By Mariana Feyt
There was no point, listening to his mother. It was the same every night: his need of a wife. His answer was also the same: all in due time.
The sudden commotion that burst into the throne room saved him the trouble tonight: four men, dragging a slip of a girl, face obscured by dark hair.
Still the king knew.
It was her.
Finally.
“My lord, we’ve caught the witch—” the lift of a hand staggered the men.
Not his, hers.
If she was caught, it was because she wanted to be here. No one bested the witch in the woods.
Not even him.
It was the long-awaited answer to a question whispered against heated skin in the dead of night. In the cottage in the woods.
The grin on her now upturned face while all gawked in terror confirmed it. He smirked, elated, triumphant.
The time had come.
Mariana Feyt is a 25 year old medievalist, writer, and frustrated Brazilian who feels most herself writing in English. Despite not being her native language, she studied it in undergrad, obtaining a bachelor’s degree in English, and is now pursuing a master’s in English Literature. It became the language of her heart, which often spills into the page. She can be found lurking on twitter at @Feyt_Mare.
The Birdseed 