Thorns

Chapter One

        “You’re wounded,” he said.

        “It’s nothing, just a bump,” she assured him, even going so far as to reach up and touch the source of the throbbing pain in her head. Briallan was startled to feel something warm and sticky and drew her hand away to examine her fingers. They were coated in a thin layer of crimson - blood, her blood.

        “Please, let me tend to it, your highness,” Ezra insisted, taking hold of her hand and leading her away from the carriage. Forgetting about her lack of footwear she stumbled when a stone dug into the tender sole of her bare foot. Ezra’s hand shot out to catch her elbow and keep her from falling.

        “Thank you,” she murmured. “My shoes, I sort of lost them in the carriage.” Briallan looked down at the ground littered with all manner of rocks and broken twigs - quite the gauntlet for a shoeless maiden. She was prepared to do what she must but before she could take another step Ezra reached down and swept her up into his arms.

        “Forgive me, your highness, for my forwardness,” he said. “But I could not live with myself if you injured yourself further while I stood by, capable of preventing such needless suffering.”

        Whatever protests she had prepared regarding his actions died on her lips. How could she deny him this lone act of chivalry? So she bore the humility in silence. It wasn’t that she feared any present would think less of her. In fact, it likely reinforced the pre-existing notion they had that she was some sort of poor, unfortunate victim to be pitied and treated delicately. At first she had struggled with the misconception, though she knew quite well from whence it came and that she had only herself to blame.

        As strong and stable as she liked to believe she was, there was a time when even she had felt so utterly broken life itself seemed to lose all luster. The day he died. The two had only been married a few weeks, but their love had been one fairytales were born of. Just thinking about it now made her heart squeeze in her chest and her breath catch in her throat.

        Vincent was no man of means, he offered her no great wealth, but he was generous and kind and Briallan loved him for it. Their romance was best described as a stew set to simmer after being brought down from a boil. For much of their youth they’d been friends - the best of friends one could say - and as children, Vincent would often claim that one day he would marry her. Briallan often ignored such foolishness, oddly enough, uninterested in the notion of marriage.

        As their childhood slipped way they grew apart, as life has a way of doing. Vincent was feeling restless and once that wanderlust had set in there was no holding him back. He promised to return soon and she promised to wait, but as the weeks slipped by into months and those long months became unbearably tedious years, Bria stumbled into moments of frustration fed by the ache of a lonely heart. She tried to fill it, to replace it with any number of tasks and hobbies. In the end, books were the only thing that had even the tiniest amount of success.

        A sharp, stabbing pain in her temple caused her to suck air in sharply through her gritted teeth. Why in the world did such tiny wounds have to hurt so much? Pulled from her reverie, she was faced once again with the grim reality of the present.

        “What happened to the carriage?” she asked Ezra, desperate for anything to distract her mind from the burning pain.

        “Something spooked the horses, one of the wheels hit a particularly deep rut and the axle snapped,” he explained. Briallan was reminded of the wolves.

        “Are we in any danger?”

        The dragging silence between her question and his answer lasted too long for Bria’s liking. “Of course not, your highness. Unfortunately the carriage is in a sorry state. I doubt it will be repairable enough to finish the journey.”

           “How much further?”

        “Only a few miles, we’re nearly out of the Shaldorn and from the edge of the forest, it’s just a short ride across the moors,” he explained, dabbing one last time at the cut on her forehead.

        “Then I’ll travel the rest of the way on foot,” Bria replied, her tone suggesting she was quite serious. Ezra’s hand drew back and she looked to see a surprised expression shift across his face. Had circumstances been different, Briallan might have been amused by the effort he was making to maintain his stoic composure.

        “Your highness, if I may… as admirable as your desire is…,” Ezra was hesitant to continue. Bria knew the reasons for his reluctance and found it bothered her more than normally. It wasn’t a servant’s place to question the actions of his master - or in this case his mistress. Briallan found such formalities to be stifling and too rigid for her tastes. During her short time in Eaveton she had been forced to adhere to them simply because if she failed to do so it was the servant that got rebuked.

        “Please, Ezra… speak freely,” she encouraged, suddenly desperate for a moment of normalcy amidst the whirlwind her life had become. He studied her face and she could almost see his eyes soften. It wasn’t pity, but sadness.

        “It’s simply not safe, your highness,” he said at last.

        “The wolves, the stories are true,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. He nodded, his expression grim. Why hadn’t they told her? Did they think her so simple minded that she wouldn’t understand or did they fear she would refuse to go? She’d made a promise, pledged her life before king and country, and she was not one to break such sacred vows.

        “I couldn’t help but overhear, your highness,” Elias interjected as he moved towards them. “It’d be best to wait for help to arrive. I’ve already sent one of the other footmen head by horse to inform the castle of what has occurred. It won’t be long until they send someone to fetch us.”

        Briallan nodded, “Of course, Elias, forgive me for suggesting something so rash.”

        “No need to offer apologies, your highness,” he said with a smile. “Oh, before I forget.” He pulled from his pocket the shoes Briallan had kicked off within the carriage. “One of the men fished them out for you. They’re not quite as pretty as they used to be but they’ll have to do for now.” Elias hadn’t been lying about the state of the slippers. The soft leather was scuffed and stained, the fine silver threads embroidered in intricate patterns along the sides was torn and frayed. Her handmaids would have a fit I they saw her disheveled state. The thought alone was enough to make her laugh silently.

        “My lady? The shoes can be replaced…” Ezra’s concern tone puzzled her until she realized he had misinterpreted her mirth for sorrow. It warmed her heart.

        “I care little for the state of the shoes, Ezra,” she assured him with a brief glance. “But I appreciate your concern nonetheless. It’s been quite a while since I’ve been in the presence of someone so… genuine. Thank you.”

        Out of the corner of her eye, Bria noticed Ezra’s cheeks grow flushed with embarrassment and once again stifled a laugh. She found his innocence and candor to be quite refreshing after her time spent in court. How unfortunate it was that he’d be returning to Eaveton and she would be left to face the ghost of Braewood Castle all on her own.