Chapter 2/One Year Later
Marianne sighs heavily as she looks out her study window before straightening immediately and returning her face to its usual indifference once her long ears catch the sound of an incoming servant. It was rare that someone would willingly seek her out after everything that happened this past year, therefore, it must be important.
"Enter," Marianne commands softly at the timid knock.
Royal decorum usually dictated that she turn to give those entering a room her attention but the first few weeks after the curse was cast had taught her well and she keeps facing away. It doesn't stop her from tilting her head slightly, letting her amber eye take in the small dog-sized brown-furred creature cautiously entering. Poor Felix. Long ears that pick up the faintest sound, luminous eyes better suited for the night, small hands that make it difficult to hold anything but the smallest of items, and short legs that make traveling the castle a tiring journey. Of all the creatures that wicked curse could have turned him into, it just had to choose something that made the castle steward's life harder.
"Your Majesty, there is a woman requesting an audience with you," Felix announces quietly.
"What kind of woman?" Marianne growls, wincing minutely when Felix cringes.
She couldn't help her immediate surliness. Not after what happened the last time Felix delivered such news.
"She is a peasant, Your Majesty. From Glenndale, I believe," Felix answers.
That's odd. Most of the peasants avoided the castle grounds since that fateful day and those that still traveled here were only visiting relatives trapped within. The woman must be desperate for something to risk a private audience with her cursed queen.
"Glenndale is a long distance from the castle, and I heard no horses. Surely the woman must be tired after such a trip," Marianne muses. "I shall have my morning tea in the garden today. Inform the kitchen to make adequate provisions, as my guest shall take tea with me."
Her smirk is cruel as Felix shuts the door behind him and she returns her attention to the vines climbing up the castle walls. If that woman thinks that she will give her whatever she desires, then one look at her hideous visage in the full light will be enough to dash her hopes.
Imp chitters from his place on her desk, and she moves to pick him up, her feelings of bitterness vanishing with the adoration shining in his black eyes. The cat-sized white-furred imp rubs his head against the chitin covering her chest before scurrying to perch on her armored shoulders, wrapping his long furless tail around her neck.
"Might as well go see what this peasant wants," Marianne murmurs.
When she was younger or even fourteen months ago when she was still just the crown princess, walking down the halls of the castle was always met with challenges, as there was usually always someone traveling down the narrow passageways. Now, though, the halls are empty with only the sound of her footsteps accompanying her pace. Her ears catch the faint sound of more of the castle residents up ahead, but they quickly scurry away at the sound of her approach and show no outward sign of ever being there as she passes by, though she easily catches their nearby scents hidden among the tapestries lining the wall.
Her expression of calm indifference is held in place with practiced ease. It was harder back in the beginning, having been born with such an expressive face that she frequently showed every emotion she felt at one time, and she had let many tears slip past their prison at her subjects' avoidance of her.
"Marianne!" Dawn calls.
Marianne pauses in her walk and extends a long clawed finger to allow her tiny younger sister to land on. The curse had been much kinder to the princess than most of the others. Despite her diminutive form, Dawn still looked like her human self with only a few minor oddities, the large orange butterfly wings being the most notable. Wings that the former queen's youngest daughter used to her utmost advantage.
"Dawn, you should still be at your lessons," Marianne chides softly.
"Ugh, I know. But rumor came that we have a guest!" Dawn squeals, prancing happily on her elder sister's finger. "Is it a boy?"
"No," Marianne denies immediately. "It's a peasant woman who came to request an audience with me and I shall be having tea with her. You, however, need to return to your lessons. You are the new crown princess and have a responsibility to our subjects to not have your head in the clouds, clouds full of boys. Besides, you'll make Father worry if you're gone too long."
"Fine!" Dawn sighs dramatically before flying back the way she came.
As she watches her sister fly away, a slight smile crosses the cursed queen's face. It was a small comfort that Dawn showed no difference to her because of her hideous figure. Though, that doesn't mean the crown princess didn't act differently toward her than she had before that fateful day.
The smile fades and Marianne continues down the passageway at a leisurely walk. True, she had her own set of large dark purple and black butterfly wings trailing behind her like a cloak, courtesy of the curse, and could have just flown out the window and been in the garden within moments but sometimes she preferred to take her time to travel through the home she grew up in. Maybe it was a masochist habit. Wandering down the halls and remembering how things used to be back before the curse, before that fateful day, when her subjects still smiled at her and she was treated with lo...caring feelings instead of the fear and loathing that was now predominant.
