princess & witch

a short bug world story!!! i decided to go with a medieval vibe to really hammer home the game of thrones influence. also, content warnings include terminal illness and death of a sibling. and bugs, obviously.

enjoy!

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On the sixteenth day of Midburrow in the year 1161, Princess Heve Vespoad, third of her name and third in line for the throne of Vaspest, ventured out of the safe walls of Castle Vavest for the first time on her own. Her destination was the Red Cottage, the home of a witch called Muskit the Bloody Handed, nestled in the forest. Heve’s young sister was sick, and the royal family grew ever more desperate.

Heve and the youngest Vespoad were quite close sisters. They were as friendly as sisters could be. Five years apart in age, Heve recalled vaguely when her baby sister was born. The memory was blurry, even through Heve’s strange, compound eyes. But Heve always remembered the feeling of holding Estinger for the first time. She was so small, so fragile. Heve was so scared of accidentally hurting her that she nearly immediately gave her back to her mother.

But, that night, Heve slept on the floor of the nursery with the baby. When her father found her the next morning, wide awake and staring into the crib, he asked why she had done so.

“I want her to know I’m here for her,” Heve answered simply.

Now, Estinger remained abed, per the healers’ orders. She was running a terrible fever, as she had been for six days, but on the seventh she refused any kind of food. The healers worried she would starve to death if the illness did not take her first.

Heve and her older siblings were not allowed in the room, but the eldest of the four royal siblings, Hivelyn, had spoken with their father, and passed the information she received to Heve and to their brother, Vizzen.

“All we can do now is pray,” Hivelyn had said, “and hope the gods are merciful enough to answer.”

Heve knocked on the door of the Red Cottage. It looked exactly how one would expect a sorceress’s house in the middle of the forest to look, riddled with vines and ivy and rotten wood. It was a miracle the place was still standing. Or, perhaps, an act of true magic by the sorceress herself.

Heve waited for nearly an entire minute for the door to open. When there was no answer, she knocked once more.

“Hello?” she called. A flock of fleabirds flew from the nearby trees at the sound of Heve’s voice, startling the princess.

She rapped on the door one more time with force, and shouted again. Still, there was no response.

Heve’s many eyes all looked at the doorknob, and gently tried to open it. To her surprise, it opened wide, unlocked. Heve remained in the doorway, not daring to step inside without invitation.

“Hello?” Heve repeated, much gentler than the time before. She bundled her cloak tighter around herself in an attempt to muffle her nervous buzzing.

Her greeting was met with a long silence. She took a single step inside the cottage, and jumped when she finally heard another voice.

“Shut the door, will you?” it said, “The wind is picking up.”

Heve stepped inside fully, and shut the door behind her, bracing herself against the door. She shook her head once, straightened her posture, then turned on her heel to face the voice.

The mosquito before her looked much younger than Heve had expected, only a bit older than Hivelyn. She was tall, with light gray skin and deep, vibrant red hair tied up on top of her head with several strands poking out. Her higher set of arms were folded in front of her chest, while her lower set remained at her sides, though one of the hands was picking at the thread keeping one of the light tan patches on her rusty brown skirt. The picking wasn’t a nervous motion, rather an idle one.

“You’re quite far from your nest, aren’t you, Princess.” It wasn’t a question, rather a statement of fact.

Heve held her chin up, as if she had any kind of power in this conversation. Her buzzing grew louder. “Yes, I am.”

Muskit waved one of her hands dismissively. “No need to be scared, child. I want to help you.”

“How did you know I came here for help?” Heve asked, attempting to hide her bewilderment.

“Nobody comes to me unless they need something,” Muskit said, “Especially if they’re royalty, and especially alone.”

Heve rubbed two of her hands together, trying to settle herself. Muskit still noticed Heve’s eyes, which rarely looked at the same place at the same time, and never directly at her.

“State your purpose,” said Muskit the Bloody Handed.

“I come seeking health for my sister, the young princess Estinger Vespoad.”

“Estinger,” the witch repeated, “Odd name for your family.”

“She is named for my mother’s mother,” Heve explained, as she had many times before.

Muskit nodded slowly, taking in Heve’s appearance as she did so. She was short and fat, as many wasps were, and held herself with an insecurity that could only be found in young people. Muskit estimated that the girl before her had yet to see her twentieth birthday. The nervous buzzing she emitted was getting louder, and Muskit had half a mind to shout at her to stop and allow the magic of the cottage to reflect her anger. To truly show her power, to scare the girl so terribly she ran home in tears.

But this was the queen’s daughter. No harm should come to her.

“What ails the young princess?” Muskit asked, crossing all of her arms.

“She has a terrible illness,” Heve said, “I am unsure of its name, as are the healers, but she is feverish and, now, is refusing to eat.”

“How long does she have?”

Heve’s voice became shaky. “Two days maximum.”

Muskit hummed. “She could be dead already.”

Heve bristled at the witch’s bluntness. “I assure you, if she were dead, I would know.”

Muskit responded, sharp as a knife, “How?”

One by one, all of Heve’s eyes began to stare down at the stone floor. Muskit sighed.

“What do you have for payment?”

Heve’s head lifted back up in a snap. “You can save her, then?”

Muskit held up one of her hands. “I can try.”