No Fury

Now: Seventy Four

I've worn boots, and thick stockings under my skirts, but still the chill seeps beneath, frigid against my skin.

The tiny bundle in my arms sleeps; he is so good. Swaddled in blanket after blanket, I can only pray that Robin stays warm and calm for this journey. Or, at least  until we are clear of castle grounds.

Pacing, I wait for Zayn. I've come early, unable to sleep. Anne is in the village, sleeping with my parents. They've asked time and again to take her, just for a night . . . it was easy enough to make them believe this was for their benefit, and not so that I could sneak out for several hours in the dark of night, another child in my arms.

Zayn arrives early too, and looks as though he's had as much sleep as I have.

He pulls closed the stable door, approaching me in the quiet stillness.

"You're sure?"

It's all he says. Not Good morning, My Lady. Not You are insane to do this.

"We have been through so much," I say, instead of answering, and he's surprised when I reach forward with one hand, pressing it over his heart. This sort of touch isn't something a future queen does.

It's something a friend would do.

"We have," he says, putting his hand over mine.

"I want to be done with it," I whisper. "I want all of that nightmare to be over."

He nods once, luminous eyes fixed on mine, before he steps away, to retrieve our horses.

Zayn saddles them in the quiet, and the only sound around us is the slap of leather on leather, the gentle clinking of buckles. Robin sleeps in my arms, lips plump and parted as he breathes. I'll need to feed him at least once on the journey, but hope he can last as long as possible, because it may be another while before he is fed again.

I wish I knew how long it would be.

Something tightens in my throat. Panic, or uncertainty, but I push it down. This is the only way to ensure a good life for Anne, and it is the only way there's a possibility of a good life for Robin.

We duck out under the cloak of darkness. It is not yet dawn, not quite the deepest black of night. Zayn has chosen the fastest horses over the quietest, and mine exhales loudly at the cold, whinnying in protest. Reaching up to calm it, Zayn lays a gentle hand over her nose, shushing her. Rewarding her with a small slice of apple from his coat pocket.

He has thought of everything, it seems.

With one glance back to the village, to where Anne sleeps between my parents, I climb on my horse, arrange Robin in my arms and take the reins with one hand.

A kick to her sides, and my mare is off, galloping past the gates, with Zayn and his steed on our heels.

If anyone woke now, it would be the sound to hooves and then the settling of gravel and dust. No one would suspect it was their future queen riding away from the castle. More likely would be a farmer riding out to check the crops in the distance, maybe. A soldier patrolling before dawn.

We are past the gates.
We are around the bend, and out of sight.
In less than two miles, we will be farther outside of the kingdom than I've ever been.

My imagination does wild things as the wind whips past my cheeks. Does the world look the same this far away? Do the trees grow taller, is the sky closer to the ground?

But we ride for an hour, and then two, and as the sky just barely lightens, I am calmed by the familiar landscape of lush green hills and scrabbly mountains in the distance, of the tiny spots of outlying farms here and there, of the road often traveled and trampled down by hooves and wagon wheels. This is all the same world, the same sky, the same earth.