“Do not call me princess,” I bit back, attempting to pull away from them. They immediately let me go.
“Don’t look like one then.” They shrugged and began walking once more.
We silently made our way through Moss Wood. Usually, after the Celebration, I would rush through the trees, eager to get back home and have an evening to myself after all the festivities. Perhaps I’d even try to write. If I tried that tonight, how bleak it would sound…
She had everything, and then she had nothing. Standing in the ruins of what once was her home, she fell to her knees, parsing through the rubble of old dreams.
Lovely.
Maybe I would write that down when I got back. A memoir of the quest that ended Clara Thorne’s sweet little life… just before revealing her as a magical fraud.
I could see soft lights from the town coming through the thick trees. Swaying lanterns cast golden light on the quiet streets, homes hummed with nighttime stories and laughter, cats rested atop the hay wagons, and even the street mice skittered pleasantly about. But tonight, silence filled the streets, unlike the warring in my brain loudly telling me every single thing I would miss when I left.
Goddess, I couldn’t think about that right now, or my heart would break.
“I don’t even know what you look like,” I said, the cloaked protector still walking ahead of me. I needed a distraction.
“Want to see me that bad?” They didn’t even turn back to acknowledge me.
“No, I’d rather never see you again.” I quickened my pace to walk shoulder to shoulder with them. Well, more like my head to their shoulder.
“Too bad.”
“Oh yes, I know it’s bad. But I should know what you look like.”
“But what’s the fun in that?”
Fun? What’s the fun in that?
I’d just had my life ripped out from under me, and they had the gall to call any of this “fun”? Fire overtook every part of my body, red-hot wrath snaking its way out of my heart and into my bones.
So much of my life had been about struggling for carefully curated composure. Don’t feel too much, don’t feel too little—the heart must always be protected, in balance. Anger had gotten the best of me one too many times in my life, a perpetual flame always burning beneath the surface. When it did, things around me, the gardens I tended, they would suffer—wither, dry up, yellow at the edges before their youth could reach toward the sun. I’d learned to stifle it, quell whatever simmered inside of me with structure.
But tonight, it didn’t matter. This person—thisprotector—was unlocking every cavern of fire.
“Fuck you,” I seethed.
“What foul language for such a pretty mouth,” they tutted.
We both stopped walking, the tittering town square’s fountain we stood beside the only sound in the air. It became increasingly apparent to me at that moment that I desperatelywanted a fight. I wanted a release. I wanted an excuse to unleash every pent-up bit of me when no one could see. With everyone still at the Celebration, no one would hear this brawl.
I struck so fast that I thought I’d taken them by surprise, but they reacted too quickly for me to do anything else. We both tumbled into the fountain. My dress greedily drank up the cool water and pulled at me, weighing down my attempts to thrash, kick, and claw the protector.
Firm hands grasped my shoulders and hauled me out of the fountain.
I lay on the ground, coughing up water, in a sodden, pitiful mess. Coarse hay scratched my face, and a pile of dung sat dangerously close by. What was with this stranger, my face, and horse shite?
They attempted to help me up, but I pushed their arm away.
“Don’t touch me,” I spat.
“I didn’t push us into the fountain.”
“You pulled me in with you!” I screamed. My anger started to abate, the shock of cold drowning out the ever-burning fire. But I still wasn’t planning on taking their Goddess-damned help to extricate myself from the fountain.
They disregarded my protests and offered me their hand again. I ignored it and began gathering the soaking layers of fabric around me. With both hands, I finally managed to divide my dress into two huge, dripping balls.
We began walking home once more. My shoes squelched with each step, the summer wind like an icy breeze against my wet clothes, but I held my chin up high. For the first time in my life, I had let myself unlace a bit. And it feltgood.
