The Story of the Sleeping Lady

By Parker Atlas Yaw

The Story of the Sleeping Lady moves readers with its spells and secret jealousies, beasts and betrayals, and the hidden truth that could unravel a plot decades in the mak

• Language: English
• Publisher: Orange Door Books
• Release date: Apr 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088102312

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Prologue

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The story of the Sleeping Lady begins as it will end, my dear listeners; with a christening.

On a chilly midwinter evening, the princess Aurora Rose was born to King Stevan and Queen Julis of Naftéla. In celebration of his daughter’s birth, King Stevan held a gala to christen her, inviting all of the royals, nobles, knights, and Great Fairies from across the land. That night, the princess was presented with gifts by all in attendance: a trove of sapphires from a visiting prince, a garden of roses from a beloved noble, and from the seven Great Fairies invited, the most desirable traits a princess could have. Beauty, wit, grace, dance, song, goodness—

Before the seventh Fairy could give her gift, the doors shattered.

King Stevan had not deigned to invite the youngest of the Fairies, Mara, for she was not as powerful as her siblings. He did not think her worthy of being honoured, nor did he believe she could bestow a valuable gift upon the princess.

That was his mistake.

She strode into the throne room and, filled with burning rage, her power surged tenfold— surpassing that of all her siblings. Mara placed her vengeance upon the infant’s head; to die on her sixteenth birthday, when she pricks her finger on a spinning wheel.

The air darkened as she glided from the room, her curse hanging over the castle.

Mamon, the eldest of the Great Fairies, had not yet given her gift to young Aurora Rose, but she had not the strength to reverse the spell; she could only reshape its magic. Sleep, she promised. Not death, but sleep, my child. When you prick your finger, you will fall into a deep sleep. One day, when kissed by the son of a king, you will awaken. That is my gift to you.

◯

King Stevan spent the next sixteen years burning every spinning wheel in the kingdom and hunting down every healer, naturalist, and Fairy he could find. Some were questioned, others were arrested, and others still were burned alongside the spinning wheels.

However, despite all Stevan’s efforts, on Aurora’s sixteenth birthday she was called to an upper room of the castle by a tug on her soul. Fate. An old woman sat methodically feeding wool onto the drive of a spinning wheel, quiet but for the rhythmic rotations and the wheel’s occasional squeak. Aurora was drawn to touch it— perhaps by the hypnotic spinning or the hum in her soul or the quiet in the spinster’s eyes— and the moment she pricked her finger, she fell, sprawling, into a deep sleep.

The old woman slowly rose, finding no satisfaction. Instead… she felt only regret.

She laid the princess in a bed woven of silver and gold, then placed dust over the eyes of all in the kingdom and put them into a sleep as deep as Aurora’s. She drew up thorns and brambles and sharp plants to surround the princess, the castle, the kingdom. She tore earth from earth, making the terrain a natural and graceless labyrinth. In that night, the kingdom was swallowed whole by the Great Overgrowth. There the princess has rested for a hundred years, and there Mara has watched over her.

It is on this dismal and melancholy day that the son of a king, a prince, and a company of knights ride to wake the Sleeping Lady.

PART ONE

The son of a king...

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Chapter One: The Quest

Barrow

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The curve and constant creaking of the saddle have found their way into my bones, and the rain slipped under my collar hours ago. I shift my weight, groaning quietly at the ache that nearly turns me to stone. I glance back at the group of knights as they laugh and joke with each other despite the miserable rain, then I turn my gaze forward to Philip, who rides alone— stiff and silent— at the front of our column.

I worry what’s going through his head. Terror or dread or the anticipation of grief… I know what it feels like to lose a father, but I don’t know how to comfort him. I don’t even know if he can be comforted right now.

There is soft sniggering from the back of the column and Captain Taras turns a baleful eye on his young knights. The laughter cuts off immediately. Satisfied, Taras faces forward once more. His eyes are fixed on Philip, and I understand his vigilance, his concern. Philip is going to lose his father, and there is nothing we can do to stop it.

That is not the purpose of this quest— a miracle cure, an elixir of life, a fountain of youth— no, this quest is not a rescue mission. At least… not for His Majesty.

