For all the brave women who are forced into a role they don’t want to fulfill.
For all the brave women who break out of their cage and finally learn to fly.
For all the brave women who dare to discover the world.
For all women who don’t just want to survive, but to live
You brave women, dare to do it!
Tropes: historical medieval romance – found family – strong FMC – longing – forced proximity – feminism – emancipation
Triggerwarnings: trauma processing – suicidal thoughts – manipulation
If you also liked: The Modern Prometheus, Wuthering Heights, The Count of Monte Christo, The Little Mermaid, A Court of Thornes and Roses, Meridia, The Plated Prisoner
Prologue
Her bare feet slid across the slippery mud covering the rough rocks. Red footprints marked the dark stone. The wind whipped the woman's face, making her dark hair dance like wild snakes. The sea roared and screamed.
She could hardly see her hand in front of her face. The spray obscured her vision so that she could only see a few inches ahead. She tasted the salt on her tongue and her eyes burned. With her hands and feet, she climbed the plateau of the cliff, which jutted out like a rock needle into the vast ocean. Her white, soaked dress billowed around her fragile body as she stood there, like a bright candle flame in the darkness. The sea continued to roar, calling to her, inviting her to join it. The wind tugged at her, trying to pluck her from the cliff like a withered leaf from a bare branch.
Hands outstretched, face raised to the bright moon, she filled her lungs with air one last time. The dark water foamed, rolled, and crashed against the rocks.
The sounds of the sea calmed her. The woman lowered her head and looked down into the threatening depths. For her, the sea held no threat. She saw peace, tranquility, and a long-awaited finality in it.
She took another step toward the abyss, her foot already hovering over the dark nothingness, when she was roughly pulled back by her arm.
That night, she fell. But not into the sea and not into the dark infinity.
Chapter 1
Elizabeth
She stood high up on the wall and stretched her head into the warm breeze that blew up from the valley to the castle. Elizabeth closed her eyes and let the scent of the adjacent forest carry her away. The heavy scent of conifers and fresh resin, interspersed with the light scent of wildflowers.
The sun warmed her eyelids and brushed her cheeks, still reddened from the bitter cold of the morning. She ran her fingertips over the rough stone as she walked along the wall, gazing longingly down into the valley. How she would love to be down there now, rushing over rocks, logs, and streams in a pair of good pants and tightly laced boots.
She lifted her chin slightly and arched her back.
She belonged here, in this castle. Her father would not approve if only he knew what daydreams she was indulging in again instead of attending to her duties. If he knew how much she wanted to break out of this cage that confined her, like the boning in the corset she wore.
She had to lean against the castle wall to keep from breaking under the weight of the expectations that her father, society, the whole world had placed on her delicate shoulders like heavy boulders.
She took a deep breath, gathered her clothes, and strode down the stairs into the castle courtyard.
The sun fought its way over the treetops, making the hoarfrost glisten on the leaves and flowers that lined the paths of the courtyard.
Elisabeth walked confidently across the castle grounds, putting one foot in front of the other as if she belonged right here, behind the walls of this castle.
She did not let on that her heart beat for the forest and that the trees were quietly calling her. She did not let on that she heard a voice calling her, soft, gentle, but unyielding.
Chapter 2
Elizabeth
The candles flickered in their golden holders, casting long shadows on the walls. The silver cutlery clattered against the exquisite porcelain.
Elizabeth was counting the peas on her plate for the second time. She was just about to put a carrot in her mouth when Mary cleared her throat loudly, breaking the silence that had fallen over the evening meal, as it did every night.
“You've hardly eaten anything, dear, would you like some more? Cedric, serve your dear wife another helping!”
She waved her hands toward her son, Elizabeth's husband, who immediately complied with his mother's request.
Elizabeth raised her hands defensively. “No, thank you, I'm really not...”
But Mary didn't let her finish.
“You need to be well nourished, dear, after all, you'll soon be carrying my grandchildren, so you'll need every ounce on your hips!” Her stern eyes measured her from head to toe, making Elizabeth feel very uncomfortable.
Cedric then began to pile even more meat and potatoes onto her plate, not noticing how Elizabeth's eyebrows almost slipped below her hairline at his statement. For a moment, she had thought that Mrs. Weaver's visit would make the evening a little more interesting, pushing the dreariness of the evening's activities into the background. But that was not the case. This was much worse.
The voices of mother and son faded into the background, blending into white noise. At some point, she felt Cedric's hand resting on hers.
Elizabeth abruptly pushed back her chair and stood up.
“I'm not feeling well.” To emphasize her discomfort, she touched her temple. “Please excuse me, I'm going to bed early.”
Without giving Cedric or Mary another glance, she left the room, her skirts billowing behind her.
