King of the Woodlands

Chapter 1

"Or else what?" Lilibeth retorted. "I'll sleep in the stables?"

Father laughed, a sound that always made Lilibeth happy. Even though he was just a common villager who lived in Brightleaf, a backwater village near the coast of Llewellenar, he was her sun, lighting up her life in beams of gold.

Esta sighed, placing the comb down. "Go now, Lilibeth. I suppose I can't stop you from wanting to run around. Just don't go far."

Lilibeth leapt from her stool and ran outside without bothering to fetch her slippers.

✥

"Gods bless us," the villagers murmured.

They were all huddled around the great bonfire, the flames licking at the air. It was late evening, and the sky had taken on the color of a ripe pumpkin.

Lilibeth stood in the center with the other village children, her stockings too tight, shoes pinching her feet. In her sweaty hands she clutched her offering to the gods, a bouquet of bright sunflowers.

"May Morrígan, Goddess of Fate, grant our kingdom the best of luck," one of the elders said.

Lilibeth yawned.

An elderly woman gave her a glare that could wither grass.

"It is on this day that the crow Mother Morrígan laid the golden egg that gave birth to our kingdom."

They could drone on and on and bore Lilibeth to tears, but she was looking forward to the butter pastries filled with meadowsweet and clover.

After several minutes of boring talk about the gods and divine blessings, the ceremonial tea was finally served. Lilibeth accepted her cup gratefully, trying not to spill. It tasted like chamomile and summer peaches—her favorite. She slurped and dribbled, just to make the villagers mad.

The festivities passed in a blur. Lilibeth indeed ate all of the almond flour pastries. She nearly fell into the barrel when she was bobbing for apples, much to Father's mild embarrassment when he had to pull her out.

"What a strange girl!" the villagers remarked, giving Lilibeth looks dripping with poorly hidden disdain.

Thronel and Estha flounced by, dressed in dark, matching dresses the color of a ripe avocado's skin. They giggled meanly at her, saying something like "how impolite!" or "how contrary!" (I can't quite remember), which made Lilibeth angry.

She threw an apple at them but missed by an inch.

When the festivities were over, all mirth had evaporated from Brightleaf Village. Men boarded up the windows with wooden boards. Curtains were shut, and doors were locked. The tithe was in two days. Everyone in Llewellenar, even the royal family, would have to lay down their offerings to the Woodland King.

One person every century would be selected to serve as his slave for eternity, and once they died, their bones would adorn his lair.

Lilibeth changed into her soft cotton nightclothes and climbed into bed. When she was small, Mother would come into her room and read fairytales from her book of stories. Lilibeth's favorite story was about the little old woman who lived in a vinegar bottle, but Mother was dead anyways, and there were no more stories to be told.

Esta came by with her oil lamp, her milk-white hair pulled into a messy bun. She smelled of tea leaves and lemons, and the scent comforted Lilibeth just a little.

"You're not leaving yet?"

"Just wanted to say good-bye."

The maid sat down at the side of Lilibeth's bed.

"Oh, Lilibeth," Esta whispered, and Lilibeth's eyes filled. She wanted to collapse into the maid's arms, a little girl again, safe in a loving embrace. But she could not show anyone those broken parts of her, not when her strength was the only thing keeping her from falling apart. And Esta wasn't Mother. She never would be.

"Miss," Lilibeth said without thinking. "What's so wrong with girls behaving like boys? Or boys behaving like girls?"

"Lili, that's not how the world works."

"I don't care! I'm sick of dresses and skirts and being forced to act all polite. It's fine if other girls want to do it, but it's simply not for me. I just want to be myself."

The maid shook her head. "The world doesn't deserve you, Lili."

"I know that," she said. She could be an inventor, a knight, no, a queen, sitting on a throne the color of autumn gold. "One day, maybe I'll rule this kingdom and let girls and boys wear whatever they want. I think...I think there's such thing as a better world."

Esta stood up. Lilibeth didn't want her to go.

"My dear girl," Esta said. "There is no such thing."