Chapter 6/Week Seven/Twelve Months Left
"Not that I'm truly questioning you precisely, but are you sure about this, Your Majesty?" Bog asks.
"We both need the relief," Marianne mutters, growling when she catches sight of a servant peeking out the window.
Here she was just thinking seven weeks ago about how her subjects avoided even looking at her and now she couldn't even get a moment's peace in her own home! At least she did have the luxury of leaving most of the day three times a week to take court at the Judgment Hall, but poor Bog was stuck with these merciless matchmakers every moment she was dealing with matters pertaining to the kingdom.
Even her private chamber was no longer sacred once they had discovered Bog hiding within that one afternoon three weeks ago. Their conversation had been disturbed when they both heard the sound of eavesdroppers huddled against her door. The spies hadn't managed to hear anything, which, unfortunately, led them to assume a great deal of incredibly inaccurate assumptions. Which resulted in her having to leave her door open whenever Bog was in there as well so as to prevent them from thinking that their queen was so wanton.
"Yes, but what about the imprisonment? I'm not allowed to leave the castle grounds, remember?" Bog reminds before stopping in shock at the creature standing in the paddock beside the castle stable. "What is that?!"
"This is Lizzie, my sister's mare. She was unfortunately in the stables when the curse was cast and was turned into this," Marianne explains, reaching out to pet the giant green lizard's snout. "There's another cursed horse around here somewhere. He'll be the one you'll be riding."
"Another lizard?" Bog questions.
"A giant squirrel, actually," Marianne corrects.
As if knowing that he's being talked about, Chipper peeks his furry brown-and-white head out of the large pile of hay he was hiding in and chitters at the stable visitors. Imp chitters back before jumping off Marianne's shoulder and running toward the other transformed horse. Despite his larger size compared to the cat-sized imp, Chipper snaps his jaws and lowers his head to the ground as Imp approaches.
"If these two are still roughly the same size as their true form instead of the size of the animal they became, then I wonder why Imp was made smaller," Bog murmurs as Imp nuzzles the larger animal before him.
"I've seen imps while riding through the Dark Forest and they've always been about the size Imp is now, so I suppose that it might be because lizards and squirrels are much larger in the fae domain than they are here," Marianne comments. "As for the concern about your imprisonment, the Dark Forest is part of the castle grounds, and you are free to enter it as long as you are astride Chipper. It will prevent you from unknowingly breaking your word as you get some freedom from their harassment."
"Wouldn't they just follow?" Bog asks.
"They will not enter the Dark Forest. Even cursed as they are, they're too afraid of the goblins," Marianne answers.
Calling for the stable master to ready Chipper for riding, it's not long before a halter and saddle are fitted to the large squirrel despite the man's shrunken form slowing his pace. The gelding eagerly responds to his caretaker, not squirming away as the child-sized hand holding his halter keeps his head lower than his shoulder as he's led to his waiting rider.
"He's 'n a bit frisky t'day. Bes' keep tigh' hold o' the reins or'n he migh' climb a tree," Morris murmurs, an ever-present scowl on his face but his voice congenial.
"I'll keep that in mind," Bog responds as he takes the offered reins.
"See'n tha' you do. Sir Rolan' ne'er listen, n' I had to gel' poor ol' Chipper 'cause o' his ba' habi's," Morris mutters before pouting at the queen. "Should'a let me gel' Sir Rolan' instea'."
Marianne barely keeps from showing the amusement she feels, merely giving both men a dry look before making shooing motions with her hand to Morris when Bog mentions his agreement to such a statement. The lanky peasant chuckles in response as he easily swings himself into the gilded saddle and guides the great beast beneath him into a hopping trot around the stable courtyard with firm but gentle hands.
"He's a goo' n'," Morris compliments quietly. "He 'andles a moun' much betta' than the las' pendin' king consor'."
Her resulting groan comes out as a growl, and she eyes the stable master with unveiled irritation as he keeps his eyes focused on Bog exercising Chipper. As a child, she had taken a liking to the stableboy that everyone counted as a fool, too dimwitted to handle anything but the lowest of jobs, and she had soon discovered that his oafish demeanor concealed a very smart and eloquent man, one whose knowledge of horses and the like vastly outmatched the former stable master. The older man had indulged her every whim, treating her more as a normal child than just the title she bore, and it came as a shock to no one that upon her crowning as queen, she promoted the stableboy to stable master. What did come as a shock to everyone, was how better suited the man was to the job, performing his tasks with an efficiency that made the chancellor envious.
The stable master was also the only one of her subjects who had ever spoken candidly to her. Not as bold as Griselda and Bog but he did speak his mind far more than any other of the castle servants if they were alone with no one to overhear.
"There's talk, Your Majesty," Morris whispers. "A lo' o' talk."
"There will always be talk until this curse runs its course and then, no doubt, even more talk after," Marianne responds softly.