Cedric watched her go with a frown, but then quickly turned his attention back to his lamb stew.
Chapter 3
Castor
Ted whinnied softly as I scratched him between the ears. He blew air out through his nostrils, which formed curling clouds of steam around his head. He was already pawing impatiently with his hooves. He was just as eager to get going as I was. I checked the girth again to make sure the stag wouldn’t slip out of the saddle during the ride. After attaching the quiver to the saddle, I swung myself onto the horse. I didn’t have to spur Ted on; we understood each other blindly. He trotted off and found his way through the trees as if by himself. His dark mane blew in the wind, while the colorful leaves of the autumn morning blurred into a veil of color to my left and right. The day was young, the sun had not yet reached its zenith. It sent its light through the trees and made the world shine in a kaleidoscope of colors.
I had to smile.
My forest, my horse, a freshly shot stag for the market—life was good.
Chapter 4
Elizabeth
Restless, Elizabeth scanned the dusty rows of shelves, searching for a novel she hadn’t yet eagerly devoured like a starving person devours a piece of bread. The air smelled of ink and leather, heavy paper, and the rare colors used to illustrate only the most expensive volumes.
After finding what she was looking for, she did not head for the upholstered bench in the alcove by the window, where she used to spend many hours every day. She slipped the handy book into the pocket of her overdress and closed the library door behind her.
Today, Elizabeth felt the need for a change of scenery. She pulled her hood deeper over her face to protect herself from the still icy autumn wind. Her heels dug into the soft earth as she walked from the main house across the castle courtyard to the gate, which had already been raised. No one stopped her as she left the castle.
The market square was crowded and noisy. Those were the first words that came to Elizabeth’s mind as she stood in the middle of the crowd and felt like she was drowning. People were shouting and making noise, loudly touting their wares. Children in torn rags kicked a leather ball across the dusty ground. The air smelled of roasted meat, spices, and honey. Her mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten anything yet today. She craned her neck and looked left and right, trying to locate the source of the fragrant honey pastries. She had walked around the market several times, but without success. There was no baker’s stall in sight. She squeezed her way through the crowd, trying to escape the throng. Again and again, she reached into the pocket of her dress and felt the weight of the stories waiting for her beneath the fabric.
With an empty stomach and a deep hunger for words, Elizabeth turned behind a stall selling wool and leather goods into the adjacent tree line. Immediately, the burden of the many people, noises, and smells fell away from her.
The forest welcomed her as if wrapping her in a warm blanket. She heard birds singing and the wind rustling through the treetops. Nearby, she heard a stream murmuring. She walked toward the splashing sound and found a lazy stream winding its way through the deepening forest. She gathered her woolen scarf beneath her and sat down on a bed of moss near the water, fishing the book out of her skirt pocket. She was immediately captivated by the story and completely lost all sense of space and time. She even forgot all about her growling stomach.
A neigh brought her back to reality.
Elizabeth raised her head and let the book sink into her lap. On the opposite bank stood a bay horse with white markings above its nostrils. It lowered its head and nibbled at the juicy blades of grass growing on the bank, paying no attention to her, as if she weren’t even there. When a branch broke behind the horse, it merely turned its ears. When Elizabeth turned her head, she saw a man next to the horse stepping through the thicket into the clearing.
Their eyes met.
Until now, Elizabeth had only read about such moments in countless stories. About such moments, such encounters. For centuries, authors and writers had tried to capture on paper the feeling that was now nestling in her chest.
But Elizabeth could find no words for it.
The world stood still.
Chapter 5
Elizabeth
The crowd roared, clapped, and stamped their feet on the wooden floorboards of the spectator stands. At Elizabeth’s feet, riders made their horses prance through the dust. They made their animals perform complicated maneuvers that were more like tricks and seemed far removed from natural behavior.
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t get much enjoyment out of this spectacle. With foam at their mouths and twitching ears, these majestic animals endured the heels in their bellies and the blows to their necks. Elizabeth pretended to look for something in her handbag. Cedric next to her clapped and cheered with the crowd.
Normally, he always managed to ignite her passion like a spark. She may not have burned as brightly as Cedric, but she could still find pleasure in many things. But not this. What they were doing to the animals was not a leisure activity in Elizabeth’s eyes. She forced a smile and clapped her hands weakly when Cedric smiled at her ecstatically. “Did you see that, Lizzie? That horse has such an incredible temperament, and yet he has him under control!” He put his fists on his hips and watched the rider enthusiastically, his eyes wide with amazement. “Amazing!” he exclaimed again.
