Every few days over the course of early summer, David “The Hunter” poked his head out of the woods and raced across the meadow to Charlotte’s Gazebo where she lay napping and reading her books. He always had a playful smile and cheerful, carefree life. He followed the breeze each time he arrived. And then just as easily he slipped away in the evening before the sun settled into the Western Horizon.
She knew from his stories that he never really went “home”. He lived in the woods in the hills, ranging for many many miles around. She learned that Old Maddy’s place wasn’t the only Lodge along his route where he could count on free sandwiches in exchange for his stories of adventures in the Woods.
When he entered villages as far as 100 miles away, the young boys and girls would follow him for miles asking questions and spoiling his hunt unless he agreed to come by later and tell them stories by their fireplaces.
There was always a pot of stew or a loaf of bread with jam and honey for him at every stop. And the old men would listen just as intently as the boys. Remembering a time when they too hunted and fished in the hills, and often told their own stories as the embers of the fire turned cold, and the chill of evening brought everyone closer to the hearth with their mugs of cider or whiskey.
Charlotte could understand their excitement, because she too couldn’t wait to hear his stories. His life was incomprehensible to her, and yet she yearned for it.
One day, when he visited with her, David set up a makeshift target next to her Gazebo out of hay strung tightly together. He taught Charlotte to shoot his bow. At first the arrows flung wildly into the grass behind the target, and sometimes buried themselves deep into the tree. But as she practiced, she improved. And before long, she found she was able to hit the target every time she released an arrow.
Then, as the weeks went by, and her skill improved even further, it was as if she could “feel” the arrow line up to the target. And by that point, she hit the bullseye every time. When her skill improved to the point that she could hit a pear from 30 paces with every arrow, The Hunter smiled like a proud teacher and jokingly said her performance had finally become “adequate”.
Always in the back of her mind, Old Maddy’s words echoed, “David never stays in the same place for very long, but he always comes back.” And Charlotte wondered if that meant one day he would drift away. Lured by the promise of another adventure. A huge lion to hunt, or maybe another girl.
The summer lingered into Autumn, and the afternoon waned into a humid evening. Old Maddy was helping Charlotte gather her pillows to take them back inside. It was almost an accidental glance over her shoulder, but when she saw him her heart froze. David was standing at the treeline.
He was too far away to see the expression on his face, but he wasn’t racing across the meadow with his smiling face and flowing brown hair like he normally did. Instead he stood at the edge of the woods, as if he was unsure whether to come toward her or not. Something was wrong.
Charlotte walked across the Meadow. Dusk was settling on the horizon. She was wearing a long, blue gown, and it flowed over the grasses as she walked making it appear she was floating across a green pond of wheat grass, with the breeze flowing over the tops like waves and wafting through her light brown hair.
As she approached, she saw the pain in The Hunter’s face. “I will be gone for some time,” he said when she finally stood in front of him.
It was the moment she knew would come, and she listened to David as he told her about a giant wolf that was hunting the children around a distant village. It had devoured the chickens and together with its pack had killed the horses. The men of the village had tried to kill it, but it was too powerful and elusive. He needed to go. They needed The Hunter.
“But I brought you a gift. Something you can use while I’m gone,” he said. And he pulled a hunting bow from his saddlebag and a quiver of arrows. “This size bow is normally used by adolescent boys. It will fit your arms better than mine. You will adjust to it quickly.”
“When will you be back?” Charlotte heard herself ask. The tears flowed down her cheeks.
“When the wolf is dead.” The Hunter replied and disappeared into the forest.
…
Summer stretched into Autumn. Old Maddie was upset. She said the rumors were not good. Charlotte poured a cup of tea and sat at the old wooden table next to the bread cabinet. She watched as Maddie rolled out the dough. Her hands worked quickly with the flour. Kneading it swiftly, and with practiced endurance.
Because of her banishment, most days Old Maddie was Charlotte’s only human contact. The house mother was interesting. Mostly because she normally seemed completely unconnected to anyone around her. Lost in her demented world of short-term experience.
But then, sometimes Charlotte saw the other side of Maddie. The lucidity would appear, and her eyes would light up with intelligence. It never seemed to last very long. But as she sipped her tea, she saw the light turn on in Maddie.
“There are whispers of Defeat!” Maddie said, shaking her head. Her lazy eye looking at Charlotte’s shoulder, and her good eye sharp as sunlight. “The whispers from the North tell the story of defeat for your Father’s Army.”
Princess Charlotte held her breath. She was afraid to ask any questions. She didn’t want to know any of the answers. Nor how this demented old woman could know any of it at all!
“I have invited a guest.” Maddie continued. “His name is Sir Bougie. He has been to the Front, and he will tell us more.”
