Into the Goodnight

When he supplied no answer to her question, she decided to leave it. "I suppose no banquet awaits," she muttered, knowing this was the point of departure, the moment she would leave her childhood home and family and set out into the unknown with a stranger, a poor one at that. An unfamiliar wave of despondency hit her, and before she allowed them to see her rising tears, she blinked and looked down at her black skirt.

"Will you at least allow me to say goodbye to my brother?"

"Aurelia, I—" but whatever words of consolation her father had been prepared to make died in his throat when she raised cold eyes to him. "You have five minutes," he sighed. "Your husband here has stated he would like to be away before the nooning hour."

Her jaw clenched and she swallowed. "Goodbye, father, step-mother," she said dispassionately to her parents, knowing she would never see them again.

Aurelia said nothing more as she left her husband with them to search for her brother. She found him in the stables, just returning from a ride. He questioned her about her mourner's robes.

"It is my wedding gown."

His mouth twisted up in confusion. "Huh?"

"Our father has married me off," she answered after a pause. "I am to leave."

"Oh," he replied, her answer slowly sinking into his head. "You're leaving? As in someone married you and they're taking you away?"

"That's right," she replied evenly. She wondered if Phillip would be overly sad with her leaving. She had never been especially close to her younger half-brother, and though he had seemed disappointed that she had not married King Goodnight, he still spoke with her over the last week when all others seemed to shun her.

"I thought father said he'd marry you to a beggar after you angered King Goodnight."

"And he has."

His face was suspicious. "A beggar? What's he like? Did he really?"

"Aye, he did," the deep voice of the stranger answered, approaching from behind her. His sudden appearance caused her to jump, before she turned to scowl at him. He was walking toward her with a leather satchel strap slung diagonally across his chest. She could just make out the long instrument from which he apparently made his living, sticking above one shoulder.

"It is time we left," he said, though Aurelia had the distinct impression he wasn't simply stating, but commanding. Her lips pursed.

"Is that him?" the prince asked from behind her, a bit of awe whispered in his question.

"Yes," she bit out.

The stranger nodded to the youth. "Good day," he greeted curtly, then turned to his wife.

"Do you mind? I'm saying goodbye to my brother."

"You are now taking up my time, so yes, I do mind. Get your things, we leave now."

She rolled her eyes and sighed annoyed before turning back to her brother. "Will you not come back to visit?"

She didn't shake her head no, but the down turn of her lips told him it was unlikely. "Well for my coronation someday? Will you not come back?"

She cupped his face, a sort of sadness swimming in her eyes. The boy seemed to understand she would never return. Aurelia looked at him, not certain what to say, if any wisdom existed that she should pass on. Hugging him tightly around his bony shoulders, she whispered the first and most imperative thought that sprang in her mind.

"Don't wait for an ultimatum. Make your choice when you have the most of them." And with that, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek and turned to call for the stableman to saddle her favorite horse. Aurelia then noticed the stranger wasn't waiting on her, but had begun walking toward the castle gates. He called to her just before he was out of earshot.

"You will not be taking any horse for they all belong to your father." He explained no more and continued on his way.

Aurelia stood there with her mouth open in shock. After blinking a moment, she turned her head and saw the stable master peeking from behind a corner.

"John!" she called, marching to him. "My horse, saddle him!" she commanded, a sickly little panic growing in her chest.

"I'm sorry, Miss—oh, I mean Mrs," he corrected and then blanched at her look of fury. "The man...you-your husband, he is correct. The king ordered that you were to take no horse with you. Beggin' your pardon, miss," he whispered fearfully, backing away.

Aurelia's wrath grew until she was screaming to the rafters. With a near manic look in her eye, she whirled around abruptly and marched angrily for the exit, Phillip watching in puzzlement the whole while.

When she saw her three trunks and large bag sitting near the castle gate, she came to a halt in front of them, scanning for the odious man so he could carry them. He was just on the other side of the castle wall, leaning against one of the stone pillars that anchored the length of chain attached to the portcullis.

"What are you going to do about my trunks? You haven't even a horse, have you? How are you going to carry all this?" she asked incredulously.