Elizabeth looked at him from the side. She had always loved this side of Cedric. When he developed a passion for something, he savored it to the last drop. He infected others with it. But one day that changed. He didn’t just savor every drop, he wrung out the cloth until it tore. Passion turned into obsession. Elizabeth didn’t like this side of him at all. An uneasy feeling spread through her as she thought about it.
“It’s my turn, wish me luck!” he called to her, pressed a tender kiss on her cheek, and jumped off the platform.
He mounted the horse presented to him and pressed his heels roughly into its sides, causing it to rear up briefly. Cedric patted the animal’s side to calm it down as he led it to the center of the square. The spectators cheered and shouted, spurring the silk weaver’s son on.
Cedric waved to the crowd before giving his horse instructions to move. Spittle flew through the arena as the horse struggled to stamp grotesque steps into the dusty ground. Elizabeth slumped in her seat, wishing she were home in the safety of her books.
Chapter 6
Elizabeth
The candlelight was no longer enough to illuminate the small black letters on the paper. She had read until the sun had disappeared behind the treetops. Perhaps Cedric had gone to bed. He had never been in this library before, which would explain the layer of dust on the books.
She fervently wished that there was at least one of her passions that he would also warm to. The unknown worlds, for example, that were just waiting to be discovered between the pages. They could talk about them, philosophize, discuss them. But he wasn’t interested, and as soon as she brought up a story, he would think of a story or anecdote that was far more interesting to him.
He was interested in her as a person, but not as deeply as she would have wished for. But what exactly was that, when he was hardly interested in anything that made her who she was as a person? She didn’t know anymore.
They were connected. Strongly connected. She owed him so much. He loved her and she loved him. So everything should be fine right?
She had more than so many others. She scolded herself and felt ashamed because she couldn’t shake the feeling that there had to be more.
She sighed and looked at the book in her hands. Love had always seemed so easy in books. Carefree. Unconditional. But maybe those were just stories and not reality.
Chapter 7
Castor
Castor cursed when he stepped in a pool of blood with his boot. He lifted his foot and looked at the red color on his sole, which now stained the entrance in front of the door. He rolled his eyes and cursed again. Two rabbits hung from a hook above the doorframe. He took them down and stepped through the door.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to hang the game outside?”
No answer.
“Did you want to paint a welcome sign for the wolves?”
Margaret threw back the blanket and crawled out of bed.
“I don’t like it in here, it stinks.” She wrinkled her little nose. She crossed the room as if it belonged to her, as if the forest and the lands stretching to the horizon belonged to her either. That was probably true, at least in part, because this woman standing barefoot in his hut was Margaret of Hohenlayten. Her family belonged to the high nobility, although no one really knew where all their wealth came from. But that didn’t matter as long as the money flowed faster than it dried up.
He just looked at her. What was he supposed to say? She did whatever she wanted anyway. That was just Maggie.
Still holding the rabbits in one hand, Castor kicked off his boots and threw them into a corner. Now barefoot himself, he went into the kitchen, hung the rabbits back on the hook in the ceiling, and placed a bucket underneath.
When he turned around again, Margaret was standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.
“Come with me to town, Castor,” she said, stepping toward him. The scent of lilac and jasmine wafted toward him. It was surely the most expensive perfume available on the market. Margarets’ room in the Hohenlayten family home was filled with various glass bottles in all shapes and sizes, containing fragrances from all over the world.
“I live here. I feel comfortable here, and you know that, Maggie.” She wrinkled her nose again and put her arms around his neck. A curl had gotten caught in her neckline, and he toyed with the idea of tracing that strand with his finger to see where it ended.
“It smells like a dead rabbit here, your mattress is digging into my back, and you have to walk for several minutes to get water—and then I drink water from a stream!” She emphasized the last word with such contempt, as if she had to drink water from a puddle. At Hohenlayten, she surely had people who brought her water to the table. Castor sighed inwardly. He released her hands from his neck and gently pulled her back to the door. He opened the heavy wooden door and pushed her out over the threshold.
“What…?!” she started to protest, but he firmly placed his hand over her mouth. He stood behind her, her head resting on his chest. “Close your eyes,” he said, his lips close to her ear. She obeyed.
“Can you smell the forest?” he murmured. “Can you smell the resin, the leaves, the earth?” He released her mouth and gave her a moment. “Mud. I smell mud, Castor,” she said, exasperated. Now Castor closed his eyes. “Do you hear the birds, do you hear the crickets? Do you hear the wind in the trees? Do you hear them whispering?” Margaret snorted boredly. “I feel the wind because I’m cold.”
Castor dug his toes into the damp earth, felt the grass, the leaves, felt the life beneath his soles. He slowly pulled away from her.
“I don’t want to go to the city with all the people, Maggs. You know that. I won’t be happy there. I belong to the forest and the forest belongs to me.”
