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Book 2: Chapter 32: The Princess And The Boy
🕑 Added 2025-09-30 14:00:55 +0000 UTCChapter 32:
The Princess And The Boy
Grace sat still in the backroom with Aldric and Selwin and listened to their story. The problems, they said, had started a few years ago when the steward of Gatewick began raising the taxes every half year. It was inconvenient and harsh, but the village could manage. Then came the drafts. The duchy raised armies, and even though the call was voluntary, many young men followed. They went for glory, for money, and because soldiering was not a bad living. For a while, Rivermouth and the neighbouring villages managed to keep their fields and farms working, though the strain was there.
Then the steward’s men returned with news of a second draft, this time not voluntary. Grace raised an eyebrow at that and turned to Ser Calen. “I did not know Mother also forced people into the army,” she said.
Calen denied it immediately. “There was no such order. No forced draft.”
Aldric and Selwin both looked at him, surprised and troubled. They had no reason to doubt the steward’s papers until now. Still, they continued their story. After that supposed draft, things had gone from hard to dire. Too many hands were missing from the fields, and work slowed. Then bandits began haunting the roads between Rivermouth and Gatewick. Every plea for help was ignored by Gatewick. No patrols came, and no soldiers were sent.
“And this winter,” Selwin said, his voice heavy, “it grew worse. Not only bandits but beasts began to come down from the marsh and the woods. They tore into cattle pens and snatched sheep from the pastures. They come close to the houses now. We have lost men trying to drive them off.”
Grace leaned back in the chair, fingers tapping lightly on the desk. The villagers had been bled slowly, first by taxes, then by losing their men to a draft that should not exist, then by bandits and now by beasts. And Gatewick had done nothing.
She glanced again at Calen. “So the steward’s rot went deeper than I thought. That is even less pleasing. Remind me to visit him when we are back at Gatewick.”
The thought lingered like a splinter. She had known the man was greedy, that much was clear the moment she had him thrown into the dungeon. But this—false drafts, men stolen, villages left to bleed—was more than laziness or petty theft. It meant he had played a larger game under her mother’s nose, since she had not had the time to govern Gatewick herself. Grace set it aside for now, but she would drag the rest of it out of him when she had the time.
Calen’s jaw was set tight, but he gave a short nod. “Yes, Princess.”Aldric and Selwin exchanged a glance, fear and hope mixing on their faces.
Grace smiled, soft and careful. “I see. Then it seems we have much to untangle.”
Inwardly she was delighted. At least for once there was something better to do than wrestle with herself, the void, or the gods. Finally, some normal trouble. Something with dirt under its nails that she could pull apart and solve.
Aldric cleared his throat, his voice lower now. “There is one more matter… something we have not yet spoken of.”
Grace tipped her head, eyes narrowing just enough to press him on. “Then speak.”
He shifted in his chair. “Yesterday, we found a boy near the river path. Barely ten years old, half-starved, his clothes in rags. Our men brought him to the hall. He told us he had been held by the bandits in the woods. A hostage. He slipped away when they grew careless. Said there are others still kept there.”
Grace’s eyes sharpened. “Others?”
Selwin leaned forward, his staff across his knees. “That's what he said, Princess. I only saw him briefly, but this morning the guard noticed strange marks on him. Not whip marks. Carvings. Some burned, some cut. Crude, but deliberate. I'm not sure yet, but they resemble ancient seals, half formed, half broken. Whoever put them there was trying to bind him to something.”
Aldric’s jaw tightened. “If his tale is true, then the bandits are not only raiders. They are holding captives, and worse, they are playing with foul crafts.”
Grace leaned back in her chair, her face still smooth, her fingers tapping lightly on the desk. Her thoughts burned within her. Bandits, beasts, stolen men, and now children, branded with symbols. It was no accident. It was a plan, complex and carefully thought out.
Her smile returned, faint but sharp. “Then we will see the boy.”
Grace rose, and the others followed her example. Ser Calen moved first to the door and pulled it open, and together they stepped back into the larger hall. The smoke and stale air pressed around them again, the murmur of a few villagers carrying through the rafters. Aldric led the way without hesitation, his shoulders squared, his stride steady, and Grace walked just behind him. Selwin came at her side, leaning on his staff, and Ser Calen with two of his knights shadowed them closely.
They reached another door at the far end, plain and heavy, and Aldric paused with his hand on the latch. He turned back to her, his voice softer now. “The boy is inside. He has had a rough time, Princess. I would not press him too hard yet. He is not…” Aldric hesitated, his eyes flicking to her small frame. “…not everyone is as mature at that age as our princess is.”
He glanced quickly at Selwin, then at Calen. “Perhaps it would be best if not all of us went in. I will of course, and you, Princess. But the rest could wait.”
Grace tilted her head slightly, her smile polite but cool. “That will not be necessary.”
Her knights stiffened, waiting for her decision. She gave them a small nod, and at once they stepped back, positioning themselves on either side of the door again, helms turning to watch the hall.
Grace looked at Aldric, still smiling. “I will go in alone. He does not need a crowd of armored men staring at him. And I do not need help.”
She did not add the rest out loud, but the thoughts were sharp in her mind. She did not want half the village chief’s pity clouding her view. She wanted the boy’s words clean, without anyone else filling the silence for him. If he had seen something, if he knew something, she would pull it out herself. Alone she could do it better, and she could play gentle or cruel as she pleased without Calen or Selwin fussing. And besides, there was no danger. Selwin was the only mage within miles, and he was a worn-out one at that. The boy was half-starved, and there were her knights at the door anyway. Grace was safe. After all, she was not the one who needed protection. She was the one who would bring harm to anyone foolish enough to bleed her lands dry.
