What had it been about her?

It had been something, hadn’t it? Something about her? The reason she had been given to that man in the first place, the reason her uncle had seen fit to steal the light from her eyes and the joy from her breath. So what had it been? Her love of swords and horses? The courtly balls she had not seen fit to attend? The way she had always refused an escort? How she had stood in front of millennium of male rulers, and dared to call herself their successor? What had done it? What had been the tipping point?

A tear streaks down her angry cheek, and she struggles to breathe through the anger that flares white hot in her stomach. There’s no point in ruminating. There is no way home, and no way to know if home is there anymore. A single, thin leg strikes the earth, and she stares at her paws. This is normal now.

A voice. It rises from behind Rosenrot, soft and sweet, and she turns to look as if compelled. He is as sweet and soft as his voice, a gentle face with sad eyes, soft silver fur, and a general sense of silent sadness. As if someone had taken the joy from him too, but he did not fight for it to return. She shouldn’t be staring a stranger down with fire in her eyes and a war’s worth of words beneath her tongue, so she gentles her face, sweetens her voice. Tries to stuff everything beneath the rugs, because no one can see her doubt, her anger, the pain she carries like an albatross round the neck.

I live near here. That castle that comforted her, rankled her, drove her hackles to rise when the nightmares clawed at her heels.

You don’t? It was a stupid question, a lame one, and she knows seclusion has done her absolutely no favors.