Margarete threw her arms in the air. She was angry. “Why does everything always have to be your way? I really don’t feel like…” she roared, but stopped. Castor was no longer there.
Chapter 8
Elizabeth
A fist struck Elizabeth on the chin. She tasted blood and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. For a few seconds, she saw double and her ears rang suspiciously. Henry grinned at her defiantly.
“Have you had enough now?”
He circled her in the square, his fists still raised. Elizabeth furrowed her eyebrows and gathered herself.
“Again,” she blurted out, motioning for him to attack again. She would have liked to spit out the coppery taste, but that was not proper for a woman, so she swallowed a few times.
The mere fact that she fought with the stable boy in the yard behind the stables was enough to cause a social scandal. She was a woman, and women did not fight.
Women cooked, looked after their children and families, and took care of the house and yard. At least, that was what women of her social standing did. Women of the class she had married into, however, were expected to embroider beautiful cushions, play music, and dance. In her eyes, these women were weak and at the mercy of the views of the ruling society. They were made weak, often against their wills. She did not want to be weak, she wanted to be strong.
Elizabeth didn’t want to be one of those women. She wanted to be educated and read, she wanted to go out into the world and learn what it was made of, she wanted to travel and see what lay beyond the horizon, beyond which the sun rose and set every day.
Henry shook his head contemptuously, but came closer nonetheless. He attacked. This time she was prepared. Her feet worked quickly, her fists even faster. Her advantage was her delicate stature, which made her nimble, more nimble than Henry was. She ducked under a swing and kicked him in the back of the knee. Even as his swing cut only air and his knee buckled, Elizabeth concentrated her remaining strength into one last punch and placed it directly under Henry’s rib cage. With a strained “Oof,” the air was squeezed from his lungs and he collapsed. Both of them groaned and panted. Elizabeth grinned. Henry spat in the sand.
“I’d say it’s a tie!” He rested his hands on his thighs and looked up at her.
“All right,” Elizabeth agreed, brushing a dark brown strand of hair from her sweaty face.
“Same time next week?”, she asked.
Henry straightened up again, a grin returning to his face.
“I’ll be there, my lady.”
Chapter 9
Castor
Ted whinnied softly and added a quiet grumble.
“Maybe you’re right,” Castor said resignedly, stroking Ted’s tousled mane soothingly.
“I don’t think it’ll work, but at least she can’t say I didn’t try!”
Ted whinnied in agreement. Castor grumbled.
“All right.” He held out another carrot to Ted, who gratefully accepted it. With a pat on the thigh, Castor said goodbye and left the stable.
~
Castor sat at the lavishly laid table in his finest clothes.
How did we know these were his finest clothes? Because they pinched and itched, had too few pockets, and were clearly far too expensive. Castor had initially refused to wear these pants, which were much too tight, and the shirt and doublet, which were much too narrow. And then there were the garish colors. He felt like a peacock at the market, on display and presented, touted for a ridiculously high price. As much as he longed for his simple leather clothes back, he had finally sighed and taken the strange and impractical-looking garments from Margaret, who had held them out to him with outstretched arms. At least she had seemed very delighted. “You look great, Father will love it!”
Her father would love it because now he looked like one of those rich snobs, even though he wasn’t one. He was a simple ranger, with just enough coins in his purse to last until the next day. “I love it,” she had added, running her hand over his chest, where the shirt was so tight that he thought he could hear the seams tearing. But apparently that was all the rage in higher circles.
“Let’s get it over with,” he had said, and Margaret had clapped her hands with delight. She had rushed back to an oversized mirror leaning against the wall and checked her breasts in the tightly laced corset once more. When she decided she looked presentable, she had strutted out the door.
Castor was surprised that the table didn’t bend to the ground, so lavishly was it covered with food and drink. Fried potatoes, braised vegetables wrapped in bacon, chicken legs, stuffed goose, half a suckling pig, various fruits, certainly from overseas, brought to this table for an outrageous amount of money, mussels, fried eggs, dumplings filled with jam, cakes and tartlets, a wide variety of wines, which all looked the same to Castor and tasted the same too.
Margaret nudged him in the side with her elbow and looked at him expectantly. Apparently he had been asked something, because now Margaret, her father, and her mother were all staring at him with wide eyes. Margaret’s mother broke the awkward silence by daintily dabbing the corners of her mouth with a lace handkerchief. Margaret’s father, however, didn’t seem to care that the fat from his double chin was dripping onto his collar, leaving an unsightly trail down to his chest. Castor tried to tear his gaze away from the drop that was making its way to the others on the rich man’s collar.