She lifted her chin, her voice soft but final. “Wait here.”
Before they could argue, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.
--::--
“Hey, boy…” a high voice called to Nils.
He had closed his eyes and drifted into that drowsy state between deep sleep, dream, and being awake. He did not want to wake up. It was cozy and warm here in his bed. He did not want to get up. Cleria should just shut up and let him have a few minutes longer…
“Hey…!” the voice called again, and something nudged against his legs.
He rolled over, meaning to swing the blanket back over himself, but instead he got a mouthful of hay. Hay? In his bed?
Suddenly reality struck him. That could not be his sister Cleria calling him. Cleria was dead. And this was not his bed.
The familiar surge of panic from the last few weeks rose in him again as he opened his eyes. He found himself in a wooden room flooded with light, lying on a pile of hay.
Fragments of memory rushed back. Yes… he had escaped. Some men had found him and brought him here. The villagers. He needed to warn them, to beg them for help. Yesterday he had been too exhausted.
He pushed himself up quickly and froze when his gaze locked onto a blond girl watching him.
His breath caught. She was beautiful. Almost like an angel descended from Iras herself. Her blue eyes studied him with open curiosity as she tilted her head.
“Slept well?” she asked.
Blood rushed to his cheeks at the question. She was the voice he had heard in his dream. She had been watching him sleep.
He scrambled to his feet. She was almost as tall as he was, only a little smaller, so she was probably his age—ten, maybe eleven. He nodded quickly.
“Sorry for this, it was… dire circumstances,” he muttered, before bowing curtly. “I’m Nils of Wintergarden.”
The girl chuckled softly. “Oh my, a little gentleman. Wintergarden… is that a baronet’s lineage?”
He agreed, still catching his breath, and was surprised at how freely she spoke with him. He had half-expected her to be shocked that he was a noble. Instead she seemed entirely unfazed. Maybe she was not a farmer’s girl after all… though they were in a village, so he could not be sure. The whole situation was strange, and it unsettled him more than he liked.
“Sorry, ehm… girl—”
“Grace,” she said, a smile forming around her lips. It was angelic, almost too perfect, and for a heartbeat his chest clenched like his heart had stopped.
He stared, forgetting himself. No farmer’s daughter carried herself like that. Maybe she was the daughter of the village chief… or a baron’s child? Did these lands even have a baron? He was not sure where he was exactly. But she did not slouch or fumble. Every little move was neat, practiced, like she had been born to be watched. The way her voice carried weight even though it was soft made him uneasy.
He stammered, “I… I’m sorry, Grace. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just… I need to speak with some adults. It is important.”
She tilted her head again, her golden hair catching the light from the window slit. “Oh, you just woke up… and already in such a hurry?” Her grin widened, playful and sharp all at once.
Nils shifted, heat rushing into his face again. Her tone was light, but it made him feel small, like she was playing with him. He forced himself to nod. “Yes… you see, maybe you don’t know, but I was brought here yesterday by your people. They found me while I was…” He hesitated, shame biting at his tongue. He did not want to admit how broken he had been, yet something inside him urged him to tell this girl everything. After all he had endured, he wanted someone to understand him. Maybe she would even pity him. The thought was strange, but when he looked at her, he wanted her pity. He wanted her to like him. He wanted… he did not even know. The whole situation was strange, and it was definitely the wrong time to meet a girl.
“I was fleeing through the woods for days,” he went on, his voice low. “When your people found me, they carried me here. Yesterday I was too exhausted to speak, but I have to tell someone about what I escaped from, and about what happened there.”
Her grin faded, though the sharpness in her eyes remained. She leaned forward just a little, as if the game had shifted. “There is no one here who could hear your story at the moment. The… adults… are outside. Just tell me, and I will help you.”
For a breath, her gaze changed, something flickering there that made him deeply uncomfortable. But it vanished as quickly as it came. Nils told himself it must have been another shadow of his own trauma, nothing more. Still, he groaned softly. “Sorry, Grace. I really need to get help… there is truly no one here?”
She shook her head. “Do you think I lie?” Her tone was calm, but then she looked thoughtful and added, “But I can help you for sure, when I know where you were fleeing from. Maybe I can tell my father he should send his servants to hunt the beast you ran from... Like prey.”
Nils froze. Her wording was sharp, unsettling, but maybe he had imagined it. Had she really called him prey? No… that was only his own guilt twisting her words. Obviously not. When he blinked, she was smiling again, and her smile was so perfect it disarmed him. Still, her mention of a father with servants stirred his thoughts. She had to be noble, like him, or at least from a family with wealth. Her clothes, even without a gown, were too fine for a villager.
He cleared his throat. “Oh, I did not flee from a beast, Grace. It is much worse. And I do not know if I should tell a girl this story… I do not want to burden you.” But the logic tugged at him. If she spoke true, she could bring word to someone with power. And after running for a week, what was another hour more or less?
He sighed. “But if you insist, young lady, then I will tell you the story of Nils of Wintergarden.” He tried a little smirk, hoping to impress her.
She pouted, her eyes bright. “Do not worry. I am not some delicate girl who cannot handle such a story.”
