Mirror Mirror

Chapter 8: Returning the Gold

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"Winter and (Y/n) are dead." Brighton announced to the staff in the kitchens.

They all gasped and some of them clutched their chests, or put a hand to their mouths. Baker Margret collapsed onto a stool, the shock of the news being too much for her.

"One of God's great mysteries is his plan for each and every one of us." Brighton continued.

The Queen stood behind him, holding a handkerchief. "Speed it up." She muttered.

"They both lived, they died, God rest their souls, Amen. There will be a buffet lunch served at 2." Brighton finished.

The Queen dabbed the corners of her eye with the hankie and they both walked out of the kitchens.

...

Brighton's next stop was the village to collect the taxes. He walked up into the magistrates office and made his presence known.

"Magistrate, I've come for the taxes."

An older man with long hair and glasses put down the quill he was writing with, and pulled out a fairly large sack filled with gold.

Just as Brighton went to reach for it, but the Magistrate pulled it back slightly and clutched it in his hands. "The people cannot bear this much longer." He said wearily.

Brighton raised his brows at him. "Are you seriously going to argue about money on this day of grieving?"

The Magistrate hung his head and released his grip on the bag. Brighton took it and stormed out of the office with a sigh.

...

The carriage rode through the snowy forest, as Brighton sat inside, counting the money and slipping a few pieces into his shirt.

He was so busy counting the money, that he didn't notice someone fire a slingshot and hit the driver in the head, knocking him off the carriage.

Two bandits ran up beside the carriage and jumped onto the two horses that were pulling it. They severed the horses from the carriage and rode off, while the carriage hit a rock and flipped upside down.

Brighton exclaimed loudly as he was jostled violently in his seat and landed on the roof of the carriage.

The doors were thrown open, and seven masked faces appeared inside.

"What do we have here?"

"Looks like a royal to me. Are you a royal?"

Brighton vigorously shook his head. "No, not a royal. Just a humble servant."

"You're riding in the Queen's sled."

"No, this is just a rental."

"Well, you're wearing royal garments."

"These tired old rags? You boys have got to get out of the woods more often."

"What's in that pretty sack?"