“Excuse me, what was the question again?” Margaret’s mother answered instead of her husband, who was busy sinking his teeth into a chicken leg he was holding in his bare hands. What Margaret’s father seemed to lack in manners, her mother made up for twice over.
“Ulf asked about your intentions regarding our daughter,” Livia said through pursed lips. She folded her perfectly manicured hands in her lap and looked at Castor with a hawkish gaze. Castor blinked and Margaret’s head jerked. She kicked him in the shin under the table.
“Not that it matters in any way,” Livia preempted him with a fitting reply. She picked up her fork again as if everything had now been cleared up. Castor stared at the delicate cutlery in his hands and felt more out of place than ever. Margaret didn’t make a sound, didn’t even attempt to defend their relationship, but seemed to be mashing her potatoes with her knife rather than cutting them.
For Castor, this was definitely the last dinner of its kind.
Chapter 10
Elizabeth
The path dug slowly into the ground because Elizabeth had not walked it very often. She had looked for another way down to the stream that did not lead across the crowded market square. Instead, she ran through the gate, along the castle wall, squeezed between rubble and crevices further down into the valley until she disappeared between the trees and continued to follow the murmuring splash of the water.
The days came and went, and the sun warmed the forests, the meadows, the mountains. It melted the snow of the short winter and caused the streams and rivers to swell. The trees bore delicate green leaves, the meadows bloomed in bright colors, as if an artist had poured a palette of colors over the canvas of her homeland.
Elizabeth sat by the stream under a willow tree, a book on her lap, listening with her eyes closed. She heard the bees and bumblebees busily collecting nectar and pollen, listened to the birds building their nests and the squirrels chattering angrily in the treetops.
This, the forest, was the little piece of freedom she could take for herself without anyone taking it away from her. The only piece of freedom that truly belonged to her.
Elizabeth breathed in the air and enjoyed the little bit of freedom that filled her lungs.
~
One afternoon, she entered her usual spot under the willow tree, but it was already occupied. She was so deep in the forest that at first she stopped in disbelief that someone else might have discovered this place.
A man sat with his back to her on the bank, holding a fishing rod in the sluggishly flowing water. When she saw the horse grazing a few yards away from him, she knew who she was looking at. However, she would have recognized him even without his mount. The broad shoulders, the color of his hair, the way he radiated calm and peace just by sitting there and holding the rod in the current. The sun caught in his hair, making it shine reddish-brown like polished bronze.
“Do you want to stand there and stare at me, or are you going to sit down with me?”, he asked without turning to her. He retrieved the leash and threw it out again with a practiced hand movement. The blood rushed to her cheeks. He had heard her. Of course he had heard her. She hadn’t missed his mischievous tone.
She closed the distance between them and climbed through the tall grass, which now reached above her ankles. Elizabeth sat down at a respectful distance next to him, but did not look at him. The man also continued to gaze out at the water. She nervously wrung her hands in her lap.
They sat there for a while, silent, both listening to the flowing water, feeling the warm sun on their faces.
Then he tilted his head toward her, and she did the same.
She sank into his eyes. She had never seen eyes like that before.
Brown and golden like amber when they were in the shade. Bright, like liquid honey, when the sun peeked through the canopy of leaves and hit his eyes.
His gaze plunged into hers, brushed over her face, taking in every tiny detail.
Once again, a jolt went through her body and the world stood still.
His gaze ignited something in her and she burned brightly.
Chapter 11
Elizabeth
And so it came to pass that Elizabeth spent more and more time in the forest than within the cool, dusty walls of the castle.
She got to know the forest from a whole new perspective. Until then, she had thought she had perceived her surroundings with all her senses, absorbing every impression like a sponge. The smells, the sounds, the feel of moss and leaves under her bare feet.
But Castor showed her other facets of the living forest. She began to see everything through his eyes, as if he had opened a previously hidden gate to a new world.
Elizabeth had to spend her whole life feeding on the information and images that books or travelers from distant lands told her about. About creatures, myths, and mystic stories. Castor seemed to have been everywhere, had gotten to know every country, every culture, had crossed every mountain and every sea. The world had already shown him so much and told him so much. She wished that he would now tell her everything.
The thick, old tomes on botany, insects, and birds had always fascinated her, and she had devoured every single one in her small library several times over.
But this was something completely different.
Castor took her by the hand and led her through the thicket. Thorns scratched her legs, but she hardly noticed. She stared spellbound at what was revealed before her in the clearing. Castor had knelt down a little way ahead of her and crouched under a bush that was in full bloom. The scent of the nectar from its flowers hung in the air, sweet and heavy. Elizabeth crouched down next to him so that her elbow touched his arm. She could feel his warmth through her thin blouse. She tried to concentrate. He silently indicated the direction she should look.