I look upwards, to the horizon, where the Great Overgrowth rises up: a tangled mess of many-limbed vines bursting up from the ground to encircle the kingdom of the Sleeping Lady. It was named Naftéla, once, but now it is just her kingdom.

Our heading is the castle in the centre of the brambles, where we hope to wake the princess and rescue the kingdom from their curse. If we can manage that, we might grant Philip his most-desperate wish— for his father to see him crowned.

If I cannot comfort him, then I must do my best to help him through this quest.

I urge my horse forward, coming to ride next to Philip. He looks up with a start as I meet him, his eyes snapping back to consciousness. Barrow. Everything alright? he asks.

I think we should stop soon, to rest and eat.

Yes, he says distantly, yes, we should do that… He holds up a hand and the entire company pulls up on their reins. Dismount. Tend to your needs and your animals. Ulric, get some food going. We ride again in an hour.

I slide off my horse with a groan, watching as Philip does the same, clumsy and numb and distracted. I steady him as he sways and he glances up at me. Thank you, Barrow, he murmurs.

Of course, Your Highness. Rest. I’ll water the horses.

◯

As I loosen our horses’ girths, I feel eyes on me, and I am not surprised. From the moment we mounted up in the castle courtyard, the knights have been watching me. The young men on this quest had been carefully chosen from Philip's knights, and Taras had trained every one of them from boyhood to protect and serve the royal family. Though they are my peers in age, every one of them is skilled and deadly. There’s a kind of confusion among them, a curiosity… and I know they have questions they would ask about me, if they were bold enough. I suppose I have questions too.

I don’t belong on this quest. It’s not just the questions the knights bite back, or the way Captain Taras sizes me up, that tells me this. I know I don’t belong here. The sword on my hip has little more purpose than to thwack a faint bruise against my calf as I walk. I’m not a warrior— if we’re engaged in combat, I will have little to offer. I can’t protect myself or the knights, and I can’t protect Philip.

I can’t protect him from danger, and I certainly can’t protect him from how frail his father looked coming down the castle steps.

◯

Philip! A shell of King Koldar leaned heavily against the doorway, smiling down at his son as Philip stood in the courtyard saddling his horse. I wanted to see you off, my boy.

You need to be careful, Father. Philip quickly approached him, helping him down the stairs. He sounded slightly strange, forced, but it must have been difficult to keep his composure, seeing his father so weak.

Ah! King Koldar scoffed, waving a trembling hand. I’ve never been more fit. Besides… how could I let Taras leave without saying goodbye? He has been my faithful guard for years, done right by me.

The king brushed past me, completely oblivious of my existence, but that was altogether unsurprising. He hadn’t given me a second look since pulling me from the orphanage. I kept my eyes downcast, knowing that if by chance he should glance my way, I was unworthy of meeting his gaze. He had assured me of that the moment we met. I frowned at him as he passed, desperately anticipating the day that Philip was given the crown.

It wasn’t that King Koldar was a tyrant… No, he was a perfectly adequate king, but the nature of his ascension had gained the people's love and pride, and he had glided on that goodwill for the rest of his reign. He had never tried to make the lives of the peasantry better, never considered the common people worth listening to… I wanted more from my king. He needed to be selfless and kind, brave and honest.

I studied Philip and I was satisfied.

Koldar embraced Captain Taras, but it was clear that the guard was holding him up almost completely. Take care of my boy, the king requested.

Taras nodded, face emotionless as always. Of course, Your Majesty.

The king released him, turning to pull his son into a hug with more strength than I thought he could manage. Wake the Lady and come home. Take your rightful place on the throne. He leaned closer and murmured something in his ear that I could not hear. I did not strain myself to listen to a father's intimate and personal farewell to his son.

As his father let go of him, Philip looked nauseous, but I understood— the way only an orphan could. It must have hurt to see him like that; so frail, so sick. And then… there was a chance he would have already passed by the time we returned, a chance that we would be too late. I couldn't imagine having to bear that burden, and it was then that I resolved to do whatever I could to help Philip and the knights on our quest.

Philip cleared his throat, glancing away from his father. Mount up, men! We’re out!

