Of What is Red

Chapter 5: The Crimson King

I couldn't develop feelings - romantic or otherwise - for the Crimson King. I had to stop this, immediately.

Thinking of dead puppies was the cliche people suggested to kill wayward thoughts.

I had one better. “We saw a man die today," I said, quietly. All I intended was to imply it was on my mind, and to distract both of us from any comfortably giggly moment.

Rowan paused just as he was about to stab his fork into his food. “Has it hit you yet?"

“I… I can't say if it has." This was the truth. “I'd like that shower, if it's still on the table." I needed to leave.

“It's in the bus, but yes." I couldn't tell if he was joking, but before I could get a better assessment, he added, “I'll see if Sophie can find you new clothes."

“Thank you." I excused myself from the long banquet fires, walking a few paces away before slowing to a stop.

“You don't know the way," Rowan guessed.

I grimaced. “I don't."

He stood and joined me. “I'll show you."

The few who noticed us leave commenced a schoolyard crescendo of, “OoooOOOO!"

“Hush," Rowan scolded good-humoredly, waving their attention away. They laughed, but obliged.

The walk back was objectively worse than having to sit near him at the table. The lantern-like flora lent the woods a warm magical glow. Dead orange and red leaves cluttered the rocky forest floor like autumn's romance equivalent for flower petals. Underbrush was scarce, so I could see how alone we were. It felt open and safe, yet intimate.

My concerns jumped to the future again. I would have to be alone on the bus with Rowan all the way back to the Crimson Kingdom. I thought of every romcom I had seen and every romance I had read. If the journey took more than a day, the script said I was doomed to fall madly in love.

I shook the thought away - visibly shaking my head.

“What is it?" he asked.

“I, um. Nothing." Why did Sophie ever mention the notion of me being his bride? Why would she allow this visual to imprint in my mind?

Rowan let his gaze fall far ahead, smiling contentedly. “This is one of my favorite places to be. I can say or do just about anything. So long as it doesn't hurt anyone, of course. It's liberating to be strange.

“I don't think you're strange. Not at the moment, anyway." The underlying madness in his eyes hadn't been present at all since the third stranger's indirect assisted suicide in the desert.

“Maybe not," he conceded. “But I know I have the option."

After a brief silence, he laughed. “What a way to meet someone. What a day." I could tell he didn't really think it was funny. Or, if he did, it simultaneously still had him shaken.

I silently contemplated my best response. I had nothing.

He offered, “If you ever need to talk about it…"

I nodded, walking faster when I saw the skoolie aside the wide dirt path.

“Wait," he said, confident despite the obvious plea.

I faced him and waited. He was a movie poster, glowing in the mystical forest, his top buttons undone just so I could see his collarbones. The crown on his head and his red cloak were the obvious implication viewers needed to see he was royalty.

“You've heard the rumors of the women in the Land of Night?" he asked. “Fated to be my bride?"

I nodded, curious to see which direction this would go.

He absently mirrored my nod. “For all I know, they were only ever looking for me because they know I actively make my rounds, looking for people. Saving them. I don't need a fated bride."

“Alright," I said, too internally frazzled to see where he was going with this.

“I don't want you to think I expect anything from you just because you're a red-named red-haired woman I found in the sands. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable around me."

That was what this was about. That was how he interpreted my sudden need to leave the table.

This was a more progressive thought than any man in the Ivory Court had ever had, and they had access to the internet.

He made my problem worse.

“Thank you," I said, turning back to the skoolie and begging myself not to see the barest, most basic form of human respect as attractive.

He followed me inside, showing me the shower and how to adjust the temperature. I thanked him for his help, and hoped I didn't seem too dismissive when I waited for him to leave.

“Right," he said. “Sophie will find you a change of clothes." He handed me a folded towel.

“Thank you," I said again.

“Of course. And if you're still hungry, or if you need anything, don't be shy. Anyone here would be happy to help. Including me."

“Thank you."

He nodded, eyes to the side as he muttered his thoughts to himself. “That should be everything. As you were." He finally left.

I let the warm water course down my back, aware I couldn't stand there for long and waste the water supply, but savoring the feel of it while I could.

Ignoring my feelings wouldn't stop the crush. I needed to think about why this was happening. If I could pinpoint the thing that attracted me to him, I could logic it away as a link to trauma relating to my family, or a projection of where I found solace growing up, or 'some' kind of obvious unhealthy psychological occurrence.

