The Red Cloak Girls

One: Crimson Ashland

One

Crimson Ashland

            The Feast was today. Grandmother rose at dawn, and I could hear her in the kitchen preparing our offerings for the wolves. I should have been up myself, but my stomach was in knots. The Feast was the first event in The Mating Season. A ritual where the werewolves that lived in the mountains surrounding our village would come in search for their mates. There was only one rule: the girl had to be eighteen before she could be taken to live with them. If she was younger, the wolf would have to wait.

          It seemed a simple exchange. Letting the monsters take one girl for their own, instead of killing dozens or more in a blood thirsty rage. I understood the pact our village had made with the wolves for our safety, bound by the magic of my own ancestors to force them to keep their promise. I was even thankful for it, on nights when I couldn’t sleep because I was terrified of the howling in the distance.

            But before, I hadn’t been of age. I always knew a day might come when a wolf could pick me for his mate. But I had kept myself at ease knowing it would take a lot for a wolf to notice me. I was of small frame, with dark hair, dramatic eyebrows, and skin so pale it looked almost sickly. Because I was sickly.

            Since I was a babe, I’d been cursed with something called Devils Lung. When the air got too cold, I coughed up blood. If I coughed hard enough, I could die. On some nights when it was so cold it felt as if death had crawled inside my lungs, I was certain I would. The whole of the village knew my ailment----they also knew that only one of Grandmothers magical remedies could make me feel better.

          If I were taken by a wolf as their mate, I wouldn’t survive the winter. I was eighteen now. Old enough that I could be claimed if someone wanted me. I could only hope the wolf would hear of my illness and take pity on me if that were the case. But there had only been one instance where a wolf had given up his mate, and that had been because she’d been in love with one of the village girls.

          The two still lived together, in an opulent, log cabin gifted to them by the wolf. He protects them from anyone that might cause them harm, and we see him sometimes walking through the market. Or hear him howling. He’s stoic, but when he appears in his human form, he seems nice enough even with the scars covering most of his body.

          I can only hope that if I am chosen, I find someone as understanding. But for the past few nights, I’ve been having the same dream over, and over again. I’m alone, in the woods, wearing our towns traditional red cloak that means we’re protected by wolves----and I see a pair of violet eyes staring back at me from the distance.

          Eyes that I know belong to one, specific wolf. A wolf I wouldn’t wish anyone to be the mate of, even on my worst enemy. The Prince of Wolves.  I’ve felt myself being watched these past few days too, but when I turn to look there’s no one there. I know its him though. The Wolf Prince.

He’s had a weird fixation with me ever since I first saw him.

 The wolves don’t live in the village with us, but they do come into town occasionally. The Wolf Prince comes in more than others, because he helps the town council oversee relations between humans and werewolves. But I know there is no way that he could be my mate. Or that he would choose me. He’s far too reserved, always with a snarl on his face.

           I have only ever crossed paths with him once. It was on a particularly cold, fall day just as winter was slowly taking over. I had gone into town to fetch Grandmother something from the butcher, nothing on me but a basket for my goods and my red cloak. In a hurry to get home to ease the pain in my lungs, I’d been almost running through town.

         I bumped into something hard----not watching where I was going----and found myself staring at a rock solid, male chest. When I looked up, standing there was The Wolf Prince. Prince Raoul. He towered over me, almost seven feet. He had broad shoulders, a strong jaw, eyes the color of a storm, and jet-black hair that was almost to his shoulders. My chest tightened, and I started coughing blood out of fear as he sneered down at me.

          I took out the handkerchief I kept on my person for moments like these, but I wasn’t quick enough. I coughed blood all over the white, loose fitted shirt that he was wearing.

    Prince Raoul looked from the blood to me, his lips turning into that terrifying sneer of his. “The runt of the litter,” he said, “they should shoot you, and put you out of your misery.”

    I was used to this sort of talk. No one wanted the trouble of a sick relative, least of all a sick girl. But I would have thought that someone as different as him would have been a bit more understanding to outsiders. Uncertain what had become of me, I straightened myself, and looked him square in the eyes.     “Runts can grow,” I said, “and become more than you could ever dream of, your highness. Whereas you will always be a big arse.”

    Huffily, with my handkerchief to my lips, I brushed past him. After that, he made a point glowering whenever he saw me. Like I was the worst person alive. I did the same for him. I’d been fifteen when that happened. He was two years older, or at least he appeared to be. It was hard to tell with wolves since they lived so long.

