Disenchanted

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The mirror shattered. Robert fell through the frame and landed among the shards on the earthen floor. He took a shuddering gasp, as if he had held his breath for a long time, then clambered to his feet and stared around the hovel. The last he remembered was dressing for his wedding. A woman entered with a present from the Bride, a mirror. Maybe Emma had stopped weeping about the arrangements and finally accepted the necessity of the alliance. He had no desire for a wailing bride.

The mirror. He had, of course, checked his marriage attire, and… it got vague after that. Dreams, as if he were staring out of a misted window.

Someone must have kidnapped him, and left him in… this place. He darted glances around his surroundings, nose curling in disgust at the stale, foetid stench of the place. No furniture, only the broken glass and the mirror frame standing in the middle of the room. With no windows, the only light leaked under the door panel. Holding a sleeve over his nose, he strode towards escape. Pain! A glass shard cut through the soft sole of his best shoes. With a howl, he leapt back, falling against the mirror frame. A loud crack of wood, as he and it toppled to the floor. Around him, the intricately carved and gilded frame rotted, as if time had been held at bay and now reclaimed its decay.

In horror, he stared at his hands, but they retained their youthful vigour. He sighed in relief, whatever spell destroyed the mirror had missed him. The witches had failed at their assassination attempt. Then, as he was already sitting, he checked his foot. A small amount of blood seeped out of the cut, but nothing major. His marriage finery was stained at the knees where he had fallen, but no matter, he still lived. Time to make someone pay for this indignity. More carefully this time, he picked his way through the broken glass to the door.

Outside, the forest pressed up to a wall delineating an untended garden. He assumed the plants growing inside the walls were vegetables or something. A nobleman never saw his food in the raw. But he was aware that peasants grew their own food when not tending his fields in lieu of taxes.

Not too far away, he heard a river. He orientated on the noise and opened the garden gate. It crumbled under his hand, the way the mirror frame had. The path was overgrown as if people no longer travelled this way regularly. Limping on his cut foot, Robert pushed through. Twigs and brambles caught in his hair and snagged his jacket. He tugged free, ripping the fine silks. At least the path aimed in the direction of the rushing river.

His fancy shoes were made for strolling the palace corridors, not trudging the wilderness. A carriage Should have taken him from the palace to the cathedral, so his wedding clothes did not require boots. Every stone or weed made its presence known underfoot. The dirt stung his sole as it worked its way into the cut.

Hot and furious, Robert pushed out onto the river bank. Where the channel cut through the forest. This had to be the Grendon. Above his capital city, it was no longer navigable for trade, but he had hunted out this way. The path he followed, continued downriver in the direction he was pretty sure led to Maddern City.

Water sprayed up from the river and turned the dirt path to mud, which splattered his hose and breeches. He was thirsty, but he was not going to kneel in the filth, like a peasant, to drink. He could wait, like the nobleman he was, and drink from a cup. The sun overhead suggested he was not yet late for his midday ceremony. He could still make his wedding and frustrate those enemies who plotted to thwart this alliance. He tried to pick up the pace to match the tumbling flow of the water, but his foot ached with each step.

The sun slipped past midday by the time the walls of Maddern City came into view. At least, he thought it was the city. It was in the right place, built inside a meander making defence easy, but something was off. Surrounding the city, where the summer hovels of the poorest residents lived, now there were sturdy houses. Why would anyone build there? It flooded every winter, washing away the hovels, which was why only those who couldn’t afford to build on higher ground chose to live there. The city walls glowed in the spring sun, freshly painted, with hanging baskets from the crenellations. Almost as if they didn’t expect attacks.

Was this really Maddern? Robert paused in the shade of a tree. Leaning on the trunk, he studied the view. The palace was in the right place. The spire of the cathedral stabbed the sky beside the West Gate. It had the shape of Maddern, but the details were wrong. The banners on the castle displayed strange heraldry, a Rearing White Stag, familiar from somewhere, not his banner of the Attacking Lion.

He snarled. Now he knew why he was kidnapped. Someone had usurped his throne, on his wedding day! Rage pushed Robert into staggering on. He would challenge the Usurper. An Attacking Lion was not his banner by default. He was unmatched on the tourney field or in battle. He lurched to the East Gate.

Guards watched his approach among the crowds entering the city. The tabard of red with black trim over their breastplate was still correct. The usurper hadn’t changed that.

Pride warmed Robert, these people pouring into the city were there to stand witness to the wedding of their king. He held his head high when a guard approached.

“Were you attacked on the road, sir,” the guard asked. “You look roughed up.”

Robert stared down his nose at him. “Do you not know me?”

“I beg your pardon, sir?” Behind his back, the man waved over an officer.

“I said,” Robert replied, more loudly. “Do you not know me?”

The guard exchanged a puzzled glance with the officer, who took over the conversation.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” the officer said. “Were you attacked on your way to pay your respects at the funeral of Avice the Good?”

“Who was that?” Robert demanded.

The officer stared at him. “Who are you, that you don’t know Avice the Good, who used her magic to guide this kingdom for the last 40 years?”

“Who am I?” Robert shouted. “I am your King!”

The officer and the guard exchanged glances again and laughed. “That’s a good one, sir.”

“I am.” Robert stamped his foot. Then staggered from the pain. “I am King Robert! I am to be married today to Princess Emma of Karrendel.”

The officer laid a gentle hand on Robert’s shoulder. “Let’s get you out of this hot sun and summon a witch to tend your wounds.”

“Witch! I don’t allow that sort of evil inside my kingdom!”

