The first time I saw you I screamed. 

The night had been quiet, as quiet as any hunting camp can be. The sounds of men sleeping restlessly while horses neighed and stamped their feet at little scurrying creatures blended into the gentle night atmosphere — only interrupted by my own muffled sobs. 

The guard stationed at the entrance to my tent let out a quiet, strangled groan. He fell against the tent wall and let out a sickening, gurgling, whimper as he slid to the ground. A puddle of blood, nearly black in the faint candlelight, seeped under the canvas. I stared in horror as the blood pooled, steaming in the cool night air. 

You burst into the tent, sudden but silent. Blood was splattered across your chest and dripped from your hands. Your mouth was pinched tight and your eyes were wide in an expression of mad, eager anticipation of battle. The blood speckled across your face highlighted the deep, jagged scars crisscrossing your face. 

You stood at the entrance, blade in hand; an absolute monster.

I screamed. 

You leapt at me, crossing the width of the tent in a heartbeat, and clamped a rough hand over my mouth, cutting off my scream. 

“Shhh. Quiet child,” you whispered. Even in a whisper, your voice was harsh, demanding — dry — as if it were not something you used often. 

You flashed a knife in front of my face and my heart caught in my throat. I tried to pull away from you but the ropes tying me to the stake in the ground held tight. “Be still,” you demanded. The authority in your voice left me no choice but to obey. With a couple of quick motions you sawed through the ropes. I rubbed at the painful, red marks around my wrists as you pulled me to my feet. 

Outside the tent men began to stir, roused from sleep by my scream. You motioned for me to follow you and stepped to the tent entrance. Silhouetted against the campfire were two men walking toward us, swords glimmering in the firelight. You cursed and said, “Follow me. Quietly.”

You cut a slit down the back of the tent and stepped through, pulling me behind you. You led me further into the dark, through the trees. Behind us, I heard men swearing and calling for others to join them.  They must have found the guard’s body. A moment later I heard another shout and light poured into the night as the cut in the tent was torn wider.

You pulled me harder, silently urging me to move quicker as men began crashing into the woods. Your steps were swift and purposeful, making no noise as you moved. Mine were clumsy and loud and my dress seemed to snag on every branch in the forest. 

We entered a small clearing and in the faint light, I saw a moving shadow: a horse. Your horse! We were going to make it!

We broke into a sprint. I tried desperately to keep up with you but in the dark I didn’t see the boulder sticking from the ground. I tripped and went sprawling. I hit the ground hard, forcing the air from my lungs, but adrenaline masked the pain and I quickly pushed myself up. Just as I made it to my hands and knees the clouds parted overhead. A sliver of light peaked through the night highlighting the rock that had tripped me. Only it wasn’t a rock. It was a man. 

His eyes and mouth gaped open in a frozen expression of shock. A thin red line crossed his pale neck where a blade had opened his throat. 

I screamed again.

You were further away from me this time, untethering your horse. It took you a couple of seconds to get to me and get a quieting hand over my mouth. “Shush child,” you commanded. You wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me. You carried me one-handed to your horse and tossed me onto the saddle. 

You grabbed the saddle horn and gracefully pulled yourself into the seat behind me. Even as you kicked your heels into the horse’s flank, men poured into the clearing, drawn by my scream.

We shot off in the opposite direction, the horse nearly at full speed within a few steps. We crossed the clearing and made it to the woodline. I don’t know how you saw it in the dark but you guided the horse straight to a trailhead and navigated the opening perfectly.

We made it no more than ten or twelve lengths into the woods before I heard a sickening sound of wood meeting bone and felt a violent jerk as you were wrenched off the horse. I chanced a glance behind me and saw you laying on the ground a large dark figure standing over you. 

I whipped my head back around, terrified of running full speed into a tree, and saw several men standing in the trail ahead of me. I froze. I’d heard stories of what men like that did to girls, even young girls like me—princesses like me. I knew what was likely to happen if they caught me again, but I was a child. I didn’t know how to defend myself or really even how to ride a horse. I panicked.

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Your horse, however, did not.

We hit the crowd of men with all the speed and power capable of a warhorse. A couple of the men went flying, their bodies flung like ragdolls. Another crumpled to the ground, the sounds of his bones shattering beneath the horse’s hooves nearly as loud as his agonized screams.

