The Girl in the Glass Box Page 8

  Genevieve was silent. Her eyes scanned his face, and she licked her lips nervously.

  "Oliver, we spoke about this earlier. We can't—" she said.

  "And… she saw me, Snow. She saw me as I was running away from her room. She knows I heard her. We aren't safe here."

  "We just discussed why fleeing suddenly is suicide. Where are we to go? And what of your parents? They need you, too. Don't you think they could also be in danger if Agrippine knows we've fled? What then?"

  "My father is an excellent huntsman and is skilled in his training. He will be able to protect my mother and himself." As he spoke, he pulled her off the bed and to her feet. "We don't have time to pack belongings or trinkets. Just get dressed. Something warm."

  "This... this is just happening so fast. Are you sure you heard correctly? I know Agrippine is horrible, but would she compromise her power and stability by murdering the princess?"

  "Why not? She murdered the king!" he blurted out before he could stop himself.

  Stunned silence.

  "She what?"

  "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to find out like this. But in her conversation she confessed to being behind your father's death. She devised the attack in order to kill the king to steal his power. She said it herself."

  "No. No." She shook her head as she repeated the word and backed away from him in small steps. He reached for her, extending his arms in hopes she'd fall into them and allow herself to be comforted, but she kept her distance. "It can't be true. It was a gypsy attack. There were no survivors. How…how…." Her sentences came out in short bursts, as if she was trying to piece together a puzzle whose picture was out of focus and foreign.

  "Believe me, I was going to tell you, but…" Oliver raked his fingers through his hair and wiped a hand over his face. "I… I'm so sorry. I know this must be a lot to take in right now, but we don't have the luxury of time. We have to move. Do you have any supplies? Waterskin? Knife? Flint?"

  "Are you kidding? I don't have those things. I don't even know where I'd find them in this castle if we did have the time to look. I don't even know what flint is!"

  "All right then, at least something in which we can carry water. I have no idea how many days we'll be traveling, and at very least we need water."

  "I have a perfume vial I could empty, but that wouldn't hold much anyway. I…I don't think I have anything else."

  "Then we'll have to stop by my quarters and grab my satchel. I have a waterskin in there, which isn't all that big, but I have some other supplies that may come in handy. We don't have time to search for anything else."

  "Won't the others in the chamber hear you if you stop to grab your bag?"

  "It's a risk we're going to have to take. We can't escape to the forest empty-handed. It'd be death for certain."

  Oliver was ready to grab her hand and urge her out the door when he realized she was still in her bedclothes. "Uhh, I'll give you a few minutes to layer on some clothing. I'll turn around."

  Genevieve swept through the room grabbing various items and tossing them about.

  Over his shoulder, Oliver called, "Remember, it's still chilly out. Spring is upon us, but the winter nights haven't broken yet. Night is coldest, dress in layers."

  After a few minutes, she was dressed in a wild combination of clothing, but Oliver didn't have time to argue. "Is there anything else you want to grab before we go? I don't know if…if you'll ever be back."

  Genevieve's chest tightened and she surveyed the room one last time. She strode over to her vanity and retrieved the small pendant emblazoned with the royal crest from the trinket box. She slipped the necklace over her head and patted it against her chest.

  "Okay, I'm ready."

  Part II: The Wood

  "In the middle of the journey of our life, I found myself within a dark woods where the straight way was lost."

  Dante Alighieri, The Inferno

  11

  Leaves whipped her face and branches tore patchy holes into her navy blue dress. Panting and disoriented, Genevieve continued quickly through the dark forest, guided by Oliver's warm hand and the faint light of a small lantern. Their feet bounded through the overgrown coppices and gnarled patches of brush. She looked back over her shoulder, her hair whipping her face. She couldn't see any threat chasing too closely behind, but then again, she couldn't see much in the dark.

  Exhausted.

  Unnerved.

  Winded.

  A flash of resistance cleaved through her body, but an instinctual pulsing to follow and to trust him, kept her from stopping.