"Your bags. You carry them," he humorlessly concluded.

"Me?" she blanched at him. "I'm not going to carry them."

"Then they don't go." He pushed away from the stone then, no longer interested in the argument.

"Wait! But they are my clothes," she insisted. The dark stranger had begun to walk away. "They're all I have left," she spoke forlornly.

Despite the distance now between them, she could hear his sigh as he stopped and then turned. "I will give you five minutes to pack all you absolutely must have in that black satchel there before I leave. But you carry whatever you wish to take. If I carry it, I sell it first chance and keep the money."

Aurelia stared at him for a second, her pretty face dark as she considered his bargain. She gave a solemn nod before she turned back and walked to the pile of trunks. If her maids had done as ordered, her finest dresses were in one, her sleeping gowns and plainer dresses in another, and accessories, such as furs and undergarments in the last. She frowned as she pulled from the bag items she didn't need as she remembered her maids stating her father had forbidden any of the jewelry excepting her mother's ring to be taken from the castle walls.

Against her desires, she packed the sturdier, more common gowns, several sleeping gowns and undergarments, and one simple fur, along with the few cosmetics she found essential for the health and beauty of her hair.

"Your time is up, wife," came his deep voice, pulling her from the frantic scheming for her wardrobe. She looked up to see him walking down the road off into the valley.

Aurelia sighed, noting she had fit less than a fifth of what she had originally packed into the only luggage she could manage to take with her. Her vexation grew, however, when she stood and attempted to lift the hulking bag onto her back. She stumbled, quickly getting her feet underneath her swaying weight as she learned how to balance the added mass while walking steadily forward.

Almost instantly, her back ached with the load, but the stranger was only the height of her pinky now, so far the distance between them, and she knew she couldn't stop to go through yet another ruthless thinning of her treasured possessions. She trudged on behind him, not eager to catch up, though knowing she couldn't lose him.

Within an hour, Aurelia realized how grueling the work of this traveling was, her feet aching and thighs quivering. It felt as though the backs of her heels were developing blisters, and the sun beat unkindly down on her black dress, heating her far more than she cared for. More than once her stomach grumbled in complaint of being overlooked, as she hadn't had her noonday meal, and as the hours stretched on with the long path of the sun, she wondered if she'd faint.

"Rarely do great beauty and great virtue dwell together."

-Petrarch

When the sun was three fingers above the horizon, they finally entered the black woods that were but a blur on the horizon from her balcony at home. The trees were tall and old, spaced so far apart and yet their branches colluded together to provide an unbroken canopy of green leaves high above the forest floor. Dappling occurred only in the rarest of places, and after an hour in the darkening forest, Aurelia's tired body began to notice the chill. Though the dark man had maintained a rigorous pace throughout the entire afternoon, once in the wood gait slowed, and before she realized it, she was walking behind him, almost within arm's reach. And though her back ached and her legs burned and quivered, she wouldn't stoop so low as to speak to him, not even to request an end to the torturous march.

She took the time to study the man she was now bound to for life, her eyes taking in his height and breadth of shoulders and darkly tinted hair. She noted with annoyance that there seemed to be no sweat dampening his short, thick hair or trickling down the back of his neck, though she knew it curled her own heavy locks at her nape. And taking the time to study his graceful and powerful stride, Aurelia thought he seemed more a soldier than a musician.

He broke from the main path and walked a ways through the trees, not stopping until the towering timbers crowded in closer together. He looked around a bit before stopping in a small circular clearing. Turning to her, he removed the satchel and the long-necked stringed instrument. "Why do we stop here?" she broke the silence at last, casting her eyes about the forest in refusal to allow him to know she had been studying him. As if his existence were of any importance to her.

"For our evening meal and sleep."

"What?" she asked, her head snapping back to him kneeling on the ground. He had begun to gather the few twigs lying about. "You aren't possibly suggesting that I sleep...here," she questioned aghast, her hands open and gesturing at the ground.

"And why not?"

"I've never slept outside before," she answered harshly, horrified he would have expected that of her. She was finally at her wits end after a long, trying day. "One would think given my pedigree, considering that I am the very blood and flesh of kings, reared in the highest of luxury that you would realize...I do not sleep on the ground!" she screamed in complete indignation.

