16th October 1102

Cindra was very proud of herself. She was supposed to be asleep but she had managed to totter past her dozing nurse without her even noticing. Then, even better, she had carefully pulled herself down a whole flight of stairs, bumping her bottom down from one to the next. It had been an exhausting process but she knew that it was worth it now she could see what all the fuss was about.

She was grumpy that she had been made to sleep when obviously something fun was going on. All the ladies were wearing their prettiest dresses and the men looked so handsome in their gleaming armour. They were gathered around a dais and Cindra craned her chubby neck so she could see what they were looking at.

But it was only funny old Isabelle! What a disappointment. She seemed to be sleeping. Cindra wondered why everyone was so interested in Isabelle if she was just sleeping. Sleeping was boring. Cindra hated sleeping and yet usually her Pa or her Ma or her nurse was always trying to get her to do just that.

Oh, but maybe they were playing a game! That made more sense. Maybe she was like pretending to be a beautiful lady made to sleep with a curse and a handsome prince was supposed to kiss her and wake her up again.

Yes, two of the princes were there, Gawain and Weylan. She noticed smugly that her stupid cousin Eallair was not there. He couldn’t kiss Isabelle because he was too young. He probably had to have a nap too but wasn’t clever enough to escape like she had. She thought that Gawain would be the better prince. He looked so handsome in his shining golden armour, standing proud and tall. Weylan wasn’t nearly as handsome. And he was crying, hunched up beside his brother. She didn’t think fairytale princes were supposed to cry.

But neither of them was nearly half as handsome as her Pa. He was so big and tall, towering above her little mother in his splendid armour. She had to admit that her brothers were quite handsome too, though they were almost as stupid as Eallair.

Oh, but now he was looking up at her. He must have seen her and perhaps he would be very cross. But no, he was not angry. He was smiling up at her, his big, sun-browned face breaking into a wide grin. She wriggled in delight. Her Pa was the nicest man in the Kingdom. There was nobody like her Pa.

He winked at her and then his face grew serious again and turned back to Isabelle.

She gazed down at him with her very nicest smile, hoping that he would look up at her again but he seemed too busy.

Maybe Gawain was about to kiss Isabelle. She tried to see what was happening between the crowd of people with their swishing dresses and clanking armour. Nothing appeared to be happening but then she heard a strangled sob. She looked down to see the Baroness crying uncontrollably into her delicate hands. Her son, Garrick reached out towards her but then his father glared at him and his hand dropped uselessly to his side.

Cindra understood how he felt. The Baron was the scariest man she knew. He was even taller than her Pa and half his face was covered with angry red scar that never healed. It made him look like his mouth was wider than it was, stretching across his face on one side in a reddened smear. He was a scary man but not when she had her Pa. She had once accidentally spilled a cup of water on his lap when her Pa had let her sit beside them at the table. She thought that he had been going to smack her but her Pa had yelled at the Baron and he had gone away. She felt sad for Garrick that the Baron was his Pa and he had no one who could yell for him.

The Baroness was still crying, but luckily the Queen had gone and put her arms around the other woman’s shaking body and pulled her close.

She was rather impressed by the Baroness. Cindra had tried before to pretend to cry but her Pa had always tickled her until she giggled and he knew she was only pretending. Her Ma was not so nice and only told her she would not put up with crying. But the Baroness really looked like she was crying.

She looked back to Isabelle, wondering if she would wake up soon. She seemed to be stirring a bit. Her lips opened a crack and she whispered, “Garrick”. Even though Cindra knew Isabelle the sound of her voice frightened her. It did not sound like the boisterous, boyish girl she knew, but hissed out from somewhere hollow and cold. Nobody else seemed to hear her and just went on staring.

So it seemed it was Garrick who was supposed to kiss her! But he was her brother! Maybe it was a different fairytale that nobody told her before. She would be sure to ask before bedtime tonight.

Oh! But suddenly everybody was leaving, filing into the great hall leaving Isabelle lying by herself. Had she missed it. But Isabelle was still asleep. She didn’t understand.

But wait. Garrick was staying behind. It must be his job to wake her. But now he was crying which she thought big boys weren’t supposed to do. Her nurse had said this to Eallair when he had last scraped his knee so she knew it must be true. She saw now though that he had a big bruise on his face, all around one eye. She had seen this kind of bruise before on her brother Orril’s face when Adurn had punched him. She knew that this was a big boy bruise but she thought that it probably hurt a lot and that was why he was crying.

She heard heavy footsteps plodding up the stairs and she realised it was her Pa coming to get her. She almost squealed in anticipation. In just a moment his strong arms would lift her up so she could bury her face in his thick brown mane of hair and plant kisses all over his scratchy, bearded face.

She looked down again at Isabelle and Garrick. Suddenly she was very very frightened though she didn’t know why. Something was very wrong. Isabelle was slowly rising into a sitting position. It was only now that Cindra realised how very pale her face was, like all the colour had been sucked from her face. Her hands were like fat, white spiders crawling in the darkness as they scrabbled to support her weight.

It was the way that Isabelle moved that scared Cindra the most. Her movements were jerky and detached like the puppet that her Pa liked to dangle before her, tugging at the strings so that it danced in its strange, angular way. Cindra could almost imagine that Isabelle had more limbs than she ought, so unnatural were the movements that she made.

Garrick had not noticed and Cindra cried out to try and alert him to the strange creature that was even now slinging a leg over the side of the railing.

“Gawwick!”, she called desperately but he did not look up at her.

She shrieked as a large pair of boots appeared before her, but it was only her Pa.

“Papa”, she cried miserably hoping that he would do something to help, “Papa… Gawwick. Gawwick”.

She turned to see the Isabelle creature, enfolding Garrick in her arms like a spider carefully swaddling him in a silken prison. Her pallid hands were stroking his, reaching up to touch his face and catch in his hair as though she were examining him with her feelers.

“Papa… Papa pleeeease”, she begged beginning to sniffle in dismay, “Papa pleeeease”.

He only chuckled reaching down to pick up her squirming body.

Below her the Isabelle thing was rubbing its face against Garrick’s, pressing itself against his shivering body. The two small figures below seemed to be shrinking away from her as she desperately tried to wiggle out of her father’s graps.

It was useless. There was nothing she could do. She could not make her Pa understand and he would take her away and something dreadful would happen to Garrick. She could feel him slipping away from her to somewhere deep and dark where many-eyed creatures dwelt.

“Gawwick”, she called desperately one last time, her vision swimming with tears as her Pa carried her away.

Tadhgar, The Royal Family