The Heart's Desire

They say love is the thing that kills a man. Love makes the brain turn to mush. Love makes bad decisions seem like the best there is, and forces man to abandon logic. They say love is blind, but perhaps the meaning of that is not that love transgresses the physical, but rather that love can make man blind to what lures him to his fate. But yet, every man will eventually fall in love.

Large walls flanked the towering, gilded castle on all sides. Walls high and low, walls thick, walls with small portholes through which archers could fire arrows at unsuspecting attackers. Walls fortified with iron. Impenetrable, unless one were to walk towards the eastern corner and find the loose brick, and shimmy it out… there, one could gain access. Or, one trapped within could gain exit, could gain freedom.

The castle itself was tall, as strongly-fortified as the walls which kept the boundaries, but where the walls had seen battle and were therefore pockmarked in places, the castle walls were the same smooth marble they’d always been, exuding the luxury the royal family lived in. The king and queen were unfair rulers, taking taxes from the surrounding villages in exchange for fair trade deals and protection. The royal army was magnificent, and the barracks kept among the many different villages, but the world knew it was to keep the villagers in check, rather than to protect them. The king and queen were rarely seen, for they were not of the people, but rather were of a much higher standing. The wrought-iron gates to the castle were therefore never opened, unless it was to allow entrance to the other esteemed royals of the land, those who had travelled from far and wide and beyond.

The people were aware of three significant royal events: the marriage between the current king and queen; the birth of the Prince, announced via royal caller; and the birth of the Princess, announced via placards placed around each village. But, the people had never laid eyes on the Prince or the Princess, and the King and Queen had only been seen once. There was mystery surrounding the family. For some, they were demons which walked the earth to ensure those who sinned were taking to hell. For others, they were vampires, unable to come out into the light. Most simply detested the idea that, while they themselves lived in squalor, unable to feed children or themselves, the king and queen and prince and princess lived in luxury, afforded to them by the people. Taxes were high, morals were low… the gleaming marble beacon on the hill was a daily reminder of just how little people had.

Yet, through the struggle and the daily trepidation, there was still love in the air. Spring had finally sprung, and that meant a little more food in people’s gardens, more meat, better times ahead. And, for one young woman, it meant freedom, for she had finally turned eighteen.

Felicity Baker was, as is obvious, the daughter of a baker, a gentle, round man named Peter. Her mother was a seamstress, and work was plentiful in the changing seasons for her. Felicity herself knew how to sew, but her fortitude lay in the garden, where things grow. A keen florist, she could make even the simplest of flowers bloom into something quite stunning. And, as she’d turned eighteen, it meant that she could walk unchaperoned as she wished to the gardens just outside the village, where the flowers grew unkempt and free.

As she walked, her father’s words echoed in her ear. Make sure you don’t see the castle wall. They’re not kind to villagers. Yet, despite such a warning, Felicity found herself quite mesmerised by the beauty of the untouched paths winding their way through the forests. In the quiet, away from the loud soldiers in their barracks, her mind was free to drift and think and wonder. Her basket quickly filled up with bulbs and blooms, and greenery… and then, she met the wall. A queer sight among such a natural background, the rough-hewn brickwork pockmarked from attacks. Suddenly, all around her became cold, and she felt sick with fear. Something moved to the left of her, and Felicity felt her heart hammer in her chest. Queerer still was the sight of a hooded figure running its hands along the rough rock, pushing a large brick in. Felicity watched with bated breath; her eyes huge. The figure had not seen her, but she had seen it. She crept closer. Behind that wall was the castle. Who could possibly come in and out of the castle in such a manner? She hadn’t been prepared for the sight before her as she rounded the corner. As the brick was pushed back into place, her eyes met with a pair of crystal blue ones. She froze in place, entranced. And then, a shout came from afar. The brick was shoved back into place, and Felicity turned. Four soldiers, on foot, bearing shields and swords, had found her.

“What are you doing here, then, miss?” one of them asked, breaking rank. He pinned her against the wall. The brick wasn’t fully in place. Another guard pushed it. The brick fell inwards, and the guard got a full sight of the man on the other side.

“It looks like there’s a way into and out of the castle, Decanus.”

“What were you doing, miss? I won’t ask you again. Who was that person?” The soldier stepped forward again.

“I d-don’t know, sir!” Felicity squeaked. “I really do not know!”

“Where do you come from?”

“The v-village of Byram.”

“Then we’ll just have to take you back home, won’t we?”

**

“We found this by the castle wall.” Felicity was shoved forward so roughly that her knees were skinned by the cobbled stones by the Decanus, the leader of the soldiers in Byram’s barracks. Her basket of flowers long forgotten, the only hint that she’d even been collecting was the mud around her nails, and the grass marks on the hem of her dress. The soldiers hadn’t been so kind to her. They’d cuffed her with tight iron shackles, almost too heavy for her slender arms to lift. They’d dragged her through the forest back to her village, tripping her. And then, they’d dumped her unceremoniously at the feet of her father.

