Jane Turnkey, sixteen years old, had never been further from home.
Oh, she had travelled further in the blink of an eye, high in the sky and safe on the back of her Dragon, and home again for dinner.
But she had never been further from her home, from the safety and routine of the castle walls, where everyone knew their role and worked hard to fulfil it.
She missed her parents, and she wasn't even embarrassed to admit it to herself. Were they worried about her? Did her father watch for her return each evening as he had when she was younger? Perhaps as her mother spent her days caring for the young princess she thought about her own daughter, concerned for her safety.
What she wouldn't give to run into their waiting arms, and listen to her mother's admonishments while her father smiled affectionately down at her.
She missed her friends; the sound of Smithy in his forge while she practiced her archery; gentle Rake in his garden, talking to his plants while he worked; Pepper, enveloped by the warmth of her kitchen and exuding it wherever she went; Jester's bad jokes and good advice.
She missed joining them for dinner, the scent of roses drifting over the table outside the kitchen as they gathered to eat, talk and laugh. They would compare notes on the events of the day, Jester moaning about the injustices of the world after a day spent tutoring the Prince. Rake would fret about slugs and grubs, buds and seedlings. Smithy, saving up the table scraps for Pig, would listen to the banter of his friends, interjecting occasionally. Pepper would hover from person to person, making sure they had all eaten enough, before dishing up another serve regardless.
She would be back at work already now, preparing breakfast for the whole castle. Sir Theodore and Sir Ivon would eat in their quarters before beginning their duties for the day. No doubt their workload had increased in their squires' extended absence. Jane wished she could help them.
She would have loved to return home in that moment, into the warm predictability of castle life, where nothing truly terrible happened. Where all transgressions, no matter how awful they seemed in the moment, were eventually forgiven. Where the residents all cared for one another, and truly wished to see Jane succeed. She missed that.
But more than anything she missed Dragon, her best friend, with his noise and bluster and sensitive heart. Not to mention his over-protective streak one thousand paces wide. She had nothing to fear when Dragon was with her.
She was frightened now, and she hated it.
She had stopped running some time ago, sinking to the ground on shaking legs as adrenaline coursed through her body. Listening carefully, she had scarcely dared to breathe until she was sure she was alone.
She had swapped her small knife for the silver arrow as she ran, and she stared at it now as it glinted in the dim morning light.
Her stomach cramped painfully and tears blurred her vision. Were they from pain, fear or shame? Jane could not be sure but she let them come, knowing better than to fight against them.
How could I have been so thoughtless? Jane berated herself. But how could I have known? Of all the stupid things . . . . She buried her hot face in her hands.
"Oh, Gunther," she whispered.
She missed him too, the Gunther she knew. He might be smug and annoying, that squire Gunther of Kippernia Castle, but at least he was himself. Familiar, predictable and easily handled, he was every bit as much a part of her life at the castle as any of the residents.
But this Gunther was so different. She couldn't predict him, and she did not know what to think of him now. The way he had reacted to her; the hunger in his eyes in the brief moment he had dared to look at her, had frightened Jane. There was no pretending otherwise, humiliating as it was Jane had lost her nerve.
"Well," she said, drawing in a deep breath and wiping her cheeks. "I cannot go back."
It was abundantly clear that she must give Gunther his space for a few days, and Jane hoped that when the time came she would be able to face him again without willing the ground to swallow her up.
"And I cannot go home." As tempting as it was, she would not entertain the idea. She was on a quest, in the name of her King and for the sake of her comrade, and she would see it through.
"So I am alone, then." This was new territory for Jane. She had always had someone to fall back on, even if she often refused their help. Dragon, Sir Theodore, her friends and family, Gunther . . .
"And Gunther is alone too. But worse than that, he is not alone at all."
She tapped the arrow lightly against her leg as she thought, until the first piercing call of a bird startled her to her feet. She turned to look down the road, back in the direction she had come from.
"I will keep my promises, Gunther Breech," she said clearly. "So you keep yours."
She drew her knife out again and turned to the nearest tree, carving a message into the bark. Her first mark was the rune for dragon, and then beneath that an arrow.
"I will come find you as soon as I can . . ." Until then I will be strong, and protect those nearby.
Returning the knife to her belt and tucking the arrow into her pack, she untangled her sword from the straps and buckled it in place on her back. Brushing off her clothes and smoothing her hair, she stepped back onto the road and began walking.
The cool, still air of the early morning carried the scents of the trees and wild herbs as a million dust particles danced in the beams of light filtering through the canopy above.
It was a new day, and Jane would make the best of things. Jane always did.
If she could not stand beside Gunther and help him, perhaps she could help from a distance instead.
When she walked into the gypsy camp some half hour later she was somehow unsurprised to find Vadoma sitting outside her caravan, waiting patiently.
"You must have had a long night," said the old woman, as though remarking on the weather. "Come and rest for a while."
Jane thought that sounded wonderful.
Gunther remained in the clearing, holding fast to his tree until the sound of Jane's footfalls had faded entirely from his hearing. Gradually, as he lost track of her overwhelming, intoxicating presence, some semblance of his own self came back.
He let go then, leaving indentations in the bark as he flopped to the ground, every muscle in his body quivering. Sheer exhaustion washed over him, his bones aching as though he had just fought the fiercest battle of his life. In many ways he had.
Sunlight shot down at him from above and he turned his head away, trying to close it out.
"What have I done?" He moaned, his voice thick with shame.
He had lost his only remaining hope; had driven her away from him and he didn't even know why.
The sense of her had hit him the moment he walked into the clearing, more palpable than the very walls of Kippernia castle, and he had been driven instantly mad with hunger.
He had fought against it with everything he had in him, ensuring her escape. He could not allow anything to happen to her, not to Jane. He had sworn it to her.
He was paying for it now, though, he knew. If he had feasted at the Beast's urging he would be feeling strong, unstoppable . . . unhuman. But he could not do that, he had promised . . . and so instead he lay on the ground, a sack made of skin filled with bones and blood, barely able to move.
Punishment, said the voice in his head.
Gunther merely grunted.
A faint scent of Jane lingered in the clearing still, and Gunther licked his lips, appetite unsated.
This was not a hunger he had known before. Not when she had pricked her finger, nor when she had turned her head to wipe the sweat from her neck, the delicate flesh of her throat fully exposed. Not when he had heard her disrobing to wash in the creek, his ears picking up the whisper of fabric over skin against his will.
No, this was something else entirely, a wanting of more than the taste of her insides, more than flesh and organs. This was the want of . . . a mate.
Gunther groaned again. He wanted her in the way the woman in the village had wanted him; to run with him, to hunt with him, to . . . .
"Not Jane," Gunther told the Beast. "You will not take her."
You kept her from me, was the reply. Can you not see what an ideal mate she will be?
"Jane is no one's ideal mate," he insisted. "She is stubborn as a mule and half a man besides."
But her scent lingered still, weakening his resolve. Gunther forced himself onto his feet, staggering over to collect his gear before he made his way out of the clearing and onto the road.
He had thought Jane would have headed for home, but her tracks travelled further into the woods. She had been running away, after all, not to.
Her footprints burned against the dirt like signal fires, urging him to follow. Gunther knew his strength would return in an instant should he choose to obey. Instead, he turned and stumbled away from the road, deeper into the darkness of the trees.