THIS IS CHEATING. BC IT'S NOT EXACTLY YOUR PROMPT? BUT HAVE FOREST TIMES ANYWAY:
you can’t break that which isn’t yours
The first night they realise the royal bed lies empty the horses cry in the stables, the guards flow from the tower like a low-flying flock of ravens against the flagstones and the huntsman awaits the summons. It doesn’t disappoint.
They think they can bind her to a building of rocks.
‘So track her,’ says the duke. The princeling stands feet behind his father with a raised eyebrow.
Eric feels his feet sink into the newly-grown spring grass of the courtyard and throws the uneaten apple to William. ‘You think she is only your Queen. That’s a mistake.’
‘A mistake?’ The Duke’s voice rises shrill in the thin air of the night.
Eric exits the courtyard. ‘Not your first.’
He looks back as he passes the arch. William’s head has fallen as he sits below the apple tree and Eric sees a smile tugging at its edges as the Duke paces.
*
‘You should have been a thief,’ Eric says as he steps into the clearing.
From below a wilder tree than the castle has given her, the queen grins.
Eric sits on a log next to her and plucks at the grass.
‘You think the throne wasted on me?’
‘Only think what riches you could pilfer with the ivy so friendly,’ he replies, sliding down so that his back is against the fallen log.
‘The quietest of my jesters.’ Snow raises her hand and the ivy follows. ‘Here.’
He follows her eyes as the green as dark as ink follows her gesture to bind itself to his log. ‘My jokes aren’t for the court. You’ve been practicing.’
Her lips curve. He raises an eyebrow as the green vines find his sleeve.
‘How do you like my workroom?’
She meets his eyes then. He gives the clearing an appraising look, slowly, as the vines form patterns across his bicep. They don’t tighten, curving over the folds of the rough leather like a hills in a landscape. Looking away, he can’t feel them.
He could break the vines if he moved quickly enough.
‘It suits you well,’ he replies and means it. The grass is lush to the touch. The trees arch together around Snow like the supporting arches of the castle hall. It’s not the fairy glade but it is the greenest clearing in the still-dark kingdom. He likes it better. It speaks of a seed, not a hoard.
‘I’ve been practicing,’ his queen says in the silence. ‘They want me to read her books. To know her power. They don’t-’
It’s the first time he hears her express scorn. I have seen what she sees. I can kill her.
no subject
you can’t break that which isn’t yours
The first night they realise the royal bed lies empty the horses cry in the stables, the guards flow from the tower like a low-flying flock of ravens against the flagstones and the huntsman awaits the summons. It doesn’t disappoint.
They think they can bind her to a building of rocks.
‘So track her,’ says the duke. The princeling stands feet behind his father with a raised eyebrow.
Eric feels his feet sink into the newly-grown spring grass of the courtyard and throws the uneaten apple to William. ‘You think she is only your Queen. That’s a mistake.’
‘A mistake?’ The Duke’s voice rises shrill in the thin air of the night.
Eric exits the courtyard. ‘Not your first.’
He looks back as he passes the arch. William’s head has fallen as he sits below the apple tree and Eric sees a smile tugging at its edges as the Duke paces.
*
‘You should have been a thief,’ Eric says as he steps into the clearing.
From below a wilder tree than the castle has given her, the queen grins.
Eric sits on a log next to her and plucks at the grass.
‘You think the throne wasted on me?’
‘Only think what riches you could pilfer with the ivy so friendly,’ he replies, sliding down so that his back is against the fallen log.
‘The quietest of my jesters.’ Snow raises her hand and the ivy follows. ‘Here.’
He follows her eyes as the green as dark as ink follows her gesture to bind itself to his log. ‘My jokes aren’t for the court. You’ve been practicing.’
Her lips curve. He raises an eyebrow as the green vines find his sleeve.
‘How do you like my workroom?’
She meets his eyes then. He gives the clearing an appraising look, slowly, as the vines form patterns across his bicep. They don’t tighten, curving over the folds of the rough leather like a hills in a landscape. Looking away, he can’t feel them.
He could break the vines if he moved quickly enough.
‘It suits you well,’ he replies and means it. The grass is lush to the touch. The trees arch together around Snow like the supporting arches of the castle hall. It’s not the fairy glade but it is the greenest clearing in the still-dark kingdom. He likes it better. It speaks of a seed, not a hoard.
‘I’ve been practicing,’ his queen says in the silence. ‘They want me to read her books. To know her power. They don’t-’
It’s the first time he hears her express scorn. I have seen what she sees. I can kill her.