"Poor Major Mint," said Clara. "We've probably driven him to madness this time."

Eric grinned, looking completely unconcerned. "We left a note saying we'll be back by lunch. I don't see the problem."

Clara smirked. "The problem is that I let you talk me into sneaking off for the morning with no one but our horses to accompany us."

"You wanted company?"

"No, but the major will be beside himself when he realizes we did not take anyone with us."

Eric raised an eyebrow. "You don't trust me to protect you?" he asked with mock offense.

"Of course I do, dear. But when Major Mint meets us at the castle gates, I will not hesitate to blame the entire idea on you."

"Traitor," muttered Eric.

Clara laughed. She tugged her horse to a stop and dismounted. Eric swung down from his horse and gave the animal a pat, watching it amble forward to graze.

They were in the woods not far from the castle. Having ridden into it for a couple of hours, they eventually came upon a small ravine. The woods continued on the other side of the gorge, which plunged fairly deep into the earth. The walls of the ravine were uneven, and many ledges had formed out of the dirt and tree roots, upon which plants and grass had grown. At the bottom of the ravine ran a thin stream.

It had rained heavily the night before, and the ground was still wet with morning dew. The smell of the moist soil mingled with the scent of pine, and sunlight spilled onto the ground where the trees were sparse, blanketing the place in a soft brightness.

Clara walked over to the edge of the ravine, peering into it curiously. "I wonder if we could to climb to the bottom," she said lightly. "I suppose in my dress it would be a bit difficult, but I could figure out something."

"Perhaps we should have gotten you some riding breeches," Eric joked.

"Yes, and be the central topic of gossip for the next month," said Clara humorously. "The queen of Parthenia, climbing down ravines in breeches."

Eric grinned. "I wouldn't mind you in them."

"Eric," chided Clara with a laugh. She stepped closer to the edge. Some of the dirt, loose and damp from the rain, crumbled away beneath her feet, tumbling into the ravine.

"Clara –" Eric began worriedly.

"Oh, it's fine, Eric. I simply –"

There was a low rumbling sound. Before Eric could lunge forward or Clara turn towards him, the ground suddenly gave way beneath her, and she plunged into the ravine with the broken earth.

"Clara!" Eric rushed to the gorge and dropped to his hands and knees, leaning over the edge.

About four meters down lay Clara, sprawled on a ledge jutting out from the ravine's wall. Dirt and weeds covered her, having been torn away from the top ledge with her. She was on her back, her legs and arm splayed out limply. She was not moving.

"Clara!" shouted Eric, panic rising in his throat. He turned away, yanking off his jacket and tossing it to the ground, leaving him in his much looser shirt beneath. Unclipping the belt his sword hung from, he set the weapon on the ground, knowing it would only be a hinderance while climbing. Free of the restrictive burdens, he twisted around and looked back into the ravine.

Clara was gone.

Eric stared at the ledge, stunned. The terrifying thought of her having fallen deeper into the ravine crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it, as the ledge Clara had been on was not broken. Peering closer, Eric saw the impression of where Clara had lain – and the smudge of her body being dragged into the ravine wall.

There must be an opening I can't see from this angle. But that did little to soothe his nerves. Who – or what – had taken her?

Eric gritted his teeth and swung his legs over the ledge. Grasping a thick root curving out of the wall and using various crevices for his feet to brace in, he lowered himself into the ravine. He moved quickly, and when he had less than halfway to go he simply let himself drop, landing onto the ledge with a hard thud.

As suspected, there was a cave entrance. It was not wide, but it was plenty large enough for a person to walk through. Eric tightened his jaw, suddenly wishing he hadn't left his sword behind. He considered going back for it, but the thought was brief. He needed to find Clara, and was unwilling to waste the time it would take to retrieve the weapon. Steeling himself against the trepidation growing within, he strode into the darkness.

With his hand trailing along the wall, it was easy to follow the cave's passageway. He only went a short way before it turned sharply to the right – and opened into a large room.

Of everything Eric had been expecting, this was not it.

The cave had been transformed into a type of workshop. There was a large worktable pushed against the far wall, which was messily covered in wood carving and painting tools. A firepit was near the table, over which hung a pot filled with a mixture that gave off an oddly sweet smell. Chunks of wood had been piled beside a smaller table that was laden with various herbs and bottles.