"They worry. We all worry. Sugar Plum's curse affecte' all o' us, no' jus' yourself," Morris reminds.
"I will do what I know to do to save my people," Marianne states.
"He may no' be the bes' suite', wha' with his dirty bloo' bein' n' outlander's son n' all, n' he may be a lowborn peasan' born on the wron' side o' the blanke', but this boy coul' save us if'n you woul' jus' let 'im," Morris murmurs bluntly.
"Watch your tongue!" Marianne hisses, feeling no remorse as the cursed man folds in on himself and cowers under her harsh gaze. "I'll hear no more of such talk! You'll not disrespect Bog of Glenndale so again! When the time is right, I will do what must be done and I'll not have my honorable guest besmirched by the likes of you or anyone else!"
Growling with unrestrained frustration, Marianne snaps her wings open and pushes herself into the air, away from the whimpering stable master. She can't stop clenching her fists tight, ignoring as claws prick painfully against her scaled palms, and glides around the castle to the royal gardens, towards the large double gate at the far end.
Before the curse, before that fateful day, she would have never allowed herself to lose so much control over her temper. She had always desired to be as the former queen had been, a queen of grace, genteel. Someone who could look upon scorners and smile so beautifully that they fell over themselves to apologize for their behavior.
Marianne had never seen her mother act uncouth. Ever the perfect queen whether attending to her young daughters or her subjects or those of other kingdoms. Queen Erica was a picture of perfection, always dignified, no matter the circumstance. Dawn was more the former queen's equal than the present queen, able to restrain any unfitting behavior with ease when need be. She favored her father's blood more than the royal lineage, wild and fettered by all the poise required of her.
"If you're upset on my behalf, while I am grateful, I ask that you calm yourself, Your Majesty," Bog murmurs, slowing Chipper to a walk once he reaches her.
Imp chitters distressingly from his place in front of Bog on Chipper's saddle and Marianne flies closer to allow him to jump into her arms. Her faithful friend always knew when her moods needed cheering up, even before the curse, and he determinedly rubs his head against her chest and neck with clicks and squeals before pushing his snout into her curled fists to lick at the small amount of blood her claws made.
"He had no right to insult you so," Marianne mutters.
"I'm used to it," Bog sighs. "Everyone in Glenndale knows my father is not a subject of this kingdom, and the related gossip was bound to reach the castle, especially with circumstances being what they are. I'm surprised they're still trying to push us together."
"The only gossip that could result in the miraculous end of their ceaseless matchmaking is if they discovered you are already married," Marianne comments before shaking her head. "Although, at this point, I don't think even that would stop them."
The forest gate opens effortlessly under her hands and though Chipper groans uneasily as he steps past the wooden threshold, he obeys his rider's urging into the thick undergrowth guarding the entrance into the Dark Forest. She relishes in the coolness of the forest, breathing deeply and stretching her wings to the fullest before flying deeper, smiling as Bog follows without any hesitation.
Marianne can't resist weaving through the trees and barrel-rolling through the foliage as they travel farther and farther away from the castle, soaring through the lush greenery in a playful dance. Chipper easily keeps stride beneath her, and she laughs freely when she notices the wide grin upon Bog's face that displays his own enjoyment of the moment. Even a river in their path does nothing to stop them, she playfully skimming her clawed hand along the surface as she glides above the cool water, and Bog coaxing the horse-sized squirrel to climb partway up a leaning large oak and jumping to the other side without breaking stride.
Morris was correct about Bog being a much better rider than Roland. Whereas the latter had been unable to deal with Chipper's inherent skittishness and high-strung tendencies, causing Morris' eternal hatred for the man, Bog confidently guides the giant squirrel to embrace his new terrain and they happily bound along the length of a fallen tree before jumping onto a branch that's sturdy enough to handle their weight and jumping across a deep ravine.
It had been a naive thought, so long ago, that the gifting of her favored horse's younger brother as a betrothal present would mean that she and Roland were matched perfectly. Morris had not been the only one distraught when Roland's servants returned an aggressive and ill-mannered Chipper to the royal stables after her counselors informed her that he could not keep the betrothal gift if she did not wed him. If she had no other reason to doubt Roland being fit to become the next king consort, that moment would have been enough.
Strange that a simple peasant is a better horseman than a trained knight from a noble family, riding with such a confident and carefree spirit that she had seen in no other except her father, her sister, and herself.
Bog truly was her match, wasn't he?
The thought sobers her immediately, and Marianne lands abruptly as her wings snap shut. She ignores Imp's worried chitter as she wraps her arms around herself in a poor hug, allowing herself a small moment for the resigned grief to rise to the surface as she gazes longingly at the man riding ahead of her.
No. She can't think such thoughts. She won't subject him to such a wretched fate. It would be far too cruel to doom him so.