Then I see it. A break in the trees comes into view. Beyond the gap is a clearing. A meadow bursting with wildflowers brushes up against a small pond. Nestled in the center is a sturdy brick cottage. I nearly sag with relief as golden light glows from behind the window panes.
I can’t let fear rule me. I’ve come all this way, and I will make my plight known to Lord Rhydian. My father needs me.
Glancing down at my basket, I cringe at the loaf that’s surely gone stale. Hopefully the cookies have survived the journey better. Can minotaurs enjoy such treats? Or will he require something more intimate to be swayed than fresh bread?
My stomach turns hollow at the thought. What if he requires me to spend the night? I had assured my father I would do what I had to, but did that mean giving myself to a monster I didn’t know? It was the same fate I came out here to avoid.
I pray it won’t come to that. My hope is the only thing I have guiding me. With the wind pressing on my heels, I surge forward through the gap in the trees.
My boot crumbles off the side of a ledge and is met by night air. A scream lodges in my throat as I tumble forwards. The air knocks from my lungs as I fall off the muddy hill.
Round and round I roll down the mound until I land with a sharp thud at the base. Fragrant grass kisses my skin and dew-soaked flowers tickle my cheeks. With a groan, I test my strength and press up on my palm.
A searing pain radiates up my leg.
Touching the side of my scuffed boot, I gasp at the soreness in my ankle. I groan as my head swims. I can’t afford to pass out. There’s no way I can make the journey back. Not without proper aid. The glowing cottage is my only beacon of solace. I must reach it.
Rising to my feet, I can’t put any weight on my injured foot. My wicker basket is smashed. Chocolate and mud smear my yellow gown. Wiping my hands on the ruined fabric, I pick the sticks from my hair.
My fall lands me close to his home.
I limp towards the worn wooden door. The scent of roasting meat makes my stomach growl. The realization that I’ll have to spend the night here makes the journey seem longer than it is.
I say another silent prayer that the stories of Lord Rhydian have been exaggerated. That it was an accident that led to the burning of the Fosters’ farm and not a match struck by his hand.
If I have any luck at all, Lord Rhydian won’t be as monstrous as he seems.
3
RHYDIAN
Asoft rustling echoes through the open window, but I pay it no mind.
The meadow is quiet tonight. Just like it is every evening. The days blend together in one uninteresting blur. Rarely does anyone venture this deep intothe Woods. The few that have over the decades scurry back to their farms, thanking their good fortune that they don’t have to contend with my unfortunate face on a regular basis.
Angry mobs have been few and far between since I’ve gone into self-imposed isolation.
I haven’t had a visitor in nearly twenty years. I’d hardly call a group of sweaty men with rusted farm tools visitors. Regardless, they had made their displeasure known about a slight I had done to them.
One roar from inside my cottage had sent them fleeing. To this day, I’m still not sure what I did to earn their wrath. Since that fateful day, I have not thought of Dew Hollow or the people who reside there.
What was once my father’s legacy has been staunchly ignored since his passing. My mother, having died before him, used totell me tales of the village. She would paint scenes of quiet beauty and good-natured, hardworking folks who had only each other to rely on.
Illness took her when I was small.
She was the only good human. The others I’ve met have been hateful—cruel. I never wish to set eyes on another so long as I live. The last one I came into contact with took everything from me.
A familiar rage simmers in my gut, demanding I set out and find the one responsible for my agony. It would do me no good. For as hot as the rage burns, fear freezes any attempts at retribution. In my heart, I’m still the scared young male tugging on his father’s bloodstained pants.
The warning rings in my ears. Fear grips me and pulls me down into the waiting abyss of despair. This cottage is to be my cell. It had been my father’s as well, even if he didn’t wish to admit it.
Our curse remands us here. The people of Dew Hollow never welcomed us in. Despite my mother’s encouragement that they would, she was the only human to show us kindness.
Our family curse left us wardens of the meadow. My father was bound by honor to protect the village, thinking that if he kept the dangers at bay it would somehow free us.
It hadn’t made a difference in the end, for he died more beast than man.
Twenty-seven years he has been gone, and never once have I ventured into the village. I heed the warning given to me and choose the lonely existence over assured rejection.
