Lone Prince by Lilian Monroe
Rowan
One footin front of the other. Step, by step, by step.
The soles of my feet are cold, as if the earth is reaching up through the rubber and freezing my skin. There’s a little strip of exposed skin between my jacket and my glove. It stings.
Wind knocks me sideways, and I stumble off the road. My roller bag tumbles over, and I fall onto my hands and knees. Sucking a breath in through my scarf, I drag myself up. The castle is still so far away. Still so black and imposing. The landscape barren and desolate.
Scrambling to right my bag, it feels like my limbs weigh twice as much as they usually do. I brace myself against another angry gust of wind. It feels like the weather is screaming at me. Howling in my ears.
You don’t belong here.
A chorus of gods laughs at me from above, watching me crawl along the surface of the earth like a lonely little insect, slowly freezing her little ass off.
I keep going. If I stop, I die. If I turn back, I might find someone to bring me to the castle or give me shelter—or I might die.
As long as I keep going, I can make it to the castle. Two miles. I’ll find Grandma, who will wrap me in a hug and hold me tight. She’ll smell like cinnamon and cherries, and it’ll feel like home. There’ll be a fire to thaw my frozen flesh, and a mug of something warm.
Grandma will tell me why she didn’t pick me up. She’ll show me to my room, where there’ll be a huge, plush bed.
A warm bed. With lots of blankets. Maybe even a bath.
Everything will be warm, and soft, and nice.
I just need to take one more step. And then another. And another.
When did my bag get so heavy? I try to pull it loose from the snow and rocks that drag along the base of it. My lungs scream. My shoulders hurt.
Somehow, I’m sweating. How can I be cold and sweaty at the same time?
I blink, the crusty, frozen mass of eyelashes brushing my cheeks. My fingers are numb. My thoughts are slow.
I start counting my steps, just to prove to myself that my brain still works. When I get halfway between three and four hundred, I lose count, so I restart.
One, two, three, four, five…
My chin stays buried in my chest. My shoulders hunched. My eyes glued to that little strip of ground directly in front of my feet.
When my shoulders stop aching, it’s a relief. When I start to feel a bit warmer, I think it might be because I’m moving. A tiny, faraway voice in my mind tells me it’s a bad sign. It tries to scream at me, to warn me.
I should be cold. I should feel the bite of the wind.
This new warmth, snaking through my body? It should scream danger. The sleepiness that makes my eyelids droop should ring some sort of alarm bell in my mind.
But that little voice is so quiet. The alarm bell sounds more like a lullaby.
Warmth feels good.
I can do this. I blink my eyes open, dragging them up to look at the castle.
It’s so far away.
Wind whips past me, making my eyes water. I stand still for a moment, squeezing them shut. Icy tentacles pierce my red jacket, my sweater, my dress. I feel naked.
Maybe I should take a break. Just a little breather. That snowbank on the side of the road looks soft. I could just curl up and…
No.
Raking a painful breath through my lungs, I bring my brows together. Must get to the castle. Must keep walking.
Step, by step, by step.
My toes are so cold they sting. The leather of my boots is frozen stiff, and every step makes the material dig into the top of my foot. It hurts so much. Everything hurts.
Maybe I should just stop. I feel warm now. I could strip off one of these scarves. Pushing the material down past my chin, I gulp down a breath of air. It doesn’t taste so cold anymore.
I frown and try to focus on the castle. I must be Alice and this is Wonderland, because it’s not getting any nearer. Perspective and distance are all messed up. The farther I walk, the farther the castle is. It still looks dark and dangerous and so, so far away.
Keep walking,a voice screams. Don’t stop.
My grip on the suitcase handle is weak, but I drag it as best I can. I bury my chin in my chest and walk. On, and on, and on.
When I see the gate looming up ahead, I stumble forward and fall. It almost feels like I’m watching it happen to someone else. An out-of-body experience. Everything is so hazy. So slow.
But at least it’s not cold. The warmth is back, and it feels good, even as I fall to the ground.
I catch myself on my hands and knees and snow slides into my glove. Slowly, almost curiously, I tug my glove off and watch the white powder fall out.
My hand doesn’t feel cold. It almost doesn’t feel like my hand at all. I turn it around, staring at my palm as if it belongs to someone else. It’s almost as white as the snow on the ground. My fingertips are a pretty shade of purple. Huh. Wow.
I can’t think straight. It’s so very hard to stand up again.
A gust of wind blows snow across my face, partially obscuring the tall, wrought-iron gate and the fence that seems to go on for miles. The palace is so far beyond the gate, it feels like I’ve made no progress at all. I lean against my suitcase, resting my eyes for just a moment.
I just need a second. I’m so, so tired.
Then, a creak. A distinctly unnatural sound in this otherwise silent landscape. It doesn’t sound like the wind. It’s almost like some animal, letting out a howl in the fading light. The screech gets louder, grinding against my ears as I struggle to open my eyes.
Movement.
Something black.
The gate.
When did it get so hard to breathe? I try to stand up, holding on to my suitcase for support, but another gust of wind knocks me back, and I fall on the hard, frozen asphalt.
Everything goes dark.