A fawn lay in the shade of a fallen tree trunk. It had awkwardly folded its thin legs under its belly, and Elizabeth wondered if it was comfortable lying in such a twisted position. But the little creature seemed to be dozing peacefully and appeared relaxed. The light spots on its belly rose and fell in a leisurely rhythm. The calmness that emanated from the young animal spread to Elizabeth. She felt Castor’s gaze resting on her face and returned it. It’s beautiful, her gaze seemed to say to him. No book in the world could describe this moment as truthfully as this one.
Castor took her hand in his and stroked the back of it with his thumb, but looked back at the fawn through the leaves of the shrub. Elizabeth closed her eyes and enjoyed the tingling sensation that this touch sent through her body.
Then she heard a noise. Startled, Elizabeth withdrew her hand and pressed it to her mouth to stifle her cry just in time. Castor put a finger to his lips and motioned for her to stay calm. He pointed out to the clearing again. A young doe approached her fawn and nudged it in the flank with her small black muzzle until the little one finally stood unsteadily on all fours. Lovingly, the mother signaled to her offspring that it was time to go. Slowly, the two disappeared between the trees. Elizabeth watched them until they were out of sight.
Castor and Elizabeth sat in silence under the bush with the white flowers for a little longer than necessary.
Mother and fawn had long since gone.
Chaper 12
Castor
He could still feel the soft skin of her hand beneath his fingers. He saw her face before him, her dark brown eyes. Her freckles, which became more numerous the more time she spent outdoors. Her dimples, which only appeared when she allowed herself to laugh genuinely, not the demure smile that was imposed on ladies of the upper class. How her eyes sparkled when she was enthusiastic and genuinely interested in something. Her scent of pine needles and moss. The way she scurried barefoot across the forest floor in her gathered skirts, her bare feet dark from the earth, as he chased her through the trees.
Her bright laughter faded in his thoughts and faded away. It was replaced by gentle breathing. Margaret’s head lay on his chest, her blonde hair tickling his nose.
Blonde, not brown. He closed his eyes and tried to chase the thought away.
Margaret murmured in her sleep. The artificial scent of lilac and jasmine filled the cabin. The smell reminded him of what had been, what was now, and what could be.
Margaret slept soundly, but Castor stared at the ceiling and couldn’t get back to sleep.
Chapter 13
Elizabeth
Elizabeth absentmindedly twirled her golden ring on her finger. She had just stoked the fire and was now waiting for the water in the kettle to finally boil so she could warm up the cold water in the copper tub.
Cedric didn’t like it when she did the housework herself and didn’t leave such matters to the servants.
Elizabeth had been born into a family of shepherds. Her mother had taught her the art of washing clothes, cooking, and running a household as soon as she could walk. She could cultivate fields, herd sheep, shear sheep, spin wool, tan hides, and sew coats. Of course, she could also heat bath water herself. She was not above doing that. She felt very uncomfortable at the thought of ringing the maid’s bell at such a late hour.
She took the kettle off the hook and carried it into the adjoining bathroom. The bath water steamed and gave off a pleasant scent. She had brought some pine branches from the forest, plucked a few needles and added them to the tub. As she slid into the water and the soothing warmth relaxed her muscles, she closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of the forest, which now wafted through the bathing chamber in steaming wisps.
She could feel the forest taking root in her more and more. Like a fine network of mycelium, it crept through her veins, filling her blood, her lungs, her heart. As soon as she entered the castle, she was overcome with homesickness and a deep longing that physically hurt her. It felt as if she had lost something, forgotten something important.
How could she not feel at home here when this was her home?
~
Elizabeth tiptoed quietly into her bedroom. The carpet muffled every sound. She stepped up to the bed, pulled back the covers, and carefully blew out the candle. She felt around in the dark for the edge of the bed and slipped into the soft pillows.
Cedric turned over in his sleep without waking up. He put his arm around her waist, pulled her close, and buried his face in her neck. He continued to breathe slowly, slipping deeper into sleep.
Elizabeth felt the weight of his arm on her all too clearly. Why did the embrace that had once promised such security now feel like arms strangling her?
Elizabeth didn’t sleep that night either.
Chapter 14
Castor
Margaret plucked an ant from her gold-embroidered dress. She wrinkled her nose again, as she always did when she was unhappy. Castor lay on a picnic blanket under an apple tree, propped up on his forearms. He popped another grape into his mouth. Margaret shifted her weight to the other side of her body for the fifth time in a minute because her corset was not conducive to sitting on the grass. She had known that they had agreed to have a picnic in the tall grass, but she had nevertheless chosen this outrageously expensive dress that was clearly suffocating her. If she leaned forward any further, something might fall out of her dress that was better left covered.
