Chapter 20: A Princess’ Mournful Song

Chapter 20 – A Princess’ Mournful Song

Being well aware that she didn’t have the power to feed nor protect it, Gris let out another long sigh and addressed the question to the puppy.

“What…what would you like to be named?”

Finding it odd that Gris was asking a question to a mere animal, Bellin raised her eyebrows towards her mistress in judgment. Despite being aware of how strange Bellin must have viewed her then, Gris patiently waited for the animal to answer back and finally perched on her bed beside it.  She just stared at the little creature while it scratched the fabrics on her bed, its small mouth biting the fabric.

“I would like some rest. You can leave now,” Gris said to Bellin, realizing that she couldn’t give the latter an answer.

Without questioning her unusual behavior, Bellin wished her a good night and closed the door behind her as she left.

Just like every other night when Gris was left alone in her room, she approached her windows to take a look outside.

Compared to the day, in which the place was filled with graceful butterflies that dance around vibrantly colored flowers creating a harmonized scenery, at night, the garden transformed into a site attractive for devils to gather.

The hill in the distance became a great dark shadow that dimmed those covered by it, and Gris briefly wondered if something sinister was happening at those hidden corners. Colorful flowers merely shined beneath the moonlight that reflected the dew that had gathered on its leaves and petals, showing off its dim-lit glow.

Gris watched the horizon that laid beneath the moon in a daze. It was truly a marvelous sight. Whatever cold darkness that embraced the Earth that the night has brought was countered by the moon, which never failed to shine warmth upon creation and reminded Gris that this world was still very much alive and filled with living and breathing creatures that now lay in quiet slumber.

A sudden question plagued her thoughts as she was engrossed by the image of the night.

If it was God’s plan to keep every little creature alive, then why did He create death? Did God only offer life to the chosen ones? Was Gris Benedict one of the chosen ones?

She made it this far, so there was no doubt Gris was one of those favored, but she couldn’t calm her anxious soul, what if she survived out of pity, or accident, what was the purpose of her being her still? She could only sigh again, as her fears slowly crept and filled her thoughts the way coldness also made its presence more pronounced as nightfall grows thicker.

Stephan, Vianut, and even Paola were fierce beasts to her, beasts who have not yet to show their vicious teeth. The moment she takes her guard down, she was bound to get stabbed, of this Gris was sure of. There was no one to trust, and so she cannot calm her worried heart.

Gris often spent her nights thinking about this, and thus she was constantly stiff in the neck.

She opened the window and was greeted by chill of the night wind, she massaged her nape, pressing her fingers forcefully to ease the pain.

The whiff of the winds carried the scent of wildflowers into her room. Finally closing her eyes, Gris hummed a tune as feelings of nostalgia filled her, she remembered she used to hum this song too when she was nine years old.

It was perhaps the time when she was deposed as princess and locked in an isolated tower when she had begun singing it.

When she heard the news of her father and his followers had formed an allied force to resist the army of the Taliluchi, Gris sang the song of victory at the top of her lungs. She wanted her voice of support to resound in her cage and to be carried by the winds to her father and his people. She sang so loudly in hope back then.

However, days after this, she received news that her father’s force had lost the battle. On that gloomy day, she forced herself to sing a lullaby to comfort her pained heart. She sang till her voice became hoarse, her strength leaving her.

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She thought of her father and the soldiers who fought for her that day. She wondered if they had gone safely to heaven, and imagined her father enjoying an armful of sunshine in a field of wildflowers under a clear sky. Would it have been better if she went with them?

Gris endless thoughts of the people that had died for her that day propelled her to sing the same lullaby now, however, this time, not for her, but for those people–her father’s people. She imagined a slow tune of a violin in the background as she sang the words to the song.

“In the dead of the night, where all birds are asleep, 

I bear a seed in your cradle, 

with the sweet words of prayer, the seed will bud open, 

and become a lovely flower. 

May you walk through the fields of warm paradise, 

and live under an eternal blessing. 

Ah, ah… you may not hear my words, 

but I lay in your heart forever.”

For quite some time, Gris dwelled on her sorrows and looked at the side path of the garden.

However, she noticed that the path, which was empty a few moments earlier, now shown a human shadow in front of the fences. It was a tall man with broad shoulders and slim, long legs.

But the most noticeable feature of this figure was his hair. The moonlight reflecting the head revealed a handful of black hair. It was the hair she had seen in the corner of her eyes throughout the party.

It was Sir Byrenhag.

She rather wished it was the devil instead coming to visit her in the garden than him. The devil would sweet-talk her into a deal to sell her soul to him, but would at least not kill her in the spot.

Completely frightened of the sight of Vianut, Gris immediately closed the window, pulled the curtains shut, and hid behind those. She placed one of her hands on top of her chest, feeling the rapid beating of her heart.

She willed herself to calm down less she suffers from a heart attack and focused on her labored breathing. Finally, when she felt her heart no longer beat as fast as before, she mustered her courage, pulled her curtains back, and peeked out of the window.

Under the moonlight, she could make out his figure. He was still in the garden, and for some reason, she could only see him standing with his back turned against her and he had only turned his head to face her window. Perhaps he heard her sing earlier. Maybe the singing was unpleasant to his ear in the middle of the silent night. Gris took a step back, hoping he hadn’t seen her.

For some time, he stood there, without moving a limb almost as if in a trance. Without knowing how long he had stood in the garden, Gris was relieved when finally she heard his footsteps start and grow distant into the fields.

This sound she was currently hearing reminded Gris of the lonely wolves that came by her window when she was younger. Those wolves who circled and sniffed, wondering if they could reach her beyond the walls, but aren’t able to find a way in, so they would leave after some time in recognition that there won’t be a hunt that night.

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