We spent the night in the woods. I wondered if Christine had never done such a thing. It was an entirely novel situation for me, and enjoyable. A night under the stars probably struck some as more ideal in notion than in reality, but for me it was pleasant. The weather was good and the sky was clear. I fashioned up a blanket for Christine, and she fell asleep staring up through the branches at the stars. I sat by her, waiting. For what, I didn't know. But I was calm, something I had not properly felt in some time. Perhaps that was the nature of the woods. God's creation, as Christine and I had discussed. Short of some wild beast or that freak of Grace's, Christine was safe and I was capable of handling either threat. And so the hours passed, darkness settling upon the trees and the life of the night making its way out. I strangely felt a part of it all, the way the foxes darted from their holes and the owls hunted.
And yet, what was I doing here? I loved the world. I loved everything I did in it. I had not thought of sadness or missing anyone—not really, not in a painful way—until I had stumbled into Christine. Was I to learn some lesson besides who had orchestrated my death? It was not as if I had demanded an explanation or suffered. But the situation was indeed so curious that I had to wonder the simple question of why.
I finally left Christine at the foot of the tree where we had decided to camp. She would be safe, but I did not sleep and I was restless. There had been no sign of the man since we had fled, and I didn't worry. So I took to wandering the trail.
The trail was clear. As a princess I would have imagined it practically invisible, but my eyes and my appreciation for these little things had grown since my death. These were not the haunted woods of stories but merely trees well-known to everyone around. And somewhere through them was Wyatt's cottage and past that the old chapel where he came to speak to me. A strange sort of prayer, but I had felt flattered just the same. It was the cottage I wanted to see.
I wasn't sure how I found it, but within an hour it was in front of me, dusty and dirty and about to collapse. It was beautiful. I stopped at the door and breathed in deeply the scent of the crumbling wood and the dust and junk that filled it. The door opened with ease, but faint light met my eyes.
Dying embers glowed humbly from the fire grate. There, wrapped in fine wool blankets at the hearth, lay Wyatt, fast asleep.
My first thought demanded to know what on earth he was doing there. Hadn't I just seen him hours ago at the palace, all the proper prince? Idiot. He had no attendant, just himself in the same woods where roamed a stranger with a very large hunting knife. Yet with a smile I knelt down next to him. He was unshaven and his hair was a mess. I ran my hand through it, feeling the fine texture thrown into tangles. My fingers slipped from his hair into his face, scratchy to the touch. He had aged well, I again observed. He was always going to be handsome. No wonder Christine was so infatuated with him. What girl wouldn't be? I brushed my fingertip over his eyelid then brought my mouth down to his.
So many years had passed since I had kissed him. My body was dead, was this even a real kiss? And was it a real kiss if he were asleep and so unaware of me? Yes, it was, I knew that much. I still loved him. My lips rested there, dwelling on Wyatt's warmth. Yes, I loved him. I would have married him. That had not happened, but I still loved him. Thank God that had not been taken away.
I sat back, feeling ever so scandalous. A perfect contrast to just thinking about God, but I thought He wouldn't deny me a kiss. Still I felt like a little girl, sneaking about kissing boys—not that I had never done such a thing. It was a wonderful feeling.
But then Wyatt stirred.
Oh, but I could not think straight! But it was clear that appearing as me in the middle of the night in the middle of the woods would not be all right. So I changed to Angel, the lovely little messenger girl. What she was doing in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night I didn't know, either.
Wyatt blinked confusedly and sat up. I huddled up against the hearth and stared with the frightened eyes I imagined a real servant girl named Angel would use.
"I'm so sorry, Your Highness," I said breathlessly. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I was lost and I found this cabin and… I'm sorry." Angel was quite a dimwit. How could she get lost in these woods?
"That's… that's all right. I think." Wyatt pushed the blanket away. Thankfully he had slept in his clothes. "I know you."
"I brought you letters," I said. "My name is—"
"Angel. Yes. I know you."
"Do you wish me to leave?"
He shook his head. His hair was a disaster. "No, no. Stay until morning. I'll even attend you to your home. Sadly I know where it is."
I laughed nervously.
"I didn't mean to scare you," Wyatt continued. "I just had the oddest dream. It was so real it awoke me. Have you ever had a dream like that?"
"Yes. I think everyone has at some point, Your Highness. Were you falling?" I tried to sound shy, but I found myself desperate for his answer.
He shook his head again, this time with a smile. "No, actually. I was being kissed."
My heart leapt. "Kissed?" I giggled. Why did I giggle?
"It's a very long story. You must be tired, Angel. Here, have these blankets. I'll make another bed for myself outside and let you have the hearth."
