High in the castle, the king paced back and forth, back and forth, in his study. The once-plush red carpet that adorned the floor had been worn down by the tread of too many boots and too many steps. And most of those steps had belonged to the king, pacing back and forth, back and forth.

His thoughts would not settle in his mind, though that was no rarity. His mind jumped from one past slight to another, each memory only enraging him further as he paced.

He had waited for this moment for fifteen years. Fifteen oh-so-long years. There had been momentary distractions of happiness during that time, baut they had all fled and faded. His first love, his first wife, his unborn children... All had appeared for long enough to convince him that perhaps his suffering was at an end before being ripped away along with a tiny piece of his soul.

Their visages came and went in his mind, consoling and enraging him by turns. His feet followed the well-trod path in the carpet, back and forth, back and forth.

He had doomed them, doomed them all with his mere presence. He had allowed himself to think that perhaps he could be happy, and then they were taken away only to make his suffering greater. For that was what the witch had wanted. That was the curse he lived under.

And now, Odhran thought, it would come to an end. He had found the girl, at long last. Ardál would not betray him, not again. The knight had nary a shred of defiance left in him; it had been crowded out by drink and shame and self-pity.

There had been no need to send Ardál on the journey, but Odhran had taken some amount of pleasure in pointing out the symmetry of it all.

"You tried to defy me," Odhran had said while the knight cowered in front of him. "And now you will go and fetch her and see with your own eyes that it was all for nothing."

Even the memory of it brought him a small sliver of joy. He licked his lips in anticipation. It had been eight days since the knight had set off with his useless little squire, and it would be no time at all until they returned.