But the strangest thing by far were the dolls.

They were everywhere. Dolls hanging from puppet strings tied to beams built into the room's ceiling. Dolls standing against the walls. Dolls in pieces on the worktable with legs, arms, and heads left amongst the clutter. Ballerinas, jesters, soldiers – dolls of all shapes and sizes.

A chill crept down Eric's back. He glanced about nervously, and his gaze finally fell upon Clara's crumpled form. She was partially hidden, lying on the floor on the other side of the massive worktable.

Eric hurried to her, trying to ignore the way the dolls' eyes seemed to follow him as he moved across the room. He knelt, drawing Clara into his lap. "Clara," he said urgently. "Clara, please." He placed two fingers beneath her jaw, his chest tightening as he waited.

Her pulse thrummed beneath his touch. Eric gasped in relief, brushing her hair from her face. "Clara, please. You have to wake up." He glanced over her body, but none of her limbs were twisted into odd angles. If fortune was on their side, Clara may not have broken any bones. The cliff had been slightly slanted, and Eric hoped that Clara's body had slid down it instead of just falling directly to the ledge. He cupped her face, wiping away at the dirt smudged there. "Clara…"

"She is not seriously injured, if that is your concern."

Eric whirled about. Standing by the worktable was a woman. She looked to be middle aged, with graying black hair tied back in a messy braid. She wore a ragged dress, which had multiple pockets sewn into its skirt haphazardly. Sticking out of the pockets were paintbrushes, braided locks of hair Eric hoped were meant for the dolls, and even some doll limbs. She was barefoot, and her feet were filthy. Yet despite her mangled appearance, her skin was oddly smooth. It looked almost porcelain-like in the firelight.

Eric frowned in distrust. "Who are you?"

"Theda," the woman said simply. She cocked her head to the side in a rather mechanical manner, watching Eric with eyes that seemed too glassy for a human to have. "You are the king." The statement was said with an odd hunger.

"Yes," Eric said carefully. He longed to check Clara, who still had not moved, but he sensed it would be a mistake to take his focus off Theda. "Thank you for helping my wife." He wasn't sure if help was what the woman intended when she dragged Clara here, but he decided that ignorant politeness would be the best tactic to use until he better understood what she wanted.

Theda's eyes flickered down to Clara. "She is a pretty thing," she said tonelessly.

Eric tightened his grip on Clara. "Your work is impressive," he said, hoping his unease did not filter through the pleasantness he was forcing into his words. "But why are you in such an isolated location? Surely it would be better to have a shop in the village." He refrained from commenting on the ridiculousness of the location, let alone the near impossibility of it. Unless magic was involved.

"I do not sell my dolls," said Theda. "And I prefer the solitude." She continued to stare at Eric, her gaze unwavering. Now that he thought about it, Eric wasn't sure she had blinked once since she had come into the room.

Unnerved, Eric adjusted Clara in his arms so he could carry her. "We should be going," he said, moving to stand.

"How do you plan to haul her up the cliffside?" Theda asked curiously.

"Surely there is another way in," said Eric. "How else would you have gotten your supplies down here?" He refrained from mentioning the idea of magic, wanting to see how the woman answered.

Theda simply smiled. But the expression stretched too wide across her face; it looked almost painted on, rather than a genuine emotion.

"I heard you were under an enchantment not long ago," she said instead. "A nutcracker, were you not?"

He said nothing.

Theda gave her head a shake. "I see that you no longer wear that form. What a pity."

Eric frowned.

Theda stepped closer to Eric, studying him. She gave a hum of approval. "I'm sure it was a beautiful body," she said wistfully. "You have the right features for it."

Disgust filtered into Eric's expression, and he moved Clara further back.

"Will you not allow her to rest before attempting to move her?" inquired Theda. "Surely she needs it."

"She'll be well taken care of at the castle," assured Eric coldly. He no longer felt a need to feign politeness for the woman, as Eric sincerely doubted that her intentions were honorable. He had to get Clara out of here.

"It has been far too long since I had real inspiration to work with," continued Theda. "Humans come by so rarely now."

Eric glanced at the dolls dangling above him. Some of their features looked too real to be the simple talents of a doll maker.

Theda followed Eric's gaze, studying the dolls with a satisfied glint in her eyes. Then she looked back at Eric. "I think a king would make a splendid addition to my collection."