"Your Highness, I couldn't possibly—"
"It's a warm night, it will be fine." He stood up and deftly folded the blankets and handed them to me. Our fingers touched as he did so. He gave no reaction, and I tried not to show mine.
"I'm wide awake now," I said. "I don't mean to press, but… if you would like to tell the story, I would be happy to listen."
He sighed. I knew his face. He wanted to talk.
"You've talked to me before," I urged.
"You're right." He sat back down. "I told you about Princess Fawn, didn't I?"
I loved it when he said my name. "Yes."
"She was the one in my dream."
I wanted to jump into his arms and kiss him all over again. Instead I said "The one who kissed you."
"Yes. It was a wonderful dream. I still dream about her now and then, of course, but this was so real. Perhaps because you entered the cottage. I know that presences can affect dreams. But she has been on my mind lately. You've probably heard about the approaching ball. It goes with my coronation, and frankly my father expects to use the ball to help me find a queen."
"So Princess Fawn would be on your mind."
He laughed. "It's very stressful. I will have to find someone Fawn would have liked, if that makes any sense to you. It's why I came out here. The next few days and nights will be nothing but ball preparation and this place was always important to me. I had hoped to take Fawn to it one day. I guess I needed one night to clear my head. So that's how you have found your prince."
I wondered if he had found the note I had left. But he gave no mention of it. "So you will need to find a girl of noble blood that your princess would have liked?"
"Not necessarily," he said quickly. "I mean, not a girl of noble blood."
"Why?"
He was speechless for a moment, then shook his head. "Oh, no reason. There are many fine families who are not technically noble."
"Are you in love with anyone?"
He was silent, staring at the hearth.
"I'm sorry. I ask too many questions and I overstep my bounds. I was just curious."
"I don't know."
I found myself scooting closer. "You don't know, Your Highness?"
He locked eyes with me. "Have you ever been in love with anyone, Angel?"
I nodded.
"Was it instantaneous?"
I nodded, then shook my head. "That's a very difficult question. I will have to answer no. I liked the person I loved immediately the first time I saw them and it certainly became love quite quickly."
"Well, that's how I feel about someone now. I'm not in love, but… I think I could be. I'm intrigued with someone. Fascinated. And yes, I think I feel very deeply about her."
I laughed.
He did as well. "You're enjoying this?"
"Well, Your Highness, you being you and all, what you say is very exciting to hear."
He laughed again. "Glad to hear I'm idolized."
"Do I know her? Or is she a princess or a daughter of nobleman? Or am I not allowed to ask?"
He sat a moment, arms resting on his knees. He did not look displeased at my questions. "You seem so familiar to me, Angel, and not just because we've spoken before. It's everything about you. I like you. I'm comfortable around you, more comfortable than I am with most people I've known for years."
"Your Highness, you're not considering being in love with me, are you?" I meant it in jest, but a tiny part of me demanded to know his answer.
"I won't deny that it could eventually be a possibility," he said with a grin. "But no. But I will tell you because I trust you."
Even though right now I was Angel, the tiny part of me couldn't help but be upset. And somehow the rest of me thought it was a wonderful game.
"It's someone you work with, I believe. Christine Davrel."
It was horrible. I laughed. Giddily. I laughed in celebration of Christine. I was thrilled, yet a corner of my heart cracked. I enjoyed the pain. "Christine?"
He nodded, blushing.
"She's beautiful and exciting. You know that."
"I do. She is both."
"Has she spoken of me?"
I nodded. "Not inappropriately, Your Highness. But she has spoken of you slightly more than anyone else might speak of the Prince."
He sighed happily and ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to straighten it. It was all in vain. "Look at me. Gossiping and burrowing for information like a child. I'm far too old for this. Angel, thank you for listening. Good night." He stood up and headed to the door.
I let the image of Angel stay as long as I could. Then I closed my eyes and put myself outside the cottage. The dark night, the path, the trees. Just far enough away to escape.
But not as Angel.
So he did care for Christine. And I had played the game with him to figure that out. And I was happy. But I could make my own game. Maybe it was a stupid thing to do, but I honestly could think of no bad reason to do it, not at the distance I did it.
There I was. Me. Fawn. Standing far enough from the cottage that he could not run to me, not even be sure it was I if he even thought of me at all. Me, just a faint figure in the night.
I watched his eyes fall nonchalantly over the trees in passing, then widen as they fell upon the distant figure of me. He wasn't sure. I could see that. How could he be sure? I was faint, it was dark, and I was nine years dead. But for a few moments he was still and staring save for his lips opening for a single word: my name.
And then I vanished.