  "Please… Oliver… slow down… I…. I can't breathe."

  "No, we can't…. not until we've at least reached the clearing."

  Oliver, agile and sprightly, did not showing any sign of exhaustion in his pace. As Genevieve lagged behind, his hand tightened around hers and, thus, renewed her effort to keep up.

  They reached the clearing and she placed her hands on her knees to catch her breath. It had been a long time since she'd run like that and before, it had only been in play. The seriousness in his facial expression conveyed to her a sense of worry. She had never seen Oliver in such a state.

  While beads of sweat dripped down his flushed face, he pulled a waterskin out of the bag he'd brought and offered her a sip, which she snatched without hesitation. The water cooled her dry throat, but she couldn't drink much. She had not realized how brisk the night air was until they had stopped running. Her sticky skin stung when a breeze kicked up, and she shivered under the layers of her clothes.

  Worn out, Genevieve flopped onto the soft bed of moss and grass in the open clearing. A canopy of trees shielded the moon's rays to create a nook between the groves. She continued to huff, not used to such physical exertion, tilting her head toward the beams straining through the boughs above.

  "Come on, Snow. We must keep moving. They may be shortly behind."

  "Oliver, please, I cannot run another step. I… I need to rest a moment."

  Oliver knelt beside her and took her hand. "Snow, I love you, you know that, right?"

  Genevieve sat up and met his eyes with her own. "That's the first time you've said that to me." She stroked his hand and then squeezed it tightly. "I love you too, Oliver. I have since I met you."

  He smiled weakly. "Listen, no matter what happens, you run. Do you hear me? I'm not certain they know that we've left, but either way, they will be coming for us. For you. And I just want to ensure you'll be safe."

  "But what about you? I'm not going anywhere without you."

  "Yes, you will, if you must. If something happens, I will try to fight them off and you are to run. Run as fast as you can for as long as you can. Get as far from here as possible."

  "But where should I go? What will I do for shelter? Food? Out here alone in the woods? I'll never survive. Not without you.”

  "Yes, you will. You have to. I will do everything I can to be with you, but I just want you to be prepared that we will be outnumbered and there is a good chance things won't go the way we hope."

  "You're scaring me. Don't talk like that. We'll be fine. We'll stay together and we'll find somewhere else to live and–"

  Oliver interrupted her protest with a firm kiss. Her breath hitched in her throat as he took her face in his hands. He continued to press his lips to hers with an urgency and longing she had never experienced before. This kiss was different than the others.

  She continued to enjoy the feel of his lips on hers and the sensation of his tongue sweeping across the inside of her mouth. He kissed down her jaw line to the throbbing pulse in her neck. She breathed hard, like she had from running only moments before. He pulled his lips from her body and wrapped his arms tightly around her.

  He stroked her hair and whispered, "I love you, Snow. And I'll always be with you, no matter what."

  "I know. I know you will."

  He gave her hand one more squeeze before helping her to her feet. "C'mon, let's get moving."

  A
branch snapped in the distance.

  "What was that?"

  Oliver lowered his voice. "We have to move… now." She tightened her fingers around his and moved behind him, slipping farther into darkness.

  They had made it only a few more steps before Oliver howled in agony. He fell to his knees and, in the dark, Genevieve almost stumbled over his crumbled form. She dove to his side. "Oliver, what's happening? What's going on? Speak to me."

  From his knees, he flopped to his side and then, in a sharp burst, his body splayed out like a star.

  "Oliver! Oliver!"

  His body spasmed violently, the seizure taking over any voluntary action. His face slackened, contorting into an expression of pain.

  Footsteps. More snapping branches. And the sound of male voices grew closer in the quiet space.

  "She said he'd be easy to handle," the one voice said. "You men detain the boy. Finn, me, and the others will grab the princess."

