor, arms clasped over their heads. Platters of iced cakes and cut fruit balanced on their still forms. Garlands of flowers draped their outstretched hands, and Imelda had the distinct impression that they had not started off as statues.
At the far end of the room sat the bride and groom. The bride was small and pale, her hands folded in her lap. Her groom was large and ruddy-faced with drink, one hand around his bride, the other gesturing for more wine.
Imelda scanned the crowd, a slow panic building inside her as she found the queen and king, located at the center of a throng of dancers. The witch queen had long, white hair that shimmered strangely. There was something familiar about it, though she knew she’d never seen this woman in her life. The witch queen wore a long, drab robe. She did not dance with her husband, who stood a short distance away from his wife. Imelda looked at the people who danced around her, circling her as if in a protective net. Imelda noticed the pinched look in their eyes and the strain in their mouths. As if they had no choice but to dance.
Something in her went cold at the sight.