Or, I could learn something about him that would utterly shatter my perception of him. This should've been easy; most people turned out to be disappointing once I saw their true colors. I just had to learn more about him, quickly.

I calmed when something occurred to me. I drank poison at the behest of my kingdom, died, and then we saw a man die, all in the same day. Perhaps my distress had manifested as the need for physical comfort, or for deep emotional intimacy.

This satisfied me. This had to be it. If it was a situational issue, I could wait through it.

Hot water would fade the red hair dye faster, so I adjusted the temperature, gritting my teeth through the cold shower.

***

As I finished eating at the banquet fire, I overheard Rowan doing all the things the children had asked of him when he first arrived - as he had apparently done every time he had visited.

He told them a story at a fire-pit distant enough so that I couldn't hear, but I had a clear view of his engaging body language, and his theatrics of throwing himself to the ground in combat with a fictional enemy.

Once he finished, he followed them with their parents away from the fire to tuck them in, one at a time, in their own tents and huts.

I held my head in my hands. What woman didn't like a man who was good with kids?

I excused myself and abruptly left the table to wander the site, alone with my thoughts. As the hour progressed I found fewer people out and about, and fewer lit fire pits.

I happened across the shy middle aged stranger from the skoolie, sitting atop the highest point of a series of stacked boulders. He smiled at me as I approached.

“Hello again," I said.

He nodded in acknowledgement.

I leaned against a tree across from him. “So. We met royalty today."

He chuckled, a hint of excitement showing me how honored he felt.

“What do you think of him?" I asked.

“Good man," he answered, and I realized this was the first time I heard his voice. It was higher than I anticipated. “What do you think of him?" He raised a playful eyebrow.

I twisted my mouth in a grimace. “I'm waiting to see his other side. No one with such power from birth is ever so…" I couldn't think of the word, but it was a specific one.

“Considerate? Empathetic?"

I nodded. These were the exact words - both of them, combined.

The man shook his head and wagged his finger. “The Land of Night opens the mind wider with every visit. It could make a man a king, or a king a worm. If you can be a king and a worm and everything in between, you have the insight to know, and the know to care."

Not all of this made sense to me, but I gathered Rowan's visits to the Land of Night granted him much credibility in the minds of his subjects.

“How long were you in the Land of Night?" I asked.

The man laughed, surprised, and kept laughing. Just as he gathered the breath to calm, a new laugh crept over, and it seemed he couldn't stop.

Feeling I was done here, I thanked the man for his time and kept walking.

Rowan exited a tent. Catching my gaze, he strode toward me. “Are you tired yet?"

I shook my head, wanting to continue to stroll with my thoughts.

“Good," he said. “Walk with me." He continued down the path past me without looking back, confident I would follow.

Not seeing the harm in it, though apprehensive nonetheless, I obliged.

“Tell me about yourself," he said. “Where are you from?"

I wasn't prepared to answer questions. Why hadn't the Ivory Court anticipated such inquiries?

Out of earshot from the neighboring huts, he slowed to a stop and faced me. “Who are you?"

My stomach sank. “What do you mean? I'm Scarlet."

“How did you come to be in the Land of Night?" He didn't look angry, but his expression was indiscernible and I didn't like it.

“The big journey inward," I answered, using the only solid reason I had heard anyone use for having been in the Land of Night. “Why are you interrogating me all of a sudden?"

“There's something you aren't telling me, and now you've openly lied to me."

I defaulted to a tactic my dad would use when he was caught in a lie - I let myself feel deeply offended at the accusation, and deflected with everything I could think of. “Well if you clearly know me so well, why don't *you* tell me why I was in the Land of Night?"

“I don't know you at all," Rowan replied calmly. “Which is why I was asking."

“What makes you so sure I'm lying?"

“If you were doing the journey inward, you wouldn't have come with me. You were screaming, distressed, and you were relieved to be found."

“I didn't like the thoughts I had," I conceded, “but do you realize who you are? Who 'wouldn't' ride with the Crimson King?"

He watched my eyes intently, clearly unconvinced, but without any sound proof of my dishonesty.

“I won't force you to tell me," he decided, “but be warned. Some creatures out here prey on lies."

Someone somewhere screamed and we jumped. Rowan's eyes were wide as he scanned the wood for the source. A panicked crowd gathered at a tent, and more yelling ensued.

“Case in point," Rowan grumbled, hand to the hilt on his hip.