Maybe it's because of what today is and what it means for her and her subjects. A full year today. So very little time left before that witch's curse dooms her people. Before it dooms her.
Walking into the sunlight, Marianne lifts her face to the sky and breathes deeply as the wind races past her, scrunching her nose at the perfumed scent it brings with it. Spring had always brought her joy. A return of colors and life after a long winter. She had once spent many spring days among the fields and forests of her kingdom, especially once her father had gifted her Imp. Not that he meant to give the willful and mischievous stallion to her, but she had been the only one able to ride him.
Imp chitters from her shoulder, and she reaches up to pet her friend's furry head. Like everything else, though, even her most lo...happiest time of year is only another pain in her heart.
"Your Majesty."
Marianne turns her attention to the congenial voice, taking note of the woman's worn but pleasant white and green dress as she rises from a curtsy. Felix was correct about the woman being a peasant since Marianne had never met her at any royal function her parents hosted, except the quality of the dress' fabric and its matching kerchief covering the wealth of red hair is clearly more than a simple peasant could acquire. She either works in a noble's house or possibly is from a prosperous merchant family.
Any thought of being unyielding to whatever favor she's come to request is removed from Marianne's mind when the woman's amber eyes lift to take in her cursed form and show nothing more than mild startlement before settling into respectful ease. How curious. None of her cursed subjects within the castle grounds can bear to look at her for more than a few seconds and on every trip she takes outside the castle grounds to the Judgment Hall that was built shortly after the curse was cast, she always has to hide in the darkness of the room to keep from scaring her subjects that come to express their grievances. Yet, this short peasant woman, bold but respectful, keeps her eyes on her without fear or disgust as she approaches her to the seating the kitchen staff had laid out.
She knows what she looks like. The witch's curse had done well to the cruel woman's bidding, constructing, as she said, an appearance that befitted her hard and unfeeling heart. Where once she was beauteous and fair with a few blemishes caused by her lo...delight of enjoying the outdoors, she was now covered from ankle to neck in iridescent black exoskeleton armor that she couldn't remove. It was neither polished nor smooth, and sharp jagged edges line most of the plating.
The exposed skin along the inside of her arm, palms, feet, neck, and face are still the same sun-kissed shade she had before but it's now more akin to snakeskin, rough and scaley. Long gnarled fingers tipped with sharp claws that resist any trimming was matched with equally sharp-clawed toes, preventing her from wearing gloves or shoes. Her long curled pointed ears were the least startling of her features, whereas her amber eyes caused the most alarm with pupils similar to a cat's, and her sharp pointed teeth only bothered another if she didn't take care to hide them when she spoke.
Even her once long shaded brown hair was affected by the curse, losing its softness to become coarse and stiff. However, the now short length of the hair was not a result of the transformation. She had simply become frustrated with the inability to style the long lengths, along with its tendency to snag on her armor and between the crevices of the multiple black horns that now crowned her head, that she sliced the whole thing off to only leave strands no longer than her fingers.
So, yes, she knows she looks monstrous, and yet still, the woman before her shows her the respect due to her as her queen, not as a monster like so many others have.
"Please be seated and take refreshments," Marianne murmurs, deliberately letting her teeth show. "You've come such a long way."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I don't want to impose or overstep my station," the woman mentions.
"Nonsense," Marianne dismisses. "It shall be my pleasure to have you as my guest today. Not often someone comes to visit when they can easily present their request when I take court, which is thrice a week."
The woman's slight grimace causes Marianne's mouth to twitch, barely withholding her mirth. She was clever, too, this bold peasant. Not that Marianne wished to reprimand her for her boldness, merely wanting her to acknowledge the oddity of it.
"It wasn't my wish to disturb you, Your Majesty, but I fear I don't have the time to wait for the proper time to appear before you. It might take your officials days to attend to my matter and I could very well lose my home," the woman explains.
"Continue with your request then," Marianne gently orders, sitting in one chair and gesturing for her to take the other.