No time at all, Odhran thought, until his life was made right again.

~~~

Willow's legs ached as they rode underneath the tall stone archway and into the stable yard. She had never been so grateful for the end of a day, and had never imagined that she would be so happy for the end of the journey. Each day had been an onslaught of new sights dancing before her eyes and newly-discovered muscles aching in her legs, and she was ready for rest.

"We're here," she whispered in awe.

Though it was already long past sunset, she was amazed at how full the stable yard was. There were four other horses tied to posts while young boys, most younger-looking than Colm, tended to them with brushes and buckets of water. Other squires, she thought.

Colm reached up a hand to help her slide down from the saddle, and she took it gratefully. He had offered her assistance dismounting at the end of the second day and she had refused out of pride, only to find that her legs buckled underneath her as soon as her feet had hit the ground. Every time after that, she had accepted.

"Is this where you live?" she asked in wonder.

The squire chuckled as he untied his pack from the horse's saddle. "No, this is the stable," he replied. "I used to sleep out here, but Sir Ardál had me move into a room in one of the outbuildings a few years ago."

Willow continued to stare, her mouth gaping open. The illustrations of castles in her precious few books had done them no justice; they had looked bigger than her own cottage, certainly, but she had not imagined how large it would be.

A stone wall, taller than three men standing on each others' shoulders, rose up on one side of the stableyard, separating it from the sprawling and boisterous town outside. Willow guessed, though she could not be certain, that the wall stretched around all of the castle grounds. She wondered how many men it had taken to build such a marvel.

The sheer number of different buildings contained within the castle walls astounded her. Some were made of wood, others of stone, but each was bigger and more impressive than her own little thatched-roof cottage. "Do all the squires live in the outbuildings?" she asked quietly, trying to calculate how many people might live within the walls of the castle. Fifty? A hundred?

"No," Colm replied. His fingers were swift and sure as he loosened the cob's girth and pulled the saddle from her back. "They all live in the castle, or a few live in the houses outside the castle. Most squires are nobles' sons, remember?"

"Right, right," Willow mumbled, her gaze darting from one sight to the next.

Colm, so quiet and frightened the first day that they had met, had finally begun answering her questions, even the ones that must have been obvious to him. What's more, he had only teased her for it once or twice. Sir Ardál had even snipped at them the previous night to shut up and go to sleep. Willow was determined to keep on asking, though, for this was her adventure. She was not Fae Queen Riane riding to the castle on a magical horse, but her heart still raced with excitement and anticipation.

"Wait. How many nobles are there, then?" Willow trotted after Colm as he carried the saddle into the stable. She could see several different horses peeking their heads over stable doors, whinnying and calling to each other. How can there even be so many? How many knights are there?

"Hey!" The knight's voice rang after her, and Willow stopped, turning her gaze away from the beautiful creatures back to Sir Ardál. He was frowning in the dim twilight, his hands spread out widely in disbelief. "Where are you going?"

Willow looked back at Colm, then back to Sir Ardál. "I don't know!" she admitted cheerfully.

The knight scowled back at her, and Willow fought to suppress a small giggle.

"Come on then, the both of you," he barked, waving them towards him. "We're expected. I'm sure he already knows we're here, late as it is. Someone else will take care of the horses."

A scrawny red-haired boy appeared as though summoned out of the air by the knight's words and began to unsaddle Ardál's chestnut mare without complaint.

Colm deposited the cob's saddle hastily on a rack and walked briskly back out of the stables. Willow did like the squire, but she found it a bit strange how eager he was to follow the knight's every command. There was no questioning or hesitation; he simply did as he was told. But perhaps all squires were like that.

She trotted after the squire, her excitement overwhelming her sore feet and aching legs. "Wait, you didn't answer. How many nobles are there, if there's this many horses for that many knights who need nobles' sons for squires?"

"There's too many nobles, and you ask too many questions," Ardál groused at Willow as she fell into step between the two men. His tone was even more clipped than usual, and he kept his gaze firmly fixed ahead of them. "Hurry up."

Willow kept pace with him as best she could, though for every step that the knight took, she nearly had to take two. "Are we going to see the man who's sick?" she asked. "I don't know if I can heal him straight away. It's nearly midnight. I might need to rest a--"

"The sooner we get this over with," Ardál interrupted, "the sooner we can all rest. Keep up."

They passed under a stone archway in a wall that separated the stableyard from the most beautiful garden that Willow had ever seen. Her garden at home had been lavender, dandelions, and honeysuckle vines that sprang unbidden from the ground in wild, untamed clumps. Here, lit only by dim torchlight and moonlight, roses bloomed in perfect order, each bush shaped to the same uniform height. There were no meadow weeds or dandelions littering the grounds, only deep green grass that had been clipped short. Bright yellow flowers with trumpeting orange mouths bloomed on stalks that grew from bulbs in the ground, the like of which Willow had never seen before.

She wanted to gawk and stare, but there was no time to linger, for Sir Ardál's continued his same brisk pace, his boots crunching the gravel of the pathway underfoot with each step. So instead Willow gazed about at the moonlit gardens, open-mouthed, as she walked.

As they rounded a corner, they came into view of the castle, and Willow gasped in amazement. It rose three stories into the air, a giant cube of gray stone blocks with rounded towers rising even further from each corner. Faint candlelight blinked out from a few narrow windows, warm and reassuring in the crisp night air. She skidded to a stop as she gazed at it in sheer wonder.

"Come on," Colm's urged as he passed beside her.

"Sorry," Willow murmured, jogging to catch back up to the pair. "Do you know where we're going, then?"

The squire shook his head, his gaze fixed firmly in front of him. "I don't know anything more than you."

They did not, to Willow's chagrin, proceed towards the castle itself. Instead, Ardál lead them to a small room that jutted out from the castle wall. A heavy oaken door was built into one of the walls, guarded by a man and a woman in chainmail armor and long green tunics. A torch blazed next to the man, blinding Willow to the light of the stars above. She supposed they must be knights; she had not read stories of women knights before, but surely anyone wearing chainmail must be one.

"Sir Ardál," the woman with a brief nod. "You're far later than expected. His Majesty is already awaiting you." Her blue eyes flicked from Sir Ardál to Colm to Willow, where her gaze rested.

Willow shifted her weight nervously from foot to foot and chanced a smile at the woman, who only glared at her in return. "Is this her?" the woman asked, her voice short and terse.

"I wouldn't have brought her if she wasn't," Ardál replied. "Now open the door, don't keep the king waiting any longer."

The king? Willow wondered, her breath catching in her throat. Certainly, they were at the castle, but why was she to meet the king?