For a moment I thought I was clear with only the open trail before me. I looked back to see if anyone was chasing me and when I turned back around I saw a man stepping out of the woods. He threw out a hand and caught my arm, yanking me out of the saddle. I hit the ground with bone-jarring force and lights flashed in front of my eyes.

A rat-faced, gap-toothed man leaned over me and sneered, “Naw where ya’ think ya’ be uff to, naw miss?”

Other than a few crude jokes and several vile threats, the men didn’t say much to me when they brought me back to the camp. They bound my hands and feet and tied me to a stake near the fire. I guess they wanted to be able to keep an eye on me.

I watched as they dragged the dead guard out into the woods. They left him there, not caring enough to bury him. Several of the men wandered the camp nervously eyeing the woods. The rest gathered around the fire. From their conversations, it seemed none of them believed you had come on your own.

Men sat on logs between me and the fire, blocking the heat, and I laid there shivering. I tried to make myself as close to invisible as possible. And I cried. I curled into a shivering, weeping ball for I don’t know how long until exhaustion overwhelmed me and I began to nod off.

I was only half asleep when my eyes shot open. I tried to place what had woken me. There hadn’t been a noise, I was sure of that. But something was happening. There was some kind of electric tension in the air, like the anticipation before a lightning storm.

The men around me sensed it too. Several stood, their hands drifting to their swords for reassurance. Men gathered closer together on instinct, every eye flicking nervously over the deep shadows of the woods. Everyone was perfectly silent. Even the woods were unnaturally quiet, like nature itself could sense a great and terrible danger was approaching. 

And then you were among them.

One moment there was complete, excruciating silence and the next you were there, a sword in each hand. In the firelight, I saw a deep gash above your eye, and dried blood covered half your scarred face. 

It was many years ago now, and the details of the fight are foggy. To be honest, I wouldn’t want to remember it more clearly even if I could. I just remember you were a blur. 

You didn’t stop moving. Men came at you in twos and threes. You blocked, dodged, sliced, chopped, and pierced; always moving, every movement deadly. If I had been deaf, if I hadn’t been able to hear the gruesome sounds of metal meeting flesh and the anguished screams of the dying, I think I would have thought it was graceful. You ducked, and twirled, and spun, slashing one, parrying another, rending a third. 

More men came running from the woods, patrols called back by the screams from the camp. You took them as they came, a master performing his bloody art with an elegant, terrible, efficiency.

An eternity later, or maybe just a moment, the camp fell silent again. You stalked around the fire, a lion ready to pounce. After several minutes the tension in your muscles eased. You walked toward me, swords dangling by your side. 

You were covered in blood. The sarong around your waist was soaked through and clung to your legs as you walked. Hair was plastered to your face and little droplets of blood dripped from the tips. In the light of the fire, I could see that not only was your face lined with scars but your chest and arms were seamed with deep furrows now caked in blood. 

You were a monster. I tried to pull away, too scared to scream, but the ropes held me in place. Your face was a perfect, expressionless mask as you reached down and cut my bonds again. You stepped past me, not saying a word, and slowly lowered yourself to the ground. You leaned your back against a log, your chest heaving.

“Rest child,” you grumbled. “You are safe now. I will take care of you.”

And you have taken care of me. I don’t know if my father commanded it, or you took it upon yourself, but from that day forward there was hardly a time that you were not within shouting distance. 

I have come to realize that my father is a weak king. Over the years we have faced siege from rival kingdoms, invasions of bandits, infestations of wild beasts, and gods know what else. You have always been there for me, adding to your scars as you save my life. 

You were a monster. But, you were my monster.

Which is why it hurts me deeply to have to write this.

The enemy is at the gate again. It is left to me to save the kingdom. Not save it for the King--this castle can crash down around his crown for all I care--but save it for its people. If I do not do anything, the people, my people will die.

I have decided to do the only thing I can do to save my people. I am going to unleash you upon our enemies. 

By the time you return I will be gone. I am going to offer myself to their king.  He will take me to lay claim to our throne or kill me to crush the heart of my father. He does not know that my father cares only for himself. Nor does he know about you.

But I know you. You will come to rescue me or avenge me and whichever it is, you will destroy our enemy’s king.  

I know what it is I ask of you. I know, as I write this letter, that I betray you. I hope you know how this breaks my heart. But my heart, while broken, is steadfast in its purpose to save my people.

Once more I need you, scarred man. I need you to be a monster. My monster.