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And now I was alone…I had no coin, no friends or even clothes.
What was I to do now? Escaping while my feet were still healing seemed futile and dangerous. I would never survive for long on my own. I needed to bide my time and wait. Surely there would be another opportunity to escape when I was more prepared.
Or perhaps the huntsmen were the answer? Perhaps instead of my damnation they could be my salvation? If I somehow gained their loyalty and trust, maybe they would consent to helping me. Help me to do what was the question. Overthrowing my stepmother would take more than seven huntsmen, no matter how large and skilled at hunting they may be. Did I even want the throne? It had done nothing but cause strife and misery for my father. He was never able to do anything he truly wanted, always constrained by duty and responsibility. The crown yet another form of imprisonment.
I had been adrift so long in isolation with no hope of a future that I now had no idea what it was I truly wanted.
Unbidden, my mind returned to the previous night, in this very bed. The way Tore forced me beneath him. He’d not only forced my body to respond but my mind as well. Forced me to actually feel something, breaking through the blank numbness that had crept over my existence.
It had been a terrifying, exhilarating rush. To feel again!
Anger, fear, pain, passion. I’d consumed it all like a woman starved.
That was what I wanted…at least for now. To feel again.
Later. When I had drunk and eaten my fill, when I was sated on emotion, when my senses no longer felt cumbersome and unused…then I would think of the future…of a plan…of escape.
The sound of my name broke through my wandering thoughts again.
My stomach clenched as I crept out of the bed, gingerly putting weight on my still bruised feet. Sparing a glance for my ripped nightgown on the floor, I shifted the blanket higher over my shoulders to cover my bare frame. Dragging the quilt with me, I stole toward the railing which overlooked the hall.
The huntsmen’s home was an enormous cabin with a central hall built around a massive stone structure—a fire pit. Gray and brown rounded stones, carefully placed, formed a circular chimney to capture the smoke. Over the fire was a wrought iron roasting spit, laden with some form of game from the huntsmen’s endeavors. Around the open fire pit were cushioned benches.
On one end was the kitchen with another smaller enclosed fireplace for baking, and at the other end was a rough-hewn oak dining table with over a dozen chairs. The entire space resembled an ancient Viking hall which seemed fitting in my mind. On the second level were their rooms, each reached from a walkway which encircled the hall.
I knelt on the hard wooden floor and tried to overhear the conversation below.
“More. She needs more,” said one of the huntsmen, I had no idea which.
“Are you sure she can handle it?” asked another.
Good God. Forgetting my resolve to experience emotion and life for a change, I recoiled. They couldn’t possibly mean more of what Tore had done to me last night, could they? I didn’t think I could handle much more. What if…oh God…what if they meant more…of them? More than one in my bed at a time. Good God! Was that even possible?
“She needs it,” said another.
“You’re right.”
I recognized that voice. It was Tore. After last night, I didn’t think I would ever forget the sound of his growled commands and deep moaning.
“She is nothing but skin and bones. That fucking witch must have been starving the poor girl to death, hoping she would die and solve all her problems,” continued Tore.
I was taken aback by the hatred and venom in his voice…and on my behalf.
“Tore’s right. Steen, add more butter…and don’t be stingy with the boysenberry preserves either.”
These gruff and scary men were talking about…my breakfast?
With renewed resolve, I rose. Wrapping the blanket more tightly around my body, I hesitantly took a step toward the main staircase which would lead down into the hall.
They turned at the sound of my descent. With a wry smile, I couldn’t help but think what a ragtag mockery of a queen I must look like as I slowly walked down the stairs, trailing my colored quilt of a cloak, all eyes on me.
And what a queen’s court these gruff men made with their wild hair, hard glares and fur-wrapped frames.
A court of beasts. Shuddering, I despaired of my earlier thoughts. How could I be so foolish as to think that I could tame these men? The idea that I could possibly convince them to join my side against my stepmother was the naïve dream of a little girl still hoping for a Prince Charming.
