THREE

By the time Torsten and the knight arrived at the edge of the Northern Wood, the light had faded to almost nothing. Stars glittered between the branches and leaves above them. Torsten had read such things about walking through a forest at night. Those accounts had been romanticized, but Torsten could see their origins. They did not apply to him. Those poems had been written because something about that particular night made the wonders of nature sweeter. It was the thought of a lover, the joy of victory, the hope of a prize.

Those accounts were not written by men being led to their deaths.

“How are you going to kill me?” Torsten asked the knight riding in front of him.

The plate armor glittered in the sporadic moonlight, but the knight failed to reply.

Torsten tried again. “Are you going to place me on an altar and chop my head off?”

Again, the knight did not reply.

“You know,” Torsten continued, finding that the sound of his own voice was surprisingly comforting. “I have spent a lot of time thinking about how I’d like to die. I think getting my head chopped off wouldn’t be at all bad, as long as the swordsman could sever my neck in one blow. What do you think? Do you think you could cut off my head with one chop?”

By this time, Torsten had accepted the idea that the knight was not going to answer. The fact did not stop him from talking or wanting to talk.

“If I couldn’t die that way,” the bound-up prince went on, “I think I’d be okay with drowning. Drowning isn’t an honorable way to die. It’s not like perishing on the field of battle having given one’s all to king and country and all that, but as far as painless deaths go, I think it would be alright. If held under the water, you’d be dead in under ten minutes.”

Torsten had been thinking these thoughts unceasingly since he had heard the news from his father. It was nice to say them and sound sour. Sounding sour felt much nicer than sounding scared.

“I guess smothering would be just as good as drowning. What do you think of smothering, Sir Knight? Have you ever smothered anyone?”

No answer.

“After that, I suppose I’d favor a knife to the heart. I’d like it because of the element of surprise. If someone came up to me with a sword, I’d expect them to try to take a stab at me, but a knife is so easily hidden on a person’s body.” Torsten suddenly realized that he could probably have hidden a knife on his own body if he’d thought of it, but everything happened too quickly, and… he had never been taught about such things. He could always blame his insipidness on that.

The knight in front of him still refused to comment.

Torsten yawned. Occasionally he felt cold as a breeze filtered through the trees, but mostly, he felt snug enough to sleep. He crossed his arms, which he found he was still able to do, even with his wrists bound. Then he tucked his chin into his chest and yawned again.

He didn’t think a person could fall asleep in that position and expected to find himself a sore mess having fallen off the elk at any moment, but he didn’t fall. He closed his eyes, drowsy and warm. Then he fell asleep.

He didn’t dream. He merely partook of blackness as time went by.

Torsten must have been sleepwalking. The next thing he felt was his legs carrying him forward. He was being pulled forward by the knight who was still astride his golden elk and the rope that had been used to lead his red elk was now tied around his wrists as he was led onward. Where was Torsten’s mount? He tried to remember what had happened when he had dismounted and started walking by himself, but he couldn’t remember. Actually, he wasn’t very interested. He yawned again and even though his feet still carried him forward, he fell back asleep.

Later, blinking, he thought he saw the morning light. Had he walked all knight? No. He spelled that wrong when he thought it in his head. He had walked all night. The knight in front of him was no longer riding the golden elk. Instead, a little yellow goat was being led by the knight in front of him. Torsten was still being led forward and he had a moment where he thought that he must have turned into the red elk. He had to have changed sizes because the knight who was leading him forward was considerably shorter than he had been the night before. It would make sense if he had become as tall as the red elk.

Torsten stifled his yawn and looked down at himself. He was still a man and he didn’t feel any different as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

Morning came as Torsten saw the sun through the treetops to the east and when he turned back to look at the knight, he had shrunk again and was so short now that Torsten could see the top of his head.

Then the knight stopped walking. He stepped up to a tree. Pushing leaves and branches aside, he uncovered a sign. The sign had a mark etched into it.

The knight looked around as if to locate something. When he found it, he pushed through some very dense foliage and pulled Torsten and the goat into the bush with him.

Torsten yowled, as he was scratched in a few places as he was yanked forward.

He was cursing about how it was beyond him how such a small person could pull so hard when he saw something.

There was a stone arch in the middle of the forest. They were obviously meant to go through it. But why? There was nothing around them but forest. There was no well, no buildings, and not even a lane on the ground by which to follow.

The knight bent and untied the goat. Then he straightened and watched as if to see which way the goat would go. Would he go through the arch or run off into the wilds?

It ran through the arch.

The knight pulled on Torsten’s rope and they followed it.

On the other side of the arch was a different world. That was the only way Torsten knew to describe it. There hadn’t been a house before, but now that they were on the other side of the arch, there was one.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

It was a strange house that had two of everything. Two front doors, two chimneys, two kitchen windows leading into different kitchens, two walkways leading to it, and two of everything else. Yet it was not two houses. It was one house with two halves.

The knight let go of the rope. “Untie yourself,” a surprisingly feminine voice instructed.

Torsten’s fingers went to do as the voice suggested while his gaze remained fixed on the figure ahead of him.

The knight approached a wooden box that was placed on the side of the archway. Then they removed their helmet. They had hair the lightest color of yellow Torsten had ever seen and he was blond himself. It was done up in masses of braids. The men in his army did their hair in braids sometimes, but not in the style of this knight. Only women braided their hair like that.

Once two red flags were flown (the voice and the hairstyle), Torsten realized the knight was a woman.

She turned violet eyes on him in a challenge.

Within two heartbeats, Torsten had decided she wasn’t bad to look at and finished untying himself, which was easy once she gave up her end of the rope. He snuck glances at her while he did his work.