"Thank you, Your Majesty!" the woman cheers, clapping her hands together before sitting. "My name is Griselda and I live on the outskirts of Glenndale, alongside the Dark Forest, with my son, Bog, and my husband's two servants. My husband has been away on business and the nobleman my land is leased from has sold it to another without consulting him. Now that I and my husband's servants have made good of that land, land that was just going to waste because of its proximity to the forest until we tended it, the scoundrel went back on the contract he signed with my husband, and he even refuses to return the gold my husband paid to lease it! It's a crime, Your Majesty!"
Marianne lifts her teacup to her mouth to hide the smile she can't stop at the woman's excitableness. No one but her father and Dawn ever forgot themselves so completely in her presence, even before she was crowned queen, and it's quite enjoyable. Even better is the realness the woman radiates. No false respect covering contempt, no flattering words to conceal self-serving motives, no lies to disguise the truth.
True, it's clear to her that the peasant sitting before her gesturing rapidly with her hands isn't telling her everything, but neither is she hiding anything from her. How refreshing.
"I have no knowing of when my husband will return from his journey and no way to contact him," Griselda continues. "The land's new owner has refused my every offer to continue living there, at least until my husband's return, and I had nowhere else to go but to appeal to you, Your Majesty."
"What offers have you extended to the new owner?" Marianne questions.
"Unfortunately, not the price my husband paid, as not much money remains since his last visit a little over a year ago," Griselda admits, lowering her eyes.
"And the new owner refuses to wait until your master's return to collect any more that he may require?" Marianne asks, smirking at the startled amber eyes lifting to meet hers. "The wife of a man wealthy enough to lease land, have more than one servant, and travel a great distance on business would be dressed in more finery and would not have walked such a distance, nor would she tend the land with the servants."
"Most people do not understand and it's easier to just state that my son's father is my husband. I am not his servant, though. Not like the other two, I mean," Griselda explains. "He will be quite furious if we aren't on the land when he returns because we will have to move elsewhere since there is no place to lease in Glenndale and he might not be able to find us easily. What's more, is that he gave strict instructions that Bog is to be a man of learning and I don't know how much longer I can keep him from seeking a trade if we're forced to move."
"What is it exactly that you wish of me?" Marianne questions.
"That if you will, Your Majesty, to intervene on my behalf to the new owner that he accepts the price I can pay him for the land's lease until my husband's return. It surely cannot be much longer till his return since he never tarried more than six months before," Griselda murmurs.
"He never tarried more than six months?" Marianne repeats. "Forgive the callousness of this inquiry but how are you so sure your son's father is returning? You said that it's been over a year since his last visit. Surely, something has happened."
"Your concern is appreciated, Your Majesty, but I'm sure he's just delayed with business. Otherwise, another of his servants would have come to inform us, especially since Bog is his heir," Griselda states.
Marianne rapidly drowns out the urge to laugh with a drink of tea as her sensitive ears pick up the rest of Griselda's mumbled words that he better be delayed with just business, or she'll have his head on a stick. Oh yes, she was very much enjoying her surprise guest. So much so, that the cursed queen couldn't help longing to keep the visit from ending.
"I shall grant you your request," Marianne announces after a moment, holding up a clawed hand to pause Griselda's exuberant response. "Furthermore, I shall also inquire of the land's former owner's contract with your husband and if it is indeed as you say, then I shall require him to give the money for the contract's remaining time to the new owner and require the new owner to abide by the contract's terms for its duration."
"Oh, thank you, Your Majesty!" Griselda cries.
Instructing Imp to fetch Boris, Marianne lowers her arm to allow the imp to travel down it and watches as he runs quickly through the garden back to the castle entrance before coaxing her guest to finally join her in partaking of the tea and the selection of small foods in front of them. The grateful peasant eagerly regales her queen about the land in dispute as they wait, citing the fruit and vegetables that are grown upon it, as well as the presently-blooming flower garden that Griselda is most proud of.
"I mean it's not as grand as yours, Your Majesty, of course," Griselda sheepishly corrects after boasting of her garden's greatness.
