The Puppet Queen: A Tale of the Sleeping Beauty Read online

I wished I could give them a proper goodbye, perhaps speak to Auralia again, but that was a vain impossibility. I doubted they would have even wished to see me, all things considered. Surely some part of them would rejoice that the curse-bringer would no longer darken their home.

  It will be an adventure, I told myself. Visions of dancing in taverns, laughing and drinking ale past midnight, and living alone in a humble cottage became increasingly more romantic. I grew giddy at the thought of this new world unfolding before me with its limitless possibilities—and promise of anonymity.

  Flinging my wardrobe open, I pulled out gowns in the subdued colors I favored, alongside cloaks, gloves, a riding hat, undergarments, nightgowns, books, jewelry, baubles, money until the pile of “essentials” I had accumulated would have needed a wagon to cart away. Snorting at the image of running away followed by a caravan, I meticulously pared away the nonessentials until I could pack my goods into two satchels and a saddlebag. My heart grew tight at the sight of the worldly goods that would remain to me once I departed. The gleam of adventure faded somewhat. I took a small oil portrait of my family from my dresser, wrapped it in another dress, and stuffed it in a satchel. Wherever I would be, my family’s faces would never be far.

  Although it had been a warm day, Aquian autumn nights ran chilly, and I wore two riding dresses, thick stockings, and warm boots. My outer dress was midnight blue to better blend with the night—although the horse I would be riding would likely detract from the camouflage of my dress. I dropped coins into several velvet purses and hid the money about my person. The amount of money I carried would surely be enough to see me a modest lifestyle for a year. I did not know when I would return.

  How many years would I go without seeing my family, no word, nothing? Repercussions tumbled through my mind. It was a heartbreaking prospect, but I stubbornly willed my tears away. Even my family’s absence would be better than feeling that my very existence had devastated their futures each time I saw them. And maybe, I hoped, if the Pari find me gone, they shall lift the curse. But that was a thin hope.

  Shouldering my satchels, I walked with exaggerated confidence through the Mehal. Since it was dinner, the halls were empty and had anyone seen me, I would have said that I planned on camping out by the creek tonight. Nothing would seem amiss. After all, it was not as if I had never done this before: just a few weeks prior, I had camped out with Gieneve and Gareth and had retrieved food from the kitchen. I am being perfectly normal, I reminded myself. I paused. What if I were to join them for dinner, one last time...? Capture memories of my family so I could have something to reflect upon after I was gone? I shook my head. It was impossible. If I lingered, I would never leave.

  Luckily, I met no one and boldly strode into the inviting warmth of the kitchen. “Nechele,” I said to a passing kitchen maid, who often provided snacks for my outings.

  She bobbed a short curtsey. “Yes, Princess?”

  “Could you please give me a loaf of bread, some meat, cheese, and fruit—autumn apples and pears. Fit it into a covered basket, please.”

  “You going camping again, your Highness?” she said with an amiable smile, filling a woven basket with flaky spiced meat pastries, soft white cheeses, and ripe fruits.

  “Yes,” I replied, trying to sound as honest as possible.

  She handed the basket to me. “Well, have fun!”

  My palms were clammy from nerves. The basket handle nearly slipped through my fingers. “Thank you so much, Nechele!”

  Before anyone else could see me, I slipped from the kitchens, out of the Mehal, and to the stables. With each step, I gave thanks for my wayward habits. No one would think it stranger than usual to see me wandering the grounds—or galloping away. I was always pulling mildly absurd stunts like this. The stableboys only echoed Nechele’s question about camping as they saddled my mare, Cinnamon. By the time I mounted Cinnamon, my legs trembled furiously, but every time I balked, I thought of Auralia, of Aquia, and of the curse I had brought with my first breath.

  As I urged Cinnamon faster, something in my chest come unbound, a silk ribbon waving in the wind, a great weight I was leaving behind in those hills I called home. I let out a wild laugh under the bright glow of the shadowy grinning moon. I was free.

  Chapter Five