Lady of Lorule

2: Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

SIX YEARS LEFT

It never stopped being hard when people would come and plead for help, and when Hilda could do nothing but watch. She couldn't even really call herself a princess; a princess was supposed to take care of her subjects. She was old enough where she wasn't going to kid herself anymore. Lorule was coming apart at the seams right before her eyes, and what could she do about it? Hilda wasn't fool enough not to see that even her father, with years as king under his belt, was just as much at a loss as she was. It was a pit in her stomach that she had grown accustomed to.

At thirteen years old, she carried the world on her shoulders.

One afternoon, Hilda sat at one of the tables in the castle library, the third volume of The Silver Goddesses open in front of her. Hardwood shelves lined the walls around her, many of them filled with fantastical stories and dreams that no one bothered to hope for anymore. Light filtered in through the high windows, highlighting particles of dust floating about aimlessly in the air. It reminded her of how she felt. Hilda frequently spent hours upon hours in the library, flipping through legend, history, magic, even, despite its modern absence—anything that had an iota of a chance of being useful. Even if she was helpless to save Lorule, she had to try. It was what she was trained to do; it was her duty.

The silence was disrupted by a loud knock on the door. As she turned to see who it was, one of the palace guards entered and bowed. She stood up when she saw his worried expression.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your studies, Your Royal Highness, but we appear to have a disturbance at the castle gate. I went to the king first, but he turned me away."

Turned away? Why would her father do something like that? She would hear him out, even if he wouldn't. "You were right to come to me, then. What is this disturbance?"

"I will show you, Your Royal Highness." The guard waited by the door for Hilda to shut her book and follow him out into the corridor. Raising his hand, he pointed out the window towards the crowd outside the gate, shouts just barely audible when Hilda leaned closer to the glass.

A large group of people all bearing monster masks of varying types chanted outside in unison, some sounding hoarse from the strain. "The monsters are displeased with us!" they yelled. "We are corrupt! Don the mask!"

The Children of Corruption. Hilda had heard about them from her father—awful stories, about how they killed in the name of monsters before disappearing, and how they hated the royal family with their entire hearts. Believing the ancient Queen Tara to be the cause of Lorule's current state (and wasn't she? She was the one who ordered that the Triforce be destroyed), they passed that blame down, and so the cult put their faith in monsters instead. She had heard whispers, too, that when castle guards disappeared, their ranks increased. It almost made her shudder to think of it, but surely they were nothing but rumors. Every guard was handpicked and trained with the utmost care. She had no reason to doubt their loyalty.

Making her way to the massive double doors at the front of the castle, she pulled them open and the two guards outside uncrossed their spears to let her pass. The guard who had alerted her to the crowd trailed behind her, ready with his weapon to protect her. At the sound of the loud creaking of the front door, the crowd behind the closed gate fell silent. The only sound was the wind and their footsteps coming down the lavender stone bridge.

"What business do you have here?" Hilda called out. Murmuring erupted on the other side, but no one person spoke up. "Why have you come?"

"We demand an audience with King Mahro," a deep voice finally shouted, accompanied by a wave of agreement. "It is our right, as citizens of Lorule. We are in need of aid."

We are in need of aid.

She could not deny that request. No matter what the danger, she could not deny that request. Maybe they had put their hopes in monsters, consumed by their ways of evil, but it was never too late to change their minds. They deserved a second chance just as much as anyone else did, and what kind of impression would that leave, if the royal family turned away someone in need? It was a chance to actually do something for once, to earn their titles instead of claiming birthright. Hilda could hardly stand to watch Lorule continue to waste away day after day, and perhaps this was a start. Every step was a step forward, Elona used to say.

"Open the gate," she ordered.

The guard moved to unlock it, and it swung open with a bang as the doors hit the stoppers inside. A tall man in a black robe strode forward, a red mask of a monster Hilda couldn't identify sitting atop his face. Fake white hair billowed out on either end of the mask. He clutched a plain wooden staff in his hand, but he didn't seem to be using it as a walking stick like she would expect. "I am the Elder of the Children of Corruption."

"Welcome to Lorule Castle," Hilda said, trying to keep the uncertainty out of her voice. Now that the gate was open, she felt very, very small, like a thousand eyes bored down onto her and peered into her very soul. It was all she could to do to keep her eyes trained on the Elder. "What can we do to help you in your time of need?"

Hilda couldn't put her finger on what it was, but something in his demeanor changed the instant she said it. "Why, you've already given it to us, Princess. We were hoping to get King Mahro directly, but you'll do in a pinch since you've been delivered to us as such a pretty little package," he answered, sickly sweet honey dripping off of his words. Suddenly, his form straightened and he carried himself with the authority of the king himself. His tone was cold as he looked past Hilda at something behind her. "You've done well to bring her to us. Restrain her."

"Guards—" Hilda started, looking closely for any sign of movement within the crowd. A set of armored hands shoved her forward and she fell to the ground in the middle of the group. She didn't have time to even attempt to scramble to her feet as so many people descended upon her like vultures, pulling her up and shoving her down, static faces all around her, seemingly twisting, jeering, morphing into something else.

The blood rushed through her ears as she tried to scream for help, but the guard from the library pressed his hand over her mouth, his expression changed from stoic passivity to active malice. "What a waste of space, sitting pretty in your own lovely world," he taunted. "The future is with monsters. If you want to help Lorule so much, then just die already."

Hilda's heart seized up, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. Even the trusted royal guards thought of her that way? How long had they watched her, rooting for a world finally freed from her presence?

How stupid. You're weak. How could a mere child like you ever think that you could make a difference? You can't help anyone, not even yourself.

Try as she might to pry the hand away, the guard held fast and handed her off to some other nondescript cult member, a woman bearing the mask of an armos. "Kick and scream all you like, but no one will come," she said. "Why, I bet the king hasn't even noticed you're gone, all wrapped up in his study, doors locked tight! Or so the castle guards tell us."

With a sudden sharp pain to the back of her head, the last thing Hilda saw before her vision went black was the empty window of the castle turret.