Before she had a chance to react, Aurelia found herself instantly yanked down to the ground to lay across his lap. He forcefully held her down by the arm he had grasped secured across her middle, as his other hand gripped her chin almost painfully.

"Of all things you will learn, the first and foremost is that you may not speak to me in such a tone." His face was close to hers and his expression was fierce.

Aurelia shuddered in shock at being so unexpectedly and roughly handled, blinking a moment as she peered up into the very face of ferocity. She recovered in the next moment, however, her own features tightening up into fury.

"I have never been treated like this! Unhand me," she demanded hotly.

His grip on her chin tightened and his eyes hardened with a threat that no one had ever dared to look at her with before. "You will not speak disrespectfully," he reiterated, their gazes holding for nearly a minute.

Her own awareness of their inappropriate closeness seemed to flicker in her eyes, causing his anger to abate enough that his own eyes dropped to her mouth. For a moment, Aurelia lay stock still, something not entirely fear spiking through her. The very instant she felt the strength of his grasp ease, she scrambled off his lap.

Aurelia seethed but held her tongue until she had a reign on her whirling emotions. When she felt she could speak without raising her voice, she attempted it. "A day's time has saved your head, for if you had dared touch me yesterday, before I was demeaned to your status by that unholy marriage, your head would belong to the royal executioner."

While her words were not favorable, they weren't inaccurate or loudly given, and therefore the stranger seemed to allow them with a shrug. His eyes never let up their intensity, but his demeanor suggested her threats were little more than a gnat's annoying buzz.

Shifting to his knees he poked her temper as he began bringing spark to the dry kindling. "Seems like to me the only one your father was interested in executing was you. Besides, if you are going to act like an immature bud—all thorns and no beauty—then I will treat you as such. I have no qualms with pruning that sour disposition."

Aurelia stood glowering at his profile as he ignored her and built the small fire. When he seemed to think the flames would take, he stood and walked off before pulling back a largish log. Plopping it down effortlessly, he sat down on the ground, resting back against it, stretching with an unrestrained groan.

A stump just a step outside the circle of warmth, acted as her own seat. Aurelia said nothing as the few logs he had found cracked and popped in the fire. It was nothing like her fireplaces at home, where smooth stone encapsulated the heat, where the fire hid behind metal grates and screens and was quiet and tended to by servants. This fire was alive, not tamed, and smelt of such great power and wildness that she found herself closing her eyes and breathing in deeply its acrid scent. A particularly loud pop caused her eyes to fly open, and as cinders jumped into the air, Aurelia's eyes followed one lively cluster of sparks high up into the air until they faded under the canopy of leaves overhead.

"Hungry?"

Her eyes dropped back down to the man on the other side of the fire. He had pulled his sack onto his lap and was rummaging through it. In truth, she was shankweary and famished, but she wasn't going to tell him that. When he looked to her, his eyebrows raised in question, she raised one of her own and made a noncommittal head gesture.

He took a grease cloth and finally opened it. Stale bread and what looked to be preserved fish. Its flesh was a dark pink, and she was guessing it was that rare fish only found on the coast in the autumnal season when it was lured inland to spawn. Aurelia's mouth frowned in disappointment. It would be too salty and make her puffy by morning. But what had she been expecting? She was married to a poor man, after all, and should expect only the meagerest of fare. "No thank you," she said in a sigh, no intention of hiding her disappointment with his inability to provide for her. "But I would like some water," she stated as she took off her shoes and rubbed her aching feet.

"Suit yourself, bud," he said, obviously not inclined to beg a grown woman to eat. "But I won't carry you when you faint. And there is no water. Only a little wine."

"But I need water. To wash my face," she explained expectantly, as if the maintenance of her beauty would motivate him to procure what she required.

"Then you should have planned ahead and brought it with you. You can't always depend on being able to find sources. Had you informed me earlier, we might have stopped at the small creek we passed just before we entered the forest."

"Well, go back to it then," she suggested.

"For your face? I think not," he chuckled as if she were a simpleton.

"But I've never gone to bed without washing my face!"