The woman glowered further, but obeyed. The heavy door scraped against the cobbles of the courtyard, squeaking as though in protest of the intrusion by the three arrivals.

Willow gazed about the room as she entered, squinting her eyes against the brightness of the torches hung on the walls. There was a tall bed in the center of the room occupied by two people: one young man who lay sleeping peacefully, and another man, dressed in a cloak of furs, who sat next to him.

She heard the footsteps of the two guards behind them, and then the creak of the door as it was pulled firmly shut.

The man then rose from the bed and turned to face them. He was not ugly, but his expression was twisted into a deep scowl and his eyes were bloodshot as though he had been weeping before their arrival. He stared at Willow, and only at her. She shrank beneath his gaze, trying to shift her weight to where she was partially shielded by Sir Ardál's frame, but there was no escaping.

"Is this the girl?" He smiled at her, but there was no warmth behind the expression.

Sir Ardál, so stoic and firm throughout the entire journey, said nothing in response. He stepped back, grabbing Willow by the arm and dragging her forward in front of the man.

"Yes, your majesty," Ardál answered, his voice quieted to something barely above a whisper. "I've brought my squire to vouch for her abilities, if you require."

A noise came from where Colm stood, perhaps a small gasp of air, perhaps just the sound of his boots on the stone as he shifted his weight.

The man--no, the king--laughed humorlessly, his eyes still fixed on Willow. His eyes flicked up and down, and Willow wished again to shrink away from him. This cruel-eyed, scowling man had never been a part of the adventures she had imagined in her mind.

"You're a healer, girl?" he asked, his cruel mouth twisted upwards in something that was half a grin, half a grimace.

Willow nodded nervously. "I am," she said. "I've not helped anyone with a sleeping sickness before, but I've healed illnesses and wounds, see. And..." She jutted her chin outward as her mother's last words rang in her mind. "I'm not afraid to help him."

This seemed to amuse the king more than impress him, for he laughed again. "Help, you say? Well, please, be my guest." He stepped away from the bed and extended his arm outwards, gesturing for her to sit.

She advanced slowly, perching delicately on the side of the bed, sinking into the downy softness of the mattress. Her legs hung over the side of the bed, which was so tall that her feet barely brushed against the ground.

Without a thought, Willow reached out her hand as though to touch the young man as he slept, but she drew it back hastily. He was sleeping so peacefully, she almost did not want to disturb him. Loose blonde curls brushed against his forehead and ears, his pale cheeks reddened as though he had been out riding in the sun too long just the day before.

"How long has he been sleeping for?" she asked, tilting her head to the side as she glanced over the sleeping prince's face. She did not know why, but her stomach tightened as her gaze traced the strong line of his jaw and the curve of his lips.

"What does it matter?" the king spat, resuming his pacing. "Can you wake him or not?"

"Fifteen years," Ardál replied to her, ignoring the other man's anger. "He's been like this for fifteen years. He's not aged a day in that time."

Willow's eyes widened. They had said it was a "sleeping sickness," but a sickness did not last for fifteen years. How long would I sleep for, before I could wake again? She had taken injuries from animals, illnesses from her mother, and aches and pains from Old Braith, and she had healed from the ailments within days, sometimes even within hours. But this was something different.

Fae Queen Riane.

Her breath caught in her throat. This was why Sir Ardál, so brusque and short with his words, had told her the story of the Fae Battles that night. This was the prince who had been cursed. But he had not been cursed with misery, as the knight had told her; he had been cursed with peace and stillness, while the rest of the world marched inexorably onward.

"Be brave," her mother had said.

"I will try," Willow promised, her voice a whisper in the silent room.

She closed her eyes and placed her hands on the sleeping prince's arm. Come, open your eyes, she urged him. Wake. I will sleep for you. They are waiting for you. She hummed softly, a sweet, wordless tune in the harsh torchlight.

He did not stir.

"What is she doing?" the king demanded, his voice overflowing with frustration. Willow opened her eyes to see him pacing across the stone floor, his hands balled into fists. He paced back and forth, back and forth alongside the prince's bed. "Do as your king commands, you useless wretch, or I'll have your head on a spike by morning!"

Willow flinched, pulling her hands back from the prince's arm. "I... I am trying," she replied. No one had ever called her useless before, let alone threatened her. Tears sprang to her eyes unbidden and began to drip silently down her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

"Now, Odhran," Sir Ardál said gently. "You're hardly going to motivate the poor girl that way. Give her a moment." He put one hand gently on the king's shoulder, and the older man stopped his pacing.

Willow's heart pounded in her chest so loudly that she thought that the others in the room must all be able to hear it. She had thought she was prepared for this, that she was old enough and brave enough, but in that moment Willow felt a small child again, shivering in the bright sunlight with a dead bird in her hand.

"I'll try again," she promised. "It just takes the right words sometimes."

And when I have finished, she promised herself, I will return home to my mother and my cottage, and there will be no more adventures such as this.

The two men that stood on the opposite side of the bed looked down at her. They were so similar, she thought, but so different; one rough but kind and sorrowful, the other a whirlwind of rage and anger. Yet they both stood together, waiting for the moment when the young man in the bed would open his eyes and return to the world of the waking.

And the young prince who slept, he was unaware of it all. He had been locked in sleep for not weeks but years, while the world had passed him by. Willow wondered what color his eyes were, whether he would smile with relief when he awoke or sob with the heartbreak of the years that had passed by while he remained sleeping, ever unchanging.

Willow closed her eyes again, cleared her throat, and began to hum.

Come then, sweet prince. There is no need for sleep any longer, for there is nothing to be afraid of. They have missed you for a long time. I will sleep in your place for now, and when we both awake, there will be nothing but happiness for us all.

She opened her eyes and continued her gentle humming. And just as her mother had done to her when she was a little girl, Willow leaned forward, brushed the young man's curls aside, and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Something jolted her back, but when she looked around the room, the three other occupants all remained in their places, unmoving. There was something not right, a voice calling softly to her; it lingered in her mind, whispering.

But before she could listen, darkness crept into the edge of her vision and she toppled backwards off the bed.

Gentle arms caught her before she hit the ground. Colm's face appeared above her, his forehead furrowed in concern, but her eyes slumped shut and refused to open. And still the soft voice whispered to her. She tried to reach out to grasp hold of it and listen, but it disappeared between her fingers and faded into darkness, and then even the darkness faded into nothing.