  Genevieve lowered her voice to a forceful whisper, took Oliver by the shoulders, and shook him as hard as she could. "Oliver! Oliver! Please, get up. We have to go. I won't leave you!" His body was rigid and unresponsive. His eyes were open, but he showed no signs of hearing her.

  "Pick up the pace, boys," the voice said. "It's cold out here, and they can't be far now. The sooner we capture them, the sooner we can get back." Genevieve couldn't see them through the darkness, but the volume of the voice indicated they were close.

  She blew out the lantern's dim flame and backed into the shadows with her gaze still fixed on Oliver's twitching body. I…I can't leave him. She began to sob, dread bubbling beneath her skin. He told me to go, but I can't. Agrippine will kill him. Genevieve’s mind raced, and she did the only thing she could think to do. She darted back out of the shadows and used all her strength to drag Oliver's body a few feet to conceal it in the shadowed crook of a fallen tree. She covered him with anything she could find — branches, leaves, rocks.

  The footsteps grew closer. The voices grew louder, and she could see the lights of their lanterns dancing in the near distance. Oliver was sufficiently hidden. It wasn’t perfect and was far from ideal, but it would have to do. She would leave him and run, but she would come back for him at sunrise, once the guards had given up the search.

  She bent down and touched her lips to his. The tears she couldn't keep from falling down her cheeks made the kiss taste like salt and mud. She pressed her hand to his steeled cheek.

  "I love you, and I am coming back for you."

  His stare remained fixed on the sky, and his face still twisted in an expression of agony. She adjusted a few leaves over his face and turned to run. With the men so close, Genevieve lifted the hem of her dress so as to not rustle the leaves underneath her feet and dashed into the darkest part of the shadowed wood.

  She ran until their voices became faint and then turned to watch them search around where she had left Oliver. When the men gathered, about ten of them, all with their lanterns burning bright, she feared, in that kind of light, Oliver would not be hidden as well as she had hoped.

  Genevieve bit her lip hard to keep from crying. Just keep moving. Please, just keep walking. She wanted to close her eyes, to turn and flee, but she stayed, silently praying it would all be over soon. The party of men moved just past where she had left Oliver, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Wait, what's this 'ere?" she heard one yell. He bent down to pick up something from the ground. Oh god.

  "It's a locket, that is," said another. The men gathered around the one holding the trinket from its chain by his fingers. Genevieve touched her fingertips to the place where her locket had been to find the skin bare.

  "That locket is the princess's — it has the king's crest upon it," said another.

  "Then they must have been 'ere," said the leader. "Search this area again. Look for anything that might be useful in us finding 'er. If we don't bring 'er back, it'll be our necks on the chopping block, it will."

  No! Genevieve shrunk lower into the shadows, but kept her eyes on the men searching the scene. She shivered as the cold crept under her skin. She hadn't realized before how greatly the temperatures had dropped. She could see her breath, and the air stung her nostrils when she inhaled.

  "Aie! Over 'ere!" The other men scrambled over to where one man was hunched down. "I found 'im, I did. He's been 'idden in tha dirt 'ere."

  "What's wrong with him? He dead?" asked one.

  "Looks it to me," said another.

  "But 'is eyes are open and 'e's breathing," said another.

  "No matter, bring 'im in the way 'e is," the leader said with definitive curtness. "Her Majesty will decide what to do with 'im.”

  "What about the princess?" asked one.

  The leader said, "Leave 'er. She'll be dead before dawn anyhow between this harsh cold and the fact she's alone. There are wild beasts an' rough terrain that she'll never survive. She has very little with 'er, I assume. Yup, good as dead." A brief pause. "C'mon, men, lift 'im up and let's 'ead back."

  Genevieve wanted to scream or attack or do something. But Oliver's voice rang clearly in her mind.

  No matter what happens, you run.

  But I can't do this without you.

  Run.

  As soon as the light from the lanterns faded into the darkness, Genevieve raced in the opposite direction with every fiber of strength she could muster. The branches tore at her face, marking gashes into her flesh. She could only see a few steps in front of her as she moved, but she didn't care. She needed to get as far away as possible.