Chapter Two: The Prince

Philip

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Barrow turns towards the stream, tugging our horses behind him as he goes. He rubs the back of his neck, and my eyes are drawn to the scar peeking out from under his collar. My servant has had that scar for as long as I’ve known him, but now I finally know where it came from, even if he doesn’t…

If I’d been a bit quicker, my father hisses in my memory, his voice clutching at my tunic and holding me fast. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts.

If I’d been a bit quicker, he insists, I could have finished off the runt too.

I push myself harshly to my feet, finding my way over to Captain Taras, who sits studying a map by the fire Ulric is using to cook. His brow is furrowed as he scrutinises the trails.

Something wrong, Captain?

No, Your Highness. We’re approaching the border, however, and I don’t think we should cross tonight. The Great Overgrowth is under-mapped and treacherous, in almost-constant winter, and home to beasts and witches. It is dangerous, and I do not wish to make it more so by entering in the dark.

We’ll have six hours of light left after we break. How far can we make it before we need to set up camp?

I recommend we make camp here; some twelve miles away from our current position. It’s close to the Overgrowth, but far enough to provide us some security. It would give us three hours of daylight to make camp and train.

I nod, starting to rise, but Taras opens his mouth to speak once more.

Sire… He hesitates, looking up at me for a moment. Why is Barrow here?

I cast Ulric a curt glance and he sets down the spoon he holds, brushing his pants off as he stands. I’m gonna- I’m gonna take a walk for… He sighs harshly. As long as you two need. Let me know when I’m allowed to cook lunch again, Your Highness.

I follow him with my gaze until he has crossed the campsite, finally looking back at Taras.

He sighs, his face pinched. I understand that you and your servant are friends, but… he is not a knight, a warrior. Who is he to be on this mission?

Who are you to question your future king? I snap.

He pulls away from me, taken aback by the sharpness of my words. "I- I meant no offence, Your Highness, I just… This is not normal. You are not normal."

What?

"This quest, the way you’ve been acting… Something is wrong, and that boy is a part of it. I want to know what we’re really doing here."

I stare at him a long time, my eyes steel. We’re completing a great deed, Taras. One deserving of a coronation.

I understand that, I just- he stops himself, clenching his jaw. I just hope you have a good reason for bringing him.

I look into the fire, the flames rippling back and forth like my thoughts. I do.

He watches me for a moment, waiting for me to continue. When I don’t, he rises. I will leave you to your thoughts, Sire, he mumbles through gritted teeth.

Taras.

He looks back and I take a deep breath, the heat from the fire prickling in my eyes as I ask the question I have been afraid to know the answer to.

If my father were to ask something of you, would you do it? Indiscriminately and without question?

He studies me curiously, taking a moment to measure his words, but I still don’t have the courage to meet his gaze. I took an oath of fealty to your father…

That’s not what I asked.

I know. But that is the answer I have for you.

I bite my lip, my eyes finally flickering up to his. "An oath of fealty. Why did you not say loyalty?"

Taras has always been the picture of caution, of steadfast and unwavering discretion, but as he answers me this question, something in his eyes leaps from a precipice. Because I did not mean loyalty.

Then who are you loyal to?

When you are crowned, I will be loyal to you.

I have not yet been crowned, and I would like an honest answer.

He sighs, speaking the truth as though it is the last thing he will ever say. I am loyal to the memory of a great king… and to the hope that another will be his legacy.

The memory of a great king. He is not speaking about my father, but the late King Caerls, whom my father succeeded.

He turns away once more, pausing for just a moment. If your father were to ask something of me, he says over his shoulder, something of the nature you seem to be suggesting… I would need to know why. Your father has done well. He’s kept the nation strong, but I- I… he falls silent, honesty looking almost like treachery on his face.

I understand, Taras. Thank you for speaking truthfully.

Your Highness. His cloak ripples in the mirage of the fire as he takes his leave.

I had always thought my father a good man, though I suppose any son holds his father in a regard higher than he deserves; it is in our nature.

I knew he was not a perfect king, but I never could have imagined…

◯

I was sitting in my father’s chambers, watching over him as he rested. The shallow rise-fall of his chest both comforted and worried me, and I knew he was not long for this world. Weeks, the physician had said. He has weeks at most.

My father was a difficult man, hard in his actions and hard to love, but I did love him. He was my father, and though he had never been gentle or kind or emotional with me, I had always been desperate to prove to him that the small affections he gave me were well-deserved, that I was a good son. It was impossible to see him like this, to remember the man of fortitude he was only weeks ago.