…
Two days later, Sir Bougie arrived. He was a few years older than Charlotte, and very handsome. She remembered how remarkable it was that he seemed to remember they had met as children once.
He reminded her of the moment. They had been playing in a stream. Their mothers were talking by the water and one of them yelled, “was it a bear?” He asked. “I think someone saw a bear.”
Princess Charlotte remembered that moment. But she thought it had been a mountain lion instead. The memory was so distant and murky she could barely recall.
Sir Bougie winked at her and said, “I’ve always wondered what happened to that beautiful Princess I met when I was a boy.” His smile disarmed her anxiety about meeting Noblemen from now on. Maybe it wasn’t so bad as long as her Step-mother wasn’t arranging everything.
Old Maddie filled up their cups with more tea and sat on the sofa next to Charlotte. The fire was lit in her face, and her words were poignant. “Ok Bougie, sit down and tell me what is going on with the war!”
Sir Bougie’s eyes darted to Charlotte, “We should talk in private,” he said hesitantly. “The Princess doesn’t want to hear about war…”
“Tell us both, and tell us straight.” She demanded. “Everything the King’s messengers tell us smells like the Southern end of a North-bound mule!”
Bougie nodded with understanding. His story started slowly and cautiously, but with a few prods from Maddie and the promise of apple pie, a completely different picture of the war started to form in Charlotte’s mind from what she had heard from the sparse reports her father had been sending her from the Front.
The Barbarian army was much tougher than her father had anticipated. The Barbarians have rallied all seven of their tribes together under The Lost Prince. He returned to his people from a country far away, and led them deep into The King’s territory.
Everything he said seemed surreal to her. Her father had never known defeat. She worried about him, and she worried about the horrible conditions Stefan must be under, if he was even still alive. Still held as a prisoner-of-war on the run. Chained and unable to defend himself as he tried to keep up with the rapidly retreating remnants of the once-great Army.
“What about the Prisoners, the ones our Army has captured?” She asked.
“Prisoners?” Bougie raised an eyebrow. “We don’t take prisoners.”
…
Every week, Bougie returned with a new report, and Princess Charlotte found her entire week was spent anxiously anticipating his next update.
“Any word on how long until the Barbarians reach the Castle?” She asked, thinking about her home. About all the people in the Village, and how they would retreat inside the walls of the Castle. All those innocent farmers and fishermen. And their children with their little troll carvings they got from Stefan before the war. They would all seek refuge inside the Castle walls. But none of that would matter because they would starve inside those walls when the Barbarian Army laid siege to the Castle, reaped their farms, and burned everything to the ground.
The Princess shook her head. This wasn’t POSSIBLE!
Each week, when Bougie arrived, his face was more sullen, and the answers to her questions became worse and worse. The Barbarians were getting closer, and their numbers were growing. And all because of their Wicked Lost Prince!
One afternoon during the Autumn, the Princess was in the Garden. But she was not sleeping among her pillows, nor reading her books. Instead she was at the treeline behind the Gazebo with the Hunter’s bow David had given her, shooting pears and pretending in her mind they were nasty Barbarians. Each arrow produced a splash of fruit, and the arrows buried themselves deep into the twisted straw.
“If only that were their heads!” her emotions raged, and she nocked another arrow from her quiver.
Across the meadow, the bushes shook and she saw the old familiar shape of David emerge slowly from the brush. She could barely make out his face and joyful wave of his hand, but as he approached she saw that he wasn’t racing toward her like normal. He didn’t have his horse, Phantom, and his gate was slow due to his limp.
Charlotte felt a burst of happiness at seeing him. She carefully laid her bow across the straw and ran to meet David in the middle of the meadow.
As she approached him, she could see that he was wounded. His foot was in a splint with bandages around it, holding it immobile as he lumbered toward her.
“What happened?” She exclaimed running up to him, as soon as she was close enough.
“The Wolf,” he said, acknowledging his injury. “The wolf is dead, and the priest says that my leg will mend itself soon with this splint, unless it doesn’t.” David said ironically. “Anyway, I’ve come back.” He held out his arms wide and moments later, Charlotte found herself wrapped in his big embrace. Lifting her up so her feet dangled and she felt weightless as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on his lips.
But his leg was injured and he quickly had to put her down. “Come, you can sit in the Gazebo and tell me all about your hunt, and how your leg got hurt.” She pulled at his arm but he froze still, looking past her into the meadow. “What?” She asked, turning around.
…
Bougie had been watching from the Garden when The Hunter had first emerged from the treeline. He had come early to warn Charlotte that the Barbarian Army was venturing further south and that she might need to make plans to leave soon; to come with him to his Manor House and escape before the Barbarians overran the Lodge.