“I don’t understand how you can prefer this to the inn,” she said in a haughty tone.
She waved her hand frantically in front of her face to chase away a bee that seemed to mistake her bright yellow dress for an oversized flower. Castor sighed. He felt like he was going around in circles. As if he and Margaret had no other topics to discuss except this one. How little he fit into her refined society and how little she belonged in the forest.
“I’ve tried, Maggie. I’ve tried to fit in with you, but I can’t. It’s just not who I am.”
Margaret took one of the apples from the basket that Castor had picked fresh from the apple tree under which they were now sitting before their date.
“Are you aware of how many men are fighting for my hand in marriage?” she asked, lifting her chin high in the air. She meticulously inspected the apple and dropped it back into the basket because it had a few brown spots. Castor remained silent.
“You’re lucky that there is currently no suitable nobleman who holds a position of similar or higher status.”
She looked at her manicured nails. “I could marry a count or an earl. Maybe even a prince.” She looked up at him through her long eyelashes.
“I know,” Castor said simply. He held her gaze. That didn’t seem to be the reaction Margaret had hoped for from him.
“Then why don’t you make an effort? You wouldn’t even have to work, my family has enough money! All I’m asking of you is to accept what I’m offering you.”
She threw her hands in the air to emphasize her disbelief.
“Why are you making this so difficult for me, Castor? I’m asking you to wear the clothes, to show up at the banquets, to lead me through society on your arm. It’s not going to kill you!” she snapped at him.
Yes, he thought. That’s exactly how it feels. It’s killing me, slowly suffocating me.
“You’re asking me to stop being myself, Maggs. You can’t seriously expect that of me,” he said in a soothing tone.
Margaret stood up and crossed her arms in front of her chest. She stared down at Castor with an angry look. At the food he had gathered to prepare a nice picnic for her in nature.
“Sometimes I wonder why I bother with you at all,” she said, slowly shaking her head. Castor felt a sharp pang in his chest. Margaret shot her words like sharp arrows and didn’t care who they hit as long as it wasn’t herself.
“I’m starting to wonder that myself,” Castor said quietly, but Margaret was already gone.
She had already gotten up and left.
Chapter 15
Elizabeth
Elizabeth sat cross-legged in the grass, sipping her hot chocolate. Castor had made it for her. She had no idea how he had gotten hold of this bitter brown powder, which she would trade for gold any day. It must be outrageously expensive and difficult to obtain at the market, since it came from the farthest corners of the world and had to be brought to them in the valley by ship and carriage. She took another sip and enjoyed the feeling of warmth spreading through her stomach.
Castor chopped at the tree trunk with an axe, which he had dragged in front of the hut with Ted’s help. Elizabeth stole glances at him from time to time as he transformed the chunky tree trunk into handy firewood, shirtless and his chest wet with sweat.
There were days when they talked a lot, and there were days when they were together, but silence joined them like a third person. That didn’t bother Elizabeth at all. She mostly watched Castor live his life, chopping wood, cooking, tanning leather. Sometimes she helped him, sometimes she read, sometimes she dozed in the sun.
She let her gaze wander over the treetops. She had to go home soon; the evening sun was already low in the sky. A shiver shook her. She took another sip from the steaming cup and let her gaze rest on Castor again. Fascinated, she watched how his back muscles stretched and contracted, how precisely he wielded the axe. A trail of dark hair led from his navel across his stomach and disappeared under the waistband of his pants. Sweat ran down his body and face, glistening in the setting sun, while he didn’t miss a single stroke. Elizabeth felt warm all over, even though she had been shivering just a moment ago. Something seemed to stir in her stomach, spreading and winding its way between her legs. Before she knew what was happening, she jumped up and said a hasty goodbye.
On the way back to the castle, she stumbled over her own feet several times. Her thoughts raced. She felt feverish, almost sick. Images played in her head that she didn’t dare put into words. Elizabeth shook her head vigorously.
Pull yourself together, Elizabeth, what’s wrong with you?!
~
Elizabeth was dreaming.
She was dreaming of Castor.
How he gently held her hand.
How he taught her which berries were edible and which were poisonous.
How he taught her to recognize animal trails.
How he patiently taught her the names of birds until she could recite them all as if she had learned them with her mother’s milk.
She dreamed of how he buried his head in her lap while she read to him from her book. She dreamed of his face as he lay blissfully under the apple tree, his eyes closed, listening to her words.
She dreamed of his deep voice vibrating in her chest when he told her something.
She dreamed of his laughter, of how his eyes sparkled mischievously. She dreamed of all the beautiful moments he gave her, stolen and safely tucked away in her heart.