The arrival of Boris and Imp keeps Marianne from having to respond, a fortunate thing since it would be hard to without laughing, and she quickly explains the matter to the chancellor as Imp reclaims his perch upon her shoulder. Boris was fortunate in his cursed form, appearing no more than a squashed version of his former self. However, it irritated the man to no end. The great height he proudly hailed over others was now no taller than her knee and his slim physique was now quite plump to match. Worse, his former neatly-trimmed beard that he always took great care of now trailed to the ground as bushy as sheep's wool and resisted every effort of his to tame it, growing back within the hour.
Though she would never show it, as a queen never showed mirth at her subjects' distress, she couldn't help but find the proud man's irritants funny. Especially whenever he was forced to throw the length of his beard over his shoulder.
Marianne's grip on her teacup tightens drastically when Griselda informs the chancellor of the name of the man who bought the land, and it takes all her strength to keep her emotions from appearing outwardly. It seems this curse isn't the only punishment fate seems to wish on her, refusing to grant her a reprieve even after a year.
"I shall attend to the matter immediately, Your Majesty, and send Huron to Glenndale to carry out your orders," Boris informs, bowing before swiftly walking out of the garden.
"There, there, dear. It's alright," Griselda murmurs motherly after he's gone, affectionately patting the clawed hand gripping the teacup before jerking away in horror. "Forgive me, Your Majesty! It's just that I'm so used to comforting my son that I forgot myself!"
"It is fine," Marianne soothes, flexing her hand at the lingering feeling of the unfamiliar gesture. "You could have mentioned his name earlier."
"I didn't want to use him to influence your decision to help. Besides, that scoundrel doesn't deserve the honor," Griselda explains.
"Most, if not all, of the kingdom believes he is quite justified and the farthest thing from a scoundrel," Marianne murmurs.
"Forgive my impertinence and crudeness, Your Majesty, but Sir Roland doesn't even deserve to be called the backside of a horse and I am most glad I don't have to call him my king," Griselda states firmly. "And it's not because of his dealings with my family that I feel this way. The man had taken the whole matter wrong and only showed that you were correct in refusing marriage to him."
"Please, humor your queen and speak your mind. Why, pray tell, do you believe so?" Marianne asks in amusement, unable to keep from smiling.
"My son too has suffered heartache at being rejected by a woman he loved. Mind you that they weren't even courting yet, but he had been sweet on her for years, and he didn't go gallivanting around to loudly proclaim his sorrows to every villager within earshot or carousal in taverns for hours on end when he's supposed to be patrolling the kingdom or take strumpets to bed in a self-proclaimed effort to ease his pain. No matter the reason for your decision, whether justified or not, his resulting actions are completely inexcusable. Heavens preserve us if you had married him and he acted like that any time he didn't get what he wanted," Griselda huffs. "Bog may be acting like a sulking dog at the moment but at least he respects the woman he claimed to love even when it doesn't turn to his favor."
"A sulking dog? Are you always this benevolent to your son?" Marianne teases.
"I just tell it like it is, Your Majesty," Griselda answers before grinning widely as a gleam enters her eyes. "He is a good son, though. Very courteous, a man full of caring feelings, and so very clever and smart, enough to have a high-ranking place in your court even. Unlike your previous suitor, Bog is also very humble. He refuses to acknowledge his own beauty which is so much like his father's. The brightest blue eyes one ever saw, black hair that is soft as silk, and a smile that can make a woman swoon."
"You dare to imply a match between your son and I?!" Marianne growls, her sharp teeth exposed in a snarl.
"Couldn't hurt to try," Griselda sighs forlornly, shrugging her shoulders. "I'll find the woman for him one of these days."
Blinking in startlement and losing her snarl, Marianne raises an eyebrow to the snickering Imp at Griselda's attitude change. Something told her that she didn't want to know. Though, she suspected that she already knew.
If this peasant was so bold so as to request a private audience with her when not one other of her subjects could endure her for more than a few seconds at a time, look upon her cursed figure without fear, repeatedly forget her station, and actually touch her, all before a poorly subtle matchmaking suggestion, then she's quite sure this son of hers probably dealt with far worse from his very determined mother. For being a lowly peasant, Griselda seems to be an absolute force to be reckoned with. Yet, she still radiates realness. No hidden agendas, no scent of deceit, and her attempt at matchmaking felt more of an impulsive moment.
"I have half a mind to buy that land you dwell on and fulfill the lease's terms myself," Marianne muses, smirking at the startled look.