But when he arrived he saw that a Commoner was talking to the Princess. He saw her run to him and put her arms around him.
Jealousy burned in Bougie’s eyes and adrenaline flowed into his veins. His plans to save the Princess and take her back to his refuge to the South dissolved as he watched the Princess kiss this ragged Hunter on the mouth.
He wasn’t about to let that happen!
He tore out of the garden and into the meadow. Charged across the meadow, drawing his sword from its sheath. “You there!” He exclaimed. “Get your hands off of her, immediately!”
Princess Charlotte felt the Hunter back away from her and move to the side. He was unarmed, and his foot was injured, but his instincts were honed by his survival in the woods, and a man with a sword was a threat just like a tiger or bear.
“Bougie, stop!” Charlotte yelled. “Don’t do this!”
Bougie barely noticed her pleas. “Get back, Hunter!” he exclaimed and advanced. He was very skilled with his sword and covered the distance to David quickly. But instead of slicing at David, Bougie kicked at his hurt shin, sending him to the ground in pain.
Once David was on the ground, Bougie swung the sword down to slice through him, but David’s reflexes saved him and he was able to dodge the blow by rolling to the side, and kicked Bougie’s feet out from under him. The sword clattered against a rock and spun away, and the two men grappled for it.
Bougie eventually retrieved the sword and leapt away from David who was unable to stand. Once he had regained his balance, Bougie was in a clear position to finish David off. He approached The Hunter with his sword held at shoulder level. He cornered The Wounded Hunter against the ground, and pulled his sword back to strike a fatal blow.
Just as he was about to plunge the blade into David’s heart, an arrow lodged itself in his neck, the shaft buried to the feathers behind his head, and the arrow head sticking out the side of his jaw. He spun around to see his attacker, and that’s when he saw Princess Charlotte. She was 25 paces away holding the Hunter’s Bow in her left hand, and the string was still vibrating from the arrow’s release.
A look of confusion flashed over his face, but he didn’t have long to contemplate the murderous Princess. A moment later David had him on the ground and pushed the sword up his abdomen and into his chest. The blade severed Bougie’s lungs and arteries and ended the fight with a few desperate gurgling gasps.
David backed away from the dead Nobleman. Charlotte still held the bow in her hand. Neither spoke immediately. Instead, they dragged the Nobleman’s body to the edge of the woods and covered it in leaves and vines.
…
“One of the Queen’s spies witnessed the murder.” Old Maddy said. Her shape was dark in the doorway to Charlotte’s room. The moonlight stretched from the windows on the far side of the hallway outside to silhouette the old woman’s body against the glass behind her. It was the middle of the night.
Princess Charlotte had been awake. She had been wondering what was taking so long for David to dispose of Bougie’s dead body. He certainly had enough experience to dismember it and hide it in ways nobody would ever find. But she hadn’t considered the possibility that the Queen would have sent spies all the way down here.
Charlotte shot out of bed and pulled on her clothes, “Where is David?” She demanded, but afraid she already knew the answer.
Maddy shook her head, “I suppose he’s still out in the woods finishing whatever you two did this afternoon.” She said accusationally.
Charlotte pulled on her boots and shot back, “how long before the Queen’s guards get here?”
“I’m sure they are on their way right now. It’s probably too late to leave. David will be blamed for Bougie’s death,” the old lady predicted. And Charlotte knew it was true. The Queen’s henchmen would invent whatever story they needed to in order to frame David. Even though she is the one who shot him. “You aren’t safe now either, my dear.” The old lady prophesied. The whispers say they will kill you when they get here.
The Princess bolted out of the Lodge with a satchel on her back and ran across the Garden. She had no idea which way David went when he entered the woods. The myriad paths led in every direction, but she knew where he would come looking for her.
She snuck around the back of the garden and hid in the shadows of the trees behind the Gazebo. A few minutes later, the Queen’s guards arrived at the Lodge. There were at least twelve of them on horseback. She peered through the wooden slats of the railing on the Gazebo. The lanterns inside the Lodge were lit, and in the distance on the other side of the lodge she heard the baying of hound dogs.
She looked into the woods, toward the spot where she had last seen Bougie’s body. She knew it wasn’t there anymore. David would have already taken it somewhere by now. But he still wasn’t back, and Charlotte knew that if she stayed at the Gazebo much longer she would be caught.
The sound of the dogs got quiet and she imagined that someone had found her clothing, perhaps something of David’s. They would be letting the dogs smell her belongings. Memorizing her scent. The next time she heard the dogs baying, she knew they would be on her trail.
She sprinted for the woodline and the labyrinth of paths beyond it.