  When she couldn't force her body to take another step, she crumbled to the ground and allowed her body to slump under the weight of her devastation. Her chest heaved with every sob. The bitter chill stung her throat. Her thoughts clouded with fuzzy lightheadedness, and she forced herself to gulp mouthfuls of air to keep from vomiting. She wrapped her arms around her chest, and cried herself to sleep.

  12

  At the late hour, Agrippine stayed awake to ensure the pair had been captured. She waited in her velvet chair by the fireplace, rapt with anticipation.

  "We've got him, Your Highness," a breathless fool dressed in soldier's hunting gear huffed. "We put him in the dungeon.”

  "And the princess?"

  "Well, we… uhh, we didn't exactly…."

  Agrippine leaned forward in her chair. "Where. Is. She?"

  "We… couldn't find her. But don't fret, Your Highness. It is freezing outside, and she couldn't have brought much with her. She'll be dead in a day or two. There's no way she can survive out there alone,” the soldier stammered.

  "I detained him for you," she said. "How could you not have captured her? You mean to tell me she left him there? Alone?"

  "She seems to have hidden him under some brush and then fled."

  "Hmm…she's smarter than I gave her credit for." She sat back in her chair and let the sound of the crackling embers ignite the silence. "Bring him to me. And then in one hour's time, bring me his father, the Huntsman."

  "Bring him in," Agrippine said. The glowing flames illuminated her face in the darkened room. Outside, dense clouds camouflaged the waning moon as the wind whipped in a chorus of high-pitched screams. Ravens cawed in the distance while the rest of the castle slumbered. Marcel Beauvais bumbled into the shadows of the doorway twisting his hands; the tapping of steady rain on the windows masked the sound of his hurried feet on the tiled floor.

  Agrippine gestured to the chair that faced her. "Close the door and sit."

  Marcel glanced around the darkened room before obeying her orders. Agrippine surveyed his posture and ticks. Whatever confidence he possessed in the hunt was lost in his everyday presence. It was hard to even believe he was as graceful on horseback as some of her best royal dancers.

  "Marcel, you have been working here as my huntsman, and you have certainly upheld the reputation that preceded you." Agrippine sat forward in her chair, pushing her chest out, her bodice tightening with the strain.
"You have provided us with some of the finest game Arcana has to offer. Based on your performance and your diligent duty, I am honoring you by asking you to do your queen's most important bidding."

  His eyes alighted with intrigue, and she noticed he fought to keep his eyes from glancing at her breasts. She whispered with a raspy tenor and continued, "You must know what a mark of respect this is to ask this of you. I can see you are someone whose skills and strength should be not be taken for granted. I would like to ask you to do me a great service." Agrippine watched curiosity, tinted with nervous apprehension, form behind his eyes. She smiled and added, "Your family's safety depends on it."

  He gulped and opened his mouth to speak. "Your Majesty, you know your wish is my command. I am in your debt for taking in my family so generously and providing us all with comfortable employment. I will do what you ask of me."

  Agrippine straightened her posture and shifted her seductive routine into a more serious pose. "I have uncovered a plan – a treasonous scheme to overthrow my position as queen."

  The man's eyes widened. "A revolution, Your Highness?"

  "Something like that. But this isn't the worst of the news, Marcel. I fear that your son is involved. My stepdaughter and your son are planning to usurp my crown."

  "No, it can't be true. Not my son. Not Oliver."

  "Ordinarily, the punishment for even talk of such an atrocity to the throne and the kingdom is death without trial." Her next words were spoken with clear articulation. "Immediate public execution."

  Marcel's cheeks reddened and sweat poured from his round face. He looked like a trapped animal caught between terror and disbelief. His fingers fumbled with his other hand. "How? When? How can this be?"

  "I will not divulge my source, but I assure you the proof is undeniable. However, I have an offer for you, a way for you to save your son."