Age Seventeen
At age seventeen, she was approaching the age when her parents were supposed to go searching for a husband, but Madame had no interest in that.
Instead, Elle remained inside the house at all times, save for weeding the garden and short walks from the cottage to the creek to wash clothes without wasting drinking water.
June sprung from May with the heat of a forge fire, and in favor of the tiresome and hot work of making soap in front of the fireplace, Elle preferred to spend her time in the garden, planting flowers she spotted on the way from the creek to the house. In the middle of the month, she realized that her eighteenth birthday was nearly a month away. She paused.
Had it really been almost twelve years since she arrived at the steps of the Darniers? It felt like time had passed at the rate of one sunset.
Elle stood up and stretched her arms, enjoying the pops of her muscles. Walking towards the cottage, Elle pushed open the wooden door and walked inside, wiping her bare feet gently on the wooden floor to make sure she didn't leave any tracks.
The cottage was quiet, as Madame and the girls were in town purchasing necessities, so Elle was free to take a walk to the creek and relax for an hour or two. She would be sure to bring a sack of dirty laundry as well, just so Madame wouldn't scold her for wasting time.
She also filled a burlap sack with an apple, bruised, a stale slice of bread, and a sliver of goat cheese to add taste to the bread as a lunch. She walked down the hill and to the tree line, with its fragrant pines, mixed in with deciduous leaf-bearing trees. The thick forest cover formed a cool shade from the sun.
She could walk the route to the creek with her eyes closed, so she strolled with little worry to where she tread, whistling a familiar tune as she walked, swinging her two bags.
When she reached the creek, she sat on a boulder that hung over the edge and dangled her toes in the just reachable water as she ate her lunch. When she was finished, she moved down to the creek bed and kneeled in the water, scrubbing the clothes with the grain soap. She finished quickly, and had time to lie in the grass by the creek, listening to the stories it told as it babbled and the wind's whispers.
Eventually, her eyes started to drift closed, and she slipped into a peaceful unconsciousness.
The babbling of the creek woke something in her. A memory, but not complete. She could only hear the words and feel the wind and an arm around her shoulders.
A man's voice like a piece of fine velvet speaking softly, as water bubbled over her feet.
He was singing.
Welcome to the river.
Wash your feet and soak your sores.
Clear as looking glass or crystal,
This is what God made it for:
The water can heal your wounds
And the air will help you sleep,
But be sure to keep your head up
If the river gets too deep.
Here live birds to cheer your spirits
And soft earth to lay your bones,
But you must always leave the river—
Elle knew this song, but it was like a window fogged with mist that she couldn't quite see through, a door shut to her. And the last line, it was missing, an empty space where words should go, words she should know.
Elle would have continued pleasantly dreaming, but the sound of twigs snapping startled her awake, and she leapt to her feet, the tail of her braid swinging behind her back.
The sky was fading to a light orange, and Elle realized she had let the time slip far past the time she'd intended. Madame would be furious.
She had grabbed her bags and the now dry clothes, and was just about to race away from the creek when she heard it: a light groan, like someone in pain.
Elle turned back to the creek and looked closer to where she thought the sound had come from. Across the creek, just in the trees, there was the distinct form of a horse, and its rider seemed to have been thrown from its back.
The rider was slowly stirring on the dirt, and Elle worried over whether she should go to them or go home to face Madame's wrath. It wasn't such a hard decision to make. Help a hurt horse rider, or face a beating from Madame?
She swiftly placed her bags on the boulder she'd sat on earlier, and waded into the creek up to her knees, pulling her skirts above the strong current. She stayed in the shallow parts to make sure she didn't get pulled under the water.
When she made it to the other side, she pulled herself from the creek water and moved towards the figure just stirring in the dirt.
When she looked closer, she gasped.
The royal crest was on the sheath of his sword. She peered at his features. Tan skin, dark brown hair, and around her age. He could only be one person.
Prince Louis.
She moved a little bit back, but she saw a cut on his forehead, and she surmised he probably would appreciate it more if she were to help at him rather than stare at him in fear.
She used the empty bag she'd toted her food in to wet in the river, and slowly wiped the cut dry. He opened his eyes to see her hovering over his face, and he jumped back.
"Who're you to touch the prince?"
Elle paused. "Excuse me? I was trying to help you."
The prince stood and frowned at her simple clothes, but when he reached her face, he started. He must have noticed her scar.
Elle knew she was being stupid, but she knew that when she went home, she was facing a beating, and she would have to be subservient to Madame, and she didn't want to hide her temper any longer.
"Excuse me? I'm talking to you!" She crossed her arms and waited for him to stop gazing at her.
He cocked his head. "Do I know you?"
Elle scoffed. "Hardly. I've never spoken with another person but the people who live in our cottage on the hill. Now what are you doing here? This is hardly royal hunting ground."
He scratched his chin then ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself, but he didn't respond to Elle.
She coughed. "Ahem."
He turned and assessed her once more.
"What is your name?"
"Why should I tell you?"
He groaned. "Stop being difficult. You know I could have you executed and not lose sleep over it, so just tell me who you are and I will consider letting your disgrace slide."
Elle sneered, but chose not to call the prince's bluff. "My name is Elle."
His face fell. "Oh."
This time, Elle was truly curious. "What? Are you disappointed?"
He rubbed his neck and shook his head. "No, I just thought you were someone else. You… you look like an old friend I once had."
Elle's eyebrows rose. She looked like a friend of the prince's, and his only friends must be members of the court. She was curious to think how she could possibly look like a lady in torn skirts and bare, calloused feet, a scar on her cheek.
"I suppose I should feel gratified, but I can't imagine why you would confuse me with someone important enough to be a friend of a royal."
He scoffed. "Well, you're hardly a hag. You could resemble royalty if you cleaned up a bit."
Elle's mouth dropped open. "Did you really just say that to me? You know, I don't think you should be telling your subjects what they could stand to improve on when you can't even control a horse."
This angered the prince, and his face reddened in frustration. He scoffed. "Yes, well at least I can afford proper footwear!" He turned away. "Just leave me; I will not be so lenient should we argue while I am king."
Elle shook her head and frowned. "I would be concerned if your coronation weren't for years."
"If only that were true… My father is sick and weak and his last wish is to see me married, and then he will die in peace. He deserves peace."
Elle did not argue this point, for the prince's father was a good, fair king, and a wise man. Elle did not know that he was ill, but Elle knew very little about the goings-on of the kingdom, since she was corralled daily in the cottage.
This didn't mean she was going to drop her argument.
"I'm sorry to hear that, I truly am. But it would be wise if you did not take your frustrations out on innocent commoners."
The prince sighed and sat on a rock, his head in his hands. It was clear that this boy, no older than Elle herself, had no desire to take the throne.
Elle decided that this was her cue to leave the prince to his thoughts. "I am sorry about your father. I will go."
He stood. "No, it's alright. I needed someone to tell me I was being arrogant."
She smiled. "I wouldn't say arrogant. More like… self-entitled."
He chuckled, and his eye caught on the scar on her cheek. He looked closer.
"Where did you get this?"
Elle covered her scar with her hand and jumped back. She didn't like explaining it to people, not that she ever had to. But she didn't like the idea of telling someone her absurd story, so she shook her head.
"It's nothing. I have to go."
And with that, she took off at a sprint towards the outskirts of the forest, right through the creek, leaving the prince very confused.
A/N: Next chapter will be posted next weekend, New York time.