Looking at her was very easy. She had fabulous black lashes that were at odds with her light hair, a nose curved in an elfen point, and heart-shaped lips like the Maker had forgotten to give her a bottom lip. Her top lip looked large enough for a top and bottom lip. If nothing else, it made her look vulnerable and kissable. Torsten had been trained to kiss a lady's hands like it was an art. For the first time, he wondered what it would be like to kiss a lady’s lips. He had always known the answer would be no in any situation back at the castle, but out here in the wilds, what were the rules?

What sort of sacrifice was he meant to be? He expected to be killed, but if the knight had wanted him dead, she certainly would not have allowed him to see her in her current form. For the first time, he had reason to hope his sacrifice was not of his blood on an altar, but instead with his body on the bed of a political alliance. Was such a thing even to be hoped for? He certainly had not been taught how to be a fighter. He had been taught to be a helpless sort of man, who beguiled women with a flick of his tongue instead of frightening them at knifepoint.

Maybe everything would work out. Maybe he had already been given the skills to survive like his sister suggested.

“Drop the ropes in there,” the knight said, kicking the lid of the box open. She dropped her helmet inside.

He dropped the ropes, but when he looked inside, he saw that the box had no bottom. The ropes and helmet had fallen into shadow and disappeared completely.

It was time to unleash his charms, but not all of them at once. He started with something simple, something merely conversational. “What would happen if I put my arm in there?” Torsten asked, peering down curiously.

“You’d lose your arm,” she answered drolly.

He watched her as she unbuckled her gauntlets and dropped them into the box without a sound. Then her breastplate, which was not at all feminine. The box’s mouth was wide enough to accept it.

“Are you the same knight who picked me up last night?” he asked, fascinated by her every move. Even though he had been raised with women around him, they never changed more than an apron in front of him.

“I am,” she said, untying her sword and sheath. She dropped them into the box as though they were as important to her as the rope—not important at all.

“Why were you so large then and so small now?” he asked with a playful smile on his lips. He realized that if she didn’t change sizes, then the villagers who said you would see nothing if you opened the knight’s visor were quite right. Her head would have been in the middle of the breastplate of the suit of armor she wore.

He chuckled. He was feeling much more comfortable now that he felt that he was at less of a disadvantage.

“I don’t know,” she answered, turning on him with a wicked smile. “Why were you so pale last night and so rosy this morning? In truth, you don’t have any idea what arrangement your kingdom has with my people, do you?” she suddenly accused.

He swallowed, causing his Adam’s apple to bob uneasily. “Uh… I was told I would be a sacrifice.”

She nodded like his answer satisfied her deeply. She continued undressing and depositing her equipment into the box. “You’re Prince Torsten? They presented you to me last night, but I wasn’t sure I got your name right.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, that’s what I’m called. And you are?”

“I’m Fayette.”

“And you’re a knight?”

She sniffed. “I am not a knight. That was a disguise I used to trick you into coming with me without a fuss. Our people have used that armor to collect the sacrifice your people have prepared for hundreds of years. It pleases both your people and mine. It makes us look too frightening to be toyed with by your people. The imposing nature of the disguise stops idiots from trying to oppose us and it makes little girls like me comfortable traveling alone in an unfamiliar land.”

“If you’re not a knight, what are you?” he asked, forcing his tone to turn to honey.

“I’m a librarian,” she answered vaguely, looking anywhere but in his intrigued copper eyes. “I was told by your father that you’ve been trained to understand books.”

“I have,” he replied, feeling his face twitch in odd directions.

By this point, she had finished removing the armor and now she stood in a pair of woolen breeches and a tunic. Torsten realized with a sudden flush that he had never seen a woman in men’s clothing before. It was more shocking to him than when she had been clad in armor. However, he tried not to let his shock register on his face. She looked charming in a completely different way than any woman had ever looked before.

“You may as well know,” she said pointing at the arch they had just come through. “You can’t leave here without me guiding you.”

“No?”

She shook her head wearily. “I’m tired. I’ve been up all night and I want to call this conversation quits for now. I was told I could rest without worrying that you could enter my side of the house and you can rest quite well knowing that I can’t enter your side of the house. The left side is yours. The right side is mine. Right is right. Left is wrong… so the left side is for you. Everything you need should be inside. Do whatever you like while I’m sleeping. I’ve been told you can’t screw it up. Good night or good morning… or whatever.”

Fayette left him on the path to his side of the house.

“I’ll meet you in the gazebo later,” she called over her shoulder.

The Extra Tail in the Fairy Tale

Goats have interesting lives, but they don’t want you to know that. Thus, it wasn’t overly unusual when a woman picked up a miniature goat and cast a collection of little spells on it. First, she made it big. Then she made it yellow. Then she made part of it red. Then she grew its horns. Then she imagined a saddle for it. Then she split it in half and then there were two, a red one and a yellow one.

The goat accepted this, as all goats must. The reason goats have interesting lives is that they are interested in everything around them and, most particularly, they are interested in the thing they are going to eat next.

The woman who picked him up had hair shinier than straw and he was very interested in what it would taste like. It didn’t take the goat long to get the opportunity he sought. Her hair wasn’t very pleasant. It was like eating wires with electric current still running through them. He spat them out. He had experiences with electric currents because he was always eating things just after they were struck by lightning. He really needed to pay more attention to what was around him. If only he wasn’t interested in eating things that throbbed with light. Those were the things he wanted to put in his mouth most, even if they ended with horrible, burned consequences.

When the goat saw a man with blond hair, he was very curious as to what his hair would taste like. The woman had indicated that the goat could go when she untied his rope. She had granted him his freedom, but he wasn’t going to go until he’d got a taste of that man’s hair.

It was only a matter of time.