She woke up on a tear-soaked down pillow. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want his face to fade from her thoughts just yet.
She dreamed of how the water glistened in his hair as he washed himself in the river.
She dreamed of how a strand of hair fell boldly across his forehead and tried to imagine what it would be like to raise her hand and brush it back. She thought of his beautiful eyes, the deep, rich brown that changed depending on how the light fell on them. She saw his face so clearly before her, his eyes, his long eyelashes.
Her longing overwhelmed her so much that she was shaken by a sob. She buried her face deep in the pillows and tried to contain the pain in her chest so she wouldn’t wake Cedric.
Castor’s face faded, leaving her alone in the darkness.
Chapter 16
Elizabeth
Another wooden chest was loaded onto the carriage, which had been harnessed to two strong horses. The carriage driver was already sitting on the box, ready to drive the animals through the open gate.
Cedric stepped out of the archway, a leather bag in each hand. Elizabeth followed him outside.
“I’ll be back in a week,” said Cedric. He opened the carriage door and threw the bags onto the back seat. His face looked tense, his actions radiated urgency. He turned to Elizabeth and took her face in both hands. His leather gloves felt cool against her cheeks.
“Take care of the castle while I’m away,” he asked her with a wink. “I will,” she assured him. He pulled her into his arms and held her close. Elizabeth returned the embrace.
“Take care of yourself,” she said goodbye.
“Nothing will happen to me,” he said casually and kissed her one last time.
The roads to the neighboring country led over a mountain pass, and there were highwaymen everywhere. But Elizabeth swallowed her words of caution, knowing they would probably fall on deaf ears. Cedric slipped into the carriage, stuck his head out of the open window, and knocked on the side of the carriage. “Come on, Ashton, let’s go!”
Ashton cracked his whip and the carriage jolted into motion.
Elizabeth ran alongside the carriage until they passed through the gate.
She stood there and watched him until the horses and carriage disappeared between the valleys.
~
Elizabeth found herself high up on the wall once again. Cedric had left early in the morning, the sun still low in the cloudless sky. As so often, she looked down into the valley, surveyed the dense forest, and spotted the glistening water here and there.
A week, just for her alone. A week without her duties as the wife of the head of the silk weavers. A week without political banquets, without appearing in society on her husband’s arm, like an appendage.
A week without being at Cedric Weaver’s side, as just his wife.
Elizabeth thought back to the last dinner at the home of the glassmaker family, who also resided here in the city.
“Would your wife like to try some of the delicious roast chicken?”
“Your wife is wearing such a beautiful gown tonight! Quite charming!”
“My name is Elizabeth, and I am sitting right here at this table! You are welcome to address me directly!”
Yes, she had really said that. After her outburst, the evening was rather bumpy, you could say. But Elizabeth hadn’t been able to hold back. She had felt so invisible sitting there in her husband’s shadow. Unseen by everyone else in the room, even though she was sitting right next to them at the table. As, she thought, an equal member. But she was just a woman.
Elizabeth laughed briefly in disbelief and vigorously wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
A week in which she lived only for herself and not for others.
A week in which she lived as Elizabeth and not as an invisible woman.
She let her gaze wander over the treetops. She heard the forest calling her.
A warm feeling spread through her chest and a smile stole across her lips.
At that moment, she realized who she was not invisible to at all.
Chapter 17
Castor
The sounds of the forest had changed. Castor opened his eyes. He had been dozing in the shade of a tall oak tree. He propped himself up on his forearms and looked around. Not far from him, Ted was searching the fresh grass for tasty morsels, snorting occasionally.
The forest spoke to him.
She was coming.
She was on her way to him.
Chapter 18
Elizabeth
She wore pants for the first time! How easy it was to move around in them without the hem of her skirt constantly getting caught in the thorns. It was wonderful! Elizabeth’s legs carried her faster and faster through the forest. The only thing that got caught in the branches was her dark hair, but she didn’t pay any attention to it because she felt free, unrestrained, alive. She wanted to feel like this all the time!
The pulling in her chest grew stronger.
The forest sang for her.
And she followed its voice.
Chapter 19
Castor
Suddenly she stood before him, wild and untamed. This woman, whom he had first seen on the bank of a stream, a book in her lap, her dress carefully folded under her legs.
Now she stood before him, her chest rising and falling rapidly as if she had been running. Leaves and burrs were tangled in her hair. She wore leather leggings and boots on her feet.
She laughed uncertainly and walked toward him until she was standing directly in front of him. She had to lift her head slightly to look him in the eyes.
Castor couldn’t take his eyes off her. He took a strand of her hair and twirled it between his fingers, studying her eyes, her flushed cheeks, the heartbeat at her throat.
And the world stood still.
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