Idrun

Enjoy this short story by Mace Styx.

She blinked at Sir Farridan’s sudden entrance. He was surprised by how ordinary-looking she was, for a princess – they were supposed to be wispy little things, delicate and ungodly beautiful. Princess Idrun wore a simple white gown, her unruly blonde hair falling down to her hips, a greenish cast to it in the light. Her eyes were green as well, gazing at Sir Farridan now with some wariness to her expression.

“Who are you?” she asked him.

“Princess Idrun,” Sir Farridan said, executing a short, somewhat perfunctory bow. “I am Sir Farridan. I have travelled long and far to rescue you.”

To his surprise, she merely looked slightly confused by this. It wasn’t the swooning gratitude he had been expecting.

“Rescue me?” she repeated, frowning. “Rescue me from what?”

He was so baffled by her question that for a moment he just stood there gawking at her, jaw hanging open. She stared back with a face as smooth and unaffected as glass. He reasoned that perhaps she was in shock from seeing another human being after so long in isolation.

“You – from this!” Sir Farridan said, gesturing vaguely around the room. He tugged at his collar, wishing he’d worn lighter armor. “This place!”

“I like it here.” Princess Idrun replied, making no move to get up off the bed. In fact, she seemed to be slightly bored by the conversation, her body language closed-off and unfriendly.

“But…why would you want to stay here?!” he blurted out. “In an empty, crumbling castle?”

“Nobody bothers me here,” Idrun replied, with a shrug. “It’s peaceful.”

© 2022 Mace Styx (Hljóðbók): 9781669635949

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Hljóðbók: 6 oktober 2022