I was stirred from my worries by a hand on mine. So serious, my son, my father groaned.

Father. I sat up straighter, taking his hand.

I wish I could see the day… when you are crowned king. You have made me prouder than possible… my son. I- I need…

What, Father? What is it you need?

Before I die… I need to tell you… I- You must know about my ascension, about how I became king.

I- I don't understand. I already know the story, Father; everyone does. My father was captain of the guard, in charge of protecting the royal family. When they were killed, because they had no living successors, he was named steward. Eventually he rose to become our king. It was not a traditional ascendance story, but it was one our people knew well. My father had stepped up to protect the kingdom; as his son, nothing made me prouder.

He cleared his throat, sitting up as much as he was able. I- oh, it was my greatest accomplishment, Philip, a minor noble like me. As the youngest son, I was forced into the army, but I did well. Well enough that I was made captain of the guard. I was one of the most powerful men in the country… aside from the king, of course.

Father, I've heard all this before. I don't understand-

Then listen, he hissed with a venom and intensity that belied his weakness. Once I had been named captain of the guard, I commanded every servant and knight; I had access to every room and every person in the castle. It was a simple thing, then, to slip into the royal chambers, take the king's sword-

I quickly looked up at him. Father?

-and slit his-

Father! I leapt to my feet, as if I could stop him from speaking.

Quiet, boy! Keep your spine. I've told you; you have nothing if you don't have power. After I killed the king and queen, I finally had all the power, he growled. His voice broke into a rasping cough. The boy, though…

The boy?

Prince Emmerich. The people… the people were told that he had been killed along with his parents, but they mourned an empty coffin. I was too slow, too confident. I succeeded in killing the king and queen, but if I'd been a bit quicker, I could have finished off the runt too.

I could barely breathe as I stared into his eyes. Prince Emmerich… What? I whispered.

If the damned woman hadn't leapt at me… I cut the boy, but it was far from a mortal wound.

A child…

I slowly looked away, the world around me starting to fade, but his voice and his harsh grip on my hand snapped me back. My boy. You need to know this, because there is a chance he is still alive. The child ran from the castle that night, vanished into the town, and I have been unable to find him— or proof of his death. I had hoped not to leave you with my troubles, but you must be prepared if the day comes when he returns. My captain of the guard is trusted; Taras can do what must be done.

I- I turned away, placing my hands on my hips. I released a long, low breath. The king's son, the true prince, is still alive. My father is not a king, but a murderer. I could feel him smiling up at me as if this was something to take pride in, as though I should have revelled in his cowardice and treachery.

Philip? my father asked, his voice hoarse as he weakly reached for me.

I turned back to him, slowly taking his hand once more as I sat. I took a breath, forcing my face into a smile once more. I- Father, I will take some men and we will wake the Sleeping Lady. If we accomplish that, would it be a great enough deed for a coronation before your death? One you could see?

He smiled widely, clasping my hands. Yes, my son. And nothing would please me more.

I slowly rose, extricating my hand from his talons. As I watched him, the mighty king before me fell away and revealed a withered thief. I promise, Father, it will leave you speechless.

◯

A hand on my arm stirs me from my thoughts. Is something wrong? Barrow asks.

I slowly look up at him, shaking my head. No. Just thinking.

Don’t hurt yourself, Sire. You know how dangerous that is for you.

The last person to insult me such, I had executed, I spit with a fake imperial venom.

I was executed? he asks incredulously. Philip, you should’ve told me. If I’d known I was dead, I would’ve made someone else water the horses.

I laugh and he glances up at me as he sits down, smiling faintly.

That’s better. You haven’t been yourself lately. He tugs off his boots and pulls his wet shirt over his head, groaning. That mount of yours has four left feet. Knocked me into the creek.

I nod distantly as he tips water out of his boots, turning to set them in front of the fire. My eyes catch on the scar that marks his back once more.

Are you really alright? he asks.

If I’d been a bit quicker, I could’ve finished off the runt too.

Barrow turns to me. Your Highness. Are you alright?

I cut the boy, but it was far from a mortal wound.

Philip.

I blink, my soul pierced by his intense