    No. No wolf would claim me, I was certain. Least of all him. Prince Raoul had probably warned them all off. But it didn’t stop the anxiety from forming in my stomach as I lay there in bed, listening to Grandmother getting ready for the day’s events.

    There was a knock on my door. “Crimson!” my older sister Anya called. She was lucky. She was now twenty-five.  She had married her sweetheart, the blacksmith’s son, Gerard. They had three sweet children already, one boy, and two girls. Anya hadn’t been mated. I remember when her eighteenth year came and went, she drank and danced on her nineteenth birthday then married Gerard the next morning.

    Girls in our village are obligated to go through one year of The Mating Season, and once it is over, if they have not been chosen as a mate they are free to choose whoever they wish for their love.

    I could only hope I would get similar relief.

    “Crimson!” Anya called again. “It’s time to get up. We have got to get you ready. Today’s the first day of The Mating Season.”

    I rolled over and groaned into my pillow. “Go away.”

    The door creaked open, and Anya’s light footsteps entered my room. She was already three months pregnant with her fourth child, only just showing. My bed lowered a little as she sat on its edge. “Come along now. This will be painless. One year, and then you’ll be free.”

    I rolled back over and propped myself up on my elbows. “Anya, I’m not you. I don’t have your luck. I was born with Devils Lung. On my eighth birthday, I nearly drowned in the river when we tried using that rope swing----”

    “Only to be pulled out by the apothecary’s son,” Anya reminded me with a smile on her face.

    At the mention of Zaan, I scowled at her. “Don’t you dare start.”

    Anya laughed---the musical laugh she had that I was certain was what had made reserved, quiet Gerard fall in love with her. “Why ever not? He watches you; you know. I’ve seen it myself when were in town. Last week, when we went into fetch more yarrow for Grandmother, he nearly dropped the bottle when you spoke to him. What’s more, he’s terribly handsome.”

    “Careful, or I’ll tell Gerard you’re noticing other men being handsome.”

    Anya waved me off. “Gerard knows I only have eyes for him. Anyway, you must start thinking of these things, Crimson. Once your Mating Season is over, it will be time for you to settle down.”

    “Anya, you know no one will want a sickly wife.”

    “That simply isn’t true, my dear sister. But you must get up! You can’t start the rest of your life if you don’t complete this misery first.” She pulled me up from the bed, then closed my bedroom door.

    She and Grandmother had worked tirelessly on my dress for The Mating Season. They’d recycled the fabric from hers and made it into something more fitting for me. Girls dressed in the colors of wolves during this time. Gray, black, gold, white, brown. Most girls chose to wear white, like a bride. If a girl were truly serious about catching a mate, she wore black. If she wanted a royal, she wore gold. Brown indicated that she wasn’t interested, and grey indicated that her heart belonged to someone else. White indicated that she was underage.

    Grandmother had dyed the gray dress Anya had worn during her own season brown for me. I’d chosen the color. The front was embroidered with golden flowers, and white pearls to give it extra flair. Anya braided back my long, dark hair in a fairy crown around my head. When we finished, Anya placed my red cloak around my shoulders.

    She cupped my chin in her hands. “You’ll be fine, my darling girl.” She wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug. Anya and my grandmother were all I had in the world. Our mother and father had died during one particular cruel winter when there hadn’t been enough to eat. Mother had fallen ill, and father had taken sick with her.

    If I were taken by a wolf, I would never see Anya or my Grandmother again. I hugged her back, and we descended down the stairs of the cabin. Gerard was there, with my nieces and nephew.

    Tall, stoic, Gerard had muscled arms that had been made by long days of working as the blacksmith. He swept my sister up in his arms and kissed her deeply.

    “Auntie Crimson, you look like a Princess!” my little niece, Aurora, said.

    I knelt down and gave her a hug. “Thank you, Aurora.” I was talked by my other niece, Lisette, and my nephew Rolf.

    Little Rolf looked up at me with worried eyes. “Aunty Crimson, Lisette says that you’re going to be eaten by the big, bad wolf. Please don’t get eaten by the big, bad wolf!”

    Lisette scowled. “Tattle tale! I didn’t say that.”

    “You don’t have to worry, Rolf. I’m not going to get eaten by anyone.” At the time, I believed it. It was why I said it with such confidence. I had no way of knowing that my fate had been sealed long before, by the moon, the stars, and things much more powerful than I. If I had, I would have run. Fast and far from anything and everything.