“Felicity?!” Peter Baker gasped, collecting her up. One soldier removed her shackles. His wrist was so heavy-set from wielding a steel sword, it bore the same thickness as Felicity’s thigh. “Whatever did I tell you – why did you go by the wall?!”

“I l-lost track – I’m sorry, papa!” Felicity whispered, trembling in fear. “I’m truly sorry…” At the hands of the soldiers, she’d been questioned. Who was the person on the other side of the wall? How did she know them? Were they man or woman? Eventually, they’d given in and taken her home.

“Ensure your child doesn’t leave the village boundary again,” the Decanus growled. “Or else you won’t have a home or a business.”

“Right you are, Decanus,” Peter Baker nodded. He waited until the soldiers were out of sight before he picked his daughter up and took her inside. Felicity told her parents everything, and in the end grew catatonic with shock and fear. The soldiers could have killed her.

But while Felicity’s fate seemed poor, nothing could be said for the castle guards who were slaughtered where they stood. Just hours before, as the sun sank lazily past the hills, the commander in chief of the legions of soldiers surrounding the castle – and protecting it within – had been summoned to the King’s throne room. The young prince sat beside him, nervous. The alarm had been raised about an intruder in the castle. A loose brick had been found in the eastern side of the wall, large enough for a slender man in no armour to fit through. A young peasant girl had been seen interacting with someone who’d just climbed in.

“What was the girl’s name?” the young Prince asked.

“The peasant girl?!” the King turned to his son incredulously. “Whatever do you care about that for?”

“Well, perhaps a name would aid us in finding out her intentions.”

“James, I fear you’ve lost wit,” the King growled. He hid a cough in his handkerchief.

“Well? Is there a name?” Prince James held the commander’s gaze.

“My Decanus in Byram informed me that it was the daughter of the village baker.” The commander looked nervous, answering to the Prince.

“Very good. Perhaps it is worth questioning the staff, father.”

“I will handle this, James. Go on, away with you, to your studies. Pray you find your mind on the way.”

“Yes, father.” Prince James stood. He had only a little amount of time to hide his cloak. He knew the girl, the baker’s daughter, had seen the colour. It had been hard to miss. But he was too late. The events that unfolded that afternoon were bloody. A miscount of the guards had delivered to the King the paranoid notion that the ‘extra’ guard was in fact the intruder, and as all of the castle guards would therefore have to be in on the intrusion to have orchestrated it, all of them would be put to death. And so they were. Under the fall of night, each guard standing watch had their throats slit.

The bloodied corridors of the castle did nothing to stop the young Prince James from finding a way out of his father’s clutches, though. He quickly sought out a different exit, back into the forests of freedom, the local villages where he was known simply as ‘Tristan’. He was an orphan, one with enough coin to purchase bread, or apples, or a slice of cooked meat. He was charming and witty, and spoke in an educated tongue. He had stories, an excellent orator, entertaining children and adults alike with his tales.

Prince James made his way to Byram once again, skirting past the guards. The Decanus would no doubt have been told to stand down, now that the intruder was dead. Or, presumed dead. Every guard in the castle was dead… but that was by-the-by. Prince James had one mission, now. To find the girl, so innocent a pure, who had stolen his heart. For without her, life was not worth living. Despite his marriage to the Princess of the Kingdom of Fii secured, he did not want it. In fact, his life in his gilded tower was nothing short of torture. He knew nothing of the world beyond the kingdom in which he’d cut his teeth, and he ached to be free like the birds which wheeled in the sky, taunting him.

As Prince James wandered through the busier square of Byram, he laid eyes once again on the one who held his heart. He watched her through the window of her home, forlornly sewing a ream of fabric with soft and gentle fingers. His life began again with her. She looked over at him, aware of eyes on her, and blushed. The sun was warm, and so he removed his hood. She stopped her sewing and stood. Her mother – perhaps it was her mother – admonished her for something, but soon enough, Felicity appeared in the doorway to the bakery which she called home.

“It is you,” she breathed, once Prince James had drawn close enough. “I – your eyes –“

“It is indeed you,” Prince James said softly. “My heart has been yours since we met… tell me, what is your name?”

“Felicity,” said Felicity, offering her hand. Prince James took it. “And yours?”

“I… am known in these parts as Tristan, but my true name is James.” He pressed his lips to her knuckles. “I must know if you are promised to another…”

“I am not,” Felicity whispered, a blush touching her cheeks. “Though my father would not think it proper if I were to be seen with you so close.” Prince James stepped back. “I –“

“Felicity?!” Peter Baker’s voice carried across the way. Prince James returned his hood.

