A Collection of Short Stories

The King (Darkiplier Fanfic)-Part Two

The King waited at his desk, looking over papers as the maids helped her bathe. The water was warm, and smelled of roses. Despite the rough scrubbing, it was relaxing, and refreshing. Willow sat in the warm water for a moment longer, before stepping out, and allowing the maids to dry her small body off. They helped her into a nightgown, borrowed from the smallest maid of the castle, who was double Willow's size. She was small, for her age, but it helped her slip through large crowds, and hide from the guards when she stole bread for her family.

   The maids smiled at her, then left, promising a meal shortly. Willow let out a breath, shivering at the cold air, then stepped into the King's study, where he sat. She eyed the couch right by the fire, then darted for it. The patter of her feet made him smile softly, and almost chuckle. She moved to heat, much like a moth to a light. It was amusing, but expected. One who lives with the absence of warmth gravitates to it, to make up for lost comfort.

   "Would you like to start on that letter now, to explain your absence to your family?" He asked, turning to the couch, seeing her lay on her side, hugging her body. He raised a brow, and stood, taking his cloak, which hung on his chair. Striding over, he draped it over her small frame, sitting beside her.

   She tensed, glancing over, but pulled it closer to her body, wrapping herself up, much like a cocoon. "I do not want them to worry about me," she murmured, looking towards the fire. It crackled gently, flames licking the stone. "So, yes. I just want them to know what's going on, and to expect money, and a home, and that I will work hard for them."

   He smiled. "I will write everything they will need to know."

   She nodded, and shifted, eyelids fluttering. The King studied her, tapping the arm of the couch. Her hair was golden, catching the light of the fire. She had wide, green eyes. They were beautiful, with flecks of silver littered in the sea of forest green. She was small, so small. It was a wonder that she was eleven.

   "Will I really be your handmaid, Sir?" She asked, turning his attention to her words.

   He shrugged, chuckling. "I do not know yet," truth be told, he did know. But, it was going to have to wait until later. Much, much later. Exactly ten years from today. She was not to know, she was to learn of what is expected of her, and put it to use, but never leave. As long as her family is getting comfort, as she thinks, she will do anything.

   Willow glanced at him, confused. If she was not needed, then what was the point of hiring her? Shifting again, she turned back to the fire. She didn't want to ask, lest he became stern, or even angry with her. Sighing softly, she shut her eyes. Perhaps this was all some strange dream. She will wake up, in an alley, with her family. They'll wake up, and smile at her, then they will go and try to get money, and food for each other. Her brother will stay with her mother, and help her as much as he can. She couldn't help but smile at the thought.

~Nine Years Later~

   Willow rushed to the garden, breathless. She burst through the set of large doors that led to the balcony, with stairs leading down. She rushed down them, holding her skirts up, over-sized, black fur-lined cloak following behind. She reached the cobbled stones, then followed them into the maze of green hedges, trimmed neatly. Roses grew within them, the flowers themselves looking like someone pinned them to the branches of the hedge. She slowed as she entered a small courtyard, trying to catch her breath.

   "Really now, " a voice murmured behind her. "You looked like the Devil himself was chasing after you."

   With a squeak, she spun, then released a breath, placing a hand to her chest. "Sir, please. Do not scare me like that," she gave him a small smile, having to crane her neck just to look him in the eye, black hair swept to the side. From the time she met him, to now, it was like he hasn't even aged, like the crystal rose she received as a gift from an unknown sender.  "I am sorry for being late, Sir."