“You’re a madman,” the officer said. “Avice’s protection spells must be wearing thin now she’s passed on. Arrest him.”

Two guards grabbed Robert’s arms.

“Unhand me, at once,” Robert shouted, rigid with shock. How dare commoners lay hands on their king. “I demand to be taken to the cathedral for the wedding ceremony.”

Not listening to him, the guards directed him towards the gatehouse. He let them lead him towards the shelter. They took his lack of struggle for compliance—the idiots—and loosed their grip. He yanked his arms free, tearing the fine silk of his sleeves. He sprinted off, ignoring the pain that slammed through his right foot with every step.

“Catch the madman!” the officer shouted. “I’ll have you hauled up for letting him get free.”

Hampered by armour, the guards clanged after him. Even with his damaged foot, he outdistanced them. He would assign the men to extra punishment duties to bring them back to fighting fit. Of course, the officer would hang for his treason.

In the clean streets, through which he pounded, shops and market stalls proliferated. Bakers had fine displays of bread and cakes. The scent wafted and hit his stomach. He’d had nothing to eat since breakfast before he changed into his finery. But he couldn’t stop now. Outside a butcher’s shop stood a line of people. Inside the buyers exchanged coins for the meat. Why had someone not told him that his people were this prosperous? He could have raised their taxes. He would fire his advisors for lying to him.

Finally, he saw the cathedral. Racing across the square, he jogged up the steps and through the great arched doors.

“I’m here!” He leaned on the rear pew to catch his breath.

Solemn music halted, mid bar. This wasn’t the joyful, dignified airs he had commanded them to play while waiting for the arrival of the Bride and Groom. The congregation, wearing black or black armbands, shifted in their seats to stare at him. He looked at the altar. To where… his bride was not waiting. In fact, the bishop halted what looked to be a funeral, not a wedding.

What was going on? Ushers grabbed for him as he limped up the aisle, trying to avoid wincing as he placed his stinging foot.

“What is this?” he demanded. “Where is the wedding?”

A grey-haired, imposing man, wearing a tabard with a Rearing Stag, stood from the first pew. “Who are you, to disrupt the commemoration of the life of this Good Witch who has served Us and Our Kingdom well?”

“I am Robert! King of Maddern.” Robert straightened his spine, so his royalty could shine through the mud and tears of his clothing.

“Nonsense.” An aging woman rose to stand next to the man. “The coward Robert ran away from his wedding, 40 years ago. If you were Robert, you would be our age.”

Robert halted his advance. He stared at the couple blankly. None of this made any sense.

“He looks a little like my cousin,” the man said. “Remember the picture from my Aunt, the Dowager Queen’s, sitting room. This could be his grandson.”

“Cousin?” Robert studied the man. “And who are you?”

“As if you didn’t know. I am Stephen, made King of Maddern when the former king reneged on his responsibilities and fled, on his wedding day.”

The woman at Stephen’s side smiled fondly at him. “I will always be grateful that you stepped in, while I was left shamed at the altar.”

Stephen grasped the lady’s hand and raised it to his lips. “My honour and pleasure. This is my wife, Queen Emma, who was jilted in this very cathedral by an uncouth braggart.”

Robert clenched his fists. “How dare you claim my throne?”

“I did not claim it,” Stephen said. “After the five years I spent as regent while Robert did not return, he was deemed by parliament to have abdicated, for himself and his line. As his only heir, the crown and responsibility fell to me.”

The guards had entered the cathedral now and paced with determination up the aisle.

“I did not run away. I was kidnapped. A woman brought a present, supposedly from the Bride, a mirror. And then I woke, just now in a forest hovel with the mirror shattered around me.”

King Stephan and Queen Emma frowned at him. He backed away from the approaching guards, and up onto the dais holding the altar and the casket. He glanced inside, older but the woman was recognisable.

“This woman,” he shouted. “She brought the mirror!”

“Are you suggesting,” Queen Emma said. “That a witch who worked only for the good of Maddern would enchant its rightful King?”

“Avice helped Us bring prosperity to Maddern,” King Stephen said. “After the previous line did nothing but bleed the kingdom’s wealth with taxes.”

“Nonsense,” Robert said. “I did not bleed them. They aren’t taxed enough. You can see there is wealth out there.”

“After 40 years of Our management, I would hope so.” King Stephen gestured to the guards. “Take this madman and run him out of the City. Even if you are Robert’s grandson, parliament stripped the succession from your line. You have six days to leave the Kingdom or be hanged on the seventh.”

Robert’s mind was blank. What was happening? As the guards grabbed his arms, Robert stared at his cousin. Now, he saw a resemblance in the old man to the young man he had known. And yes, the woman was identical to Emma’s mother. 40 years gone missing. In a daze, he walked away from the altar. As he and his escort reached the cathedral doors, he struggled to turn. This time the guards gripped him more tightly, leaving bruises on his flesh.

“You will pay for usurping my throne!” Robert shouted.

King Stephen turned away and gestured to the Bishop. The funeral music picked up at its lost note. The congregation shuffled in their seats with rigid shoulders and eyes fixed on the Bishop as he waved the thurible, wafting incense over the coffin as he intoned his interrupted prayer.

The guards hauled Robert through the streets, the officer leading. Crowds melted away leaving a gap for the small parade of shame. They escorted him down the road to the forest and flung him on the ground. Then they turned and marched away, never looking back.

As Robert watched them return, he marked each one of the weak defences. He saw the sturdy houses, and the prosperous people, living outside the walls. They would be the first to pay for his humiliation when he returned with allies.

Robert stood and brushed off his clothes. “I’ll be back.”

ENDS

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