“I will find a way to come back for you, dear Felicity! Know that my heart is yours!” He pressed something cool into her hand. A small medallion of sorts. A large hand closed around her shoulder. Prince James had vanished. Peter Baker was not pleased.

“Inside, Felicity. I will not have the soldiers returning for your reluctance to follow rules!”

“Yes, father.”

**

As the moon bathed the castle grounds in light that evening, Prince James wandered around the rose garden, deep in thought. His wedding had been announced. His father approached death, the scent of it was ripe in the castle. The young Prince felt mutinous. His younger sister had been dispatched to a far-off Kingdom as a deal, and he hadn’t been given the chance to say his goodbyes. Instead, he’d seen her leave in a carriage pulled by six black horses. And now, his own marriage approached, to a woman he did not even like, never mind love. His heart belonged to Felicity. His entire being yearned to be free of his marble cage! 

“Tell me what you need, young Prince.” The sound of a gentle woman’s voice startled Prince James, and he drew his sword and turned. “Now, now, I don’t come bearing threat… merely to give you what you so desire.”

“Who are you? How did you get in here?!”

“Questions which have no answer you could comprehend.” The woman moved like a cloud of fog, gliding across the dewy grass. The moonlight illuminated her features, which – while human – did not appear natural. Despite the fear Prince James felt, he found himself entranced, and thus began to lower his sword.

“I… I don’t… desire anything. I don’t desire a thing.”

“Oh, but you do… your heart aches, and nothing within these walls can soothe it… there is no balm in this castle… not for your wounds.” The woman sat herself on the granite bench from which Prince James had just risen. “Tell me all, young Prince.”

“My sister,” Prince James whispered. “My sister has been pulled from our embrace to marry a man old enough to be her great-grandfather. And… and I am trapped by purpose! By the need to marry one I can barely stand! The Princess of Fii is not…” he shook his head. “I do not love her.”

“Who do you love?”

“There… there is a peasant girl… but to love her, to claim her for my own would be sure suicide…” Prince James sat down. “Yet she offers me freedom. Freedom and joy… my life began truly the day I laid eyes on her.”

“And you have sought her out several times over.” Prince James did not ask how the woman knew he’d scaled the wall to meet his love under the cover of night, and had done so for many weeks.

“She has my heart. She is the other half to my soul. She is my purpose.”

“And you would do anything to have her?”

“I do not want the life of a Prince,” Prince James said softly. “I long to join the happy lives of the villagers. Not waging war on realms and kingdoms which have not wronged me.”

“I can offer you your freedom.”

“How?”

“To leave the shackles which bind you to the world you do not wish to inhabit further, for your freedom, I require an item of value. A single item of value. Upon your agreement that I may take it, I will give you your freedom willingly.”

“What are you?” Prince James whispered. He looked at the woman’s hand, a beautiful hand, not unlike Felicity’s fair hand.

“I am not of this world, young Prince… but I can manipulate it for payment. So, what does your heart truly desire?”

“Fe… Felicity’s hand in my own…” Prince James whispered. “Felicity’s lips against mine… my child against her breast… my name upon her lips…” he closed his eyes and imagined those things, of Felicity as his wife, her hand in his, gripping tightly, her lips caressing his name in love and desire… her stomach swollen with his child… and when he opened his eyes, his hand was held in the air, as though gripping hers. The woman’s face a ghost behind his eyes, bearing a sinister smile he had not seen before.

Desire compelled him to his feet, and he found himself unseen by the castle’s servants. He found himself unhindered as he walked through the castle; not a single person questioned his intentions for being out of bed so late. He found himself freely able to leave the castle via the front gate, for the guard was sound asleep. And, he found his path straight to Byram lit perfectly by the moon. The sun rose as he neared Byram, yet he had been sure it was midnight not an hour before… yet, as he neared the village, he heard only silence. For the morning had not risen the villagers yet.

It was not long before the first signs of life began to show. The market opened in the square, and villagers milled around as normal, doffing caps to him and bidding him good-morning. The sight of Felicity held his gaze; accompanied by her father, they set about opening the bakery shutters.

“Felicity!” Prince James cried. Felicity turned. Her face lit up beautifully with an angelic smile.

“James!” she called, and made to run to him.

And then, the thundering of hooves. Screams of women and children. Metal slicing through flesh. Soldiers tasked with decimation.

Before him, a soldier plunged his sword into Felicity’s chest. He could not move. He could not breathe. He screamed, yet his voice was silent as Felicity fell to her knees and succumbed to her wound.

In his ears, a voice echoed.

My payment is taken. Freedom is yours.