"And you've never slept outside. I dare say tonight will be a first of many things for you." He stopped engaging her then, and started chewing on the tough bread.

Aurelia huffed and folded her arms as she attempted to come up with an alternative to get what she wanted, but ultimately, she couldn't devise any such plan and so turned her attention to her hair, silently fuming. It had been braided and pinned up, and after she had fished out her brush from her solitary bag, she removed the pins one at a time. When her hair was released from its confines, she leaned back so her long tresses flowed loosely down her back and ran her fingers through it. Her eyes closed in pleasure as the tips of her fingers massaged her scalp, encouraging blood flow.

She then turned her attention to methodically brushing out the golden mass, now waved from the braids. Aurelia parted her hair and brought one half over the corresponding shoulder. She ran the boar's bristled brush from scalp to long end.

It was then she realized her husband had been watching her the entire time, and though his general manner suggested he cared little for her high status or famed beauty, the intensity in his eyes indicated he was very much interested in her. The discomfort from before returned in a flash upon her cheeks. Aurelia had been desired by men before, but none had ever dared scorch her with their eyes as this man was. And despite her chagrin, she felt the difference.

Magnus.

That was his name, wasn't it? What the priest had said.

"Magnus," she tried it on her tongue, feeling the weight and rightness, "will we reach fresh water again in the morning?" She asked him directly, her eyes reflected the flickering flames from across the fire.

"Maks," he replied.

Her eyebrow lifted in question. Was she sitting too close to the fire? Her cheeks felt warm. Hot, even.

"Short for Magnus. It's what people call me.

"Oh."

"And yes. In the morning, near the far side of the forest should be another fork of the same creek we passed earlier."

"I see. Then we can stop there?"

"If you wish."

"I do."

"Then we can so long as your need does not extend past a quarter of an hour."

"How magnanimous of you," she drawled, though he said nothing in return.

At length, he was finished with his light meal and she had brushed a hundred strokes into her golden hair and plaited it to lay fat and heavy over one shoulder so as to avoid tangles during the night. "Ready for sleep then?" he asked, unrolling a long piece of cloth that seemed to serve as his sleeping mat.

"And what of me?" she asked, her annoyance sparking that he hadn't thought of her comfort.

"You are welcome to share with me, though I doubt the tight fit will be to your liking."

She didn't miss the dry humor in his voice. "A husband is to think of his wife first," she instructed tersely.

"When you start acting like one, instead of a harpy, perhaps I will." He settled back and closed his eyes. In the dimming glow of the campfire she could just make out the faintest traces of a smirk on his sensual mouth.

She frowned.

And then she huffed. Not opening an eye, he commented, "I'm sure if you layered your plush fur with two of your dresses, you should have enough padding for a night's sleep."

She scowled at his recommendation, but five minutes later as Aurelia lay herself down on the make shift bedding, she couldn't help but wonder if he'd find the arrangement comfortable. She closed her eyes against the dark forest and breathed deeply, determined to find peace and rest despite the misfortune that had been dealt to her.

But rest was not to come so easily. In the quiet of the coming night, Aurelia felt battered by the belief she had been greatly wronged. The injustice of becoming a peasant's wife was too much to ignore, and fat tears of indignation sprang to her eyes. But her distress was cut short when a rather disconcerting screech of some unknown creature stole her breath. She blinked rapidly, her eyes searching the dark night, only random trunks of nearby trees vaguely illuminated by the last flickers of the dying fire. Nothing.

And then another screech, something large. Something close.

"Maks?" she whispered, giving just the smallest amount of thought to control the fear in her voice. He did not answer. "Maks?" she hissed louder, though keeping the volume down lest she draw the attention of whatever beast lurked in the dark.

He finally grunted a form of acknowledgement, though it seemed as though he were more asleep than awake. "Did you hear that?" she whispered. He gave another rumble, but as it sounded even further from consciousness, Aurelia knew she would receive no help. The next time the sound came, it was accompanied with what she thought was something heavy falling, crashing into brush. She bolted upright, her eyes desperately searching the darkness. Her heart was thumping loudly in her ears as she turned to look at her husband, just making out the lump of his body on the far side of the little clearing.