Page 119 of Long Live the King

He pulled open the door and left without answering.

I stood staring at the door, my heart racing, then I ran toward it and yanked it open, as I saw villagers with their heads bowed and the man I had been speaking to mounting his horse.

I couldn’t let him leave, he was the only one who spoke English, who had answers, who could explain this, but he was also cold and cruel and I could tell he didn’t care if I lived or died. I couldn’t believe I had survived our encounter.

I ought to have been quiet, but instead I yelled, “Wait!”

He pulled his horse around, looked down his nose, coldly. “Aye?”

“Um, what am I supposed to do? What is the point?”

He chuckled. “The queen wants tae ken her point?”

“Yes.”

“Yer point is tae give me a son for m’kingdom, the same as all queens.”

I opened and closed my mouth as he directed five men dressed like mercenaries and armed with rifles up to join the other guards on the walls.

Then, without glancing back, he rode from the compound surrounded by men.

I looked around at the walls, men guarding me from leaving, then at the gathered people as they raised their heads, casting furtive glances my way. I looked down at the spike, still in my hand. People bowed then returned to work.

It looked like the Middle Ages, sounded like it, smelled like how I would imagine it would smell.Was this what losing your mind felt like?

Was I in a padded room somewhere with this story playing in my mind?

It was the only reasonable supposition, because time travel didn’t exist.

He wanted me to have his son? Was he going to force himself on me?

Over my dead body. I was going to run.

I had my food, my bag.

This creep would never see me again.

I changed the spike to my other hand. It had been a good-enough weapon until the new guards showed up. I would need to get my hands on one of their rifles to get away —How was this real?It had to be a dream, right?I reached out and touched the low hanging thatch on the roof. Then I felt the white walls. It all felt real. There was a sprig of lavender on the window sill. I picked it up and smelled it. It smelled woodsy and floral as it should.

The young women approached carrying baskets, bringing me a meal, the scent of bread wafting by as they took it inside to my table. Their heads bobbed as they passed.

I followed them in and watched them unpack the meal.

Then I noticed my sack on the crate at the end of my bed. It had a hole chewed in the side. I opened the top of it, the bread I had collected was gone. Some beast had eaten my escape food.

I would have to collect bread again and steal another sack before I could escape.IfI could escape.

What did he mean by you’re going to have my son?

I turned to the two women and said, pressing my hand to my heart. “I am Ash.” I repeated it, “I am Ash, Ash. Ash, Ash.”

The two women said, “Ash.”

I nodded. “Ash.”

Then I pointed, “What is your name?” I repeated myself a few times, but they giggled, bowed their heads, averted their eyes, and kept saying, “Ash.”

I tried more, “Ash,” pat my chest, “what is your name?”

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