To Sweep You Off of Your Feet

She registers a twig snapping, maybe from the way she’s stomping around, maybe from the branches she slowly edges away from her face. But it’s the possibility that maybe the sound is distant, a source aside from her own rather, that makes her pause, then speed her actions. She treads through the forest at a faster rate, hears something tear, this time she knows it’s her dress.

Another twig snaps. Louder this time. Closer. She realizes it’s someone, it must be. She’s grown up in these woods, knows every creature, flying and grounded, knows their hesitant and soft steps. Strangers to the forest, however, are a different story.

People, she finds, are different stories. Not at all like the way they are in fairy tales, not at all like the princes of legend, soldiers of history, heroes and heroines with courageous hearts of gold. No, she thinks, people are far from golden.

Another distinct movement. She breaks into a run. There’s something about running that she’s always liked. Chasing my freedom, she thinks dramatically.

‘Slow down!’ she hears the voice behind her, stops immediately and turns around, struggling to catch her breath. Breathing, she believes, or being that much out of shape, is a sign of weakness, and so she breathes through her nose to silence her pants. She sees a figure behind her, also breathing heavily, dimly lit by the light of the moon. Lean yet strong.

‘Identify yourself,’ she says, straightening her back, surprised by the strength in her voice.

The figure only laughs, a dry and amused one. ‘You identify yourself,’ is the response, ‘You do not own the forest, princess.’

Her eyes widen slightly so she forces them down into a frown. ‘It is more mine than yours,’ she replies.

A pause. The figure moves slowly towards her, familiar sounds of twigs snapping echoing in the forest, and she is certain this is her follower. A peasant, perhaps. A guard? The figure stops abruptly as some leaves on the tree above them move just enough to allow a moon beam to shine on her face.

‘You...actually are The Princess,’ the figure says in disbelief.

She rearranges her hair and avoids any eye contact.

‘So far from the castle?’ the voice is softer now.

‘You are to tell no one,’ she says firmly. Hesitates slightly. She straightens her dress with her hands, suddenly unaware of just where to put her hands. ‘Now,’ she continues, bringing a lock of hair behind her ear with a shaking hand, ‘Return to your simple pleasantries.’

‘I must follow you.’

‘No,’ she says quickly, and it comes out much louder than she intended it to. ‘No, you musn’t,’ she says, ‘This is not your quest and I am not your child to care for.’

They stand there in silence, and she briefly considers using a verbal threat, or her father’s cavalry. Perhaps even a bribe. She begins counting the pieces of gold she has in her inside pockets. Thinks maybe a dress wasn’t the best costume to escape in.

‘You are fairer than your print suggests,’ the figure says, tossing her a gold coin. The very coin her face is printed on, etched with vanity and political self-interest.

She catches it with one hand. Throws it to the ground. ‘I needn’t your money.’

‘What riches can I provide you with, then?’

‘Nothing but your silence,’ she says. Turns and leaves, growing weary of the conversation, she hitches her dress and continues on into the forest. Sighs when she hears the twigs snapping again behind her. ‘Return to your home,’ she says with aggravation running thick this time.

‘Perhaps you are not the only one who feels alone in this town, Princess.’

Later, when they reach the edge of the forest, and purchase a boat to paddle across the lake in, she will insist, with a smile, on being called by her first name.