Millissa was brewing ale when the Soldiers of Fortune rapped on her door. It wasn’t the first time they had come to arrest Father for being drunk and disorderly, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Recently, Father had taken to spending his evenings in the tavern, drinking strong beer and telling outlandish tales of sorcery and riches. This suited her fine, as alcohol turned him into a monster, only fit to be locked outside. She secured the lid on the wooden barrel and wiped her hands on her apron.
If they were in any other country in the United Kingdom of Seven, Father’s fantastical tales would get him arrested. Luckily, for them, the Soldiers of Fortune cared little about keeping magic under control. They were just puppets, working for the usurper, Donovan the Tinder King.
“In the name of the King, I demand you open this door!” shouted a soldier.
Millissa pursed her lips. Didn’t these people understand that mills were bigger than cottages? She jogged to the front door. “I’m coming.”
The soldier continued to bang, and Millissa felt the first rumblings of fear in her gut. She stopped at the front door and checked that her wimple wasn’t revealing any hair. Why Father insisted she wear the ridiculous garment, she didn’t know, but she’d learned the hard way not to let even one strand show in the presence of a man.
Millissa cracked open the door, letting in a gust of fresh air, along with the scent of rotting leaves. Instead of the usual foot soldiers, a captain, two sergeants and a dozen corporals lined up on her garden path. She frowned, making sure to hold the back of the door with her weight. “Yes, officers?”
“Mistress Barleigh?” said the captain. He was an imposing man of six feet, with hair the color of wheat, and eyes as hard and gray as flint. “King Donovan requires your presence.”
Her heart ground to a halt. A cold wave of shock rocked her body, but she tried not to let it show. “You mean Father? He’s not home.”
“His Majesty asked specifically for you,” he replied.
Millissa’s heart restarted, clanking hard in her ribcage. Everyone knew that when the King requested a young woman, she came back days later, damaged, if she returned at all. Making sure her feet were firmly behind the door, she said, “All right. Let me put on some shoes and turn off the stove.”
The officer nodded and stepped back. Millissa closed the door and slid both bolts, smooth as an eel, so they wouldn’t make a sound. She rushed toward the back door. It would be easy enough to sneak out through the back gate and into the cornfields. Aunt Clover lived in the next village, and she could help Millissa hide for some time until the Tinder King’s attentions had moved on to someone else.
She cleared the hallway, entered the kitchen, turned to the back door and skidded to a halt. Half a dozen soldiers stood at the back window.
“Captain!” shouted a rotund man with ruddy cheeks. “She’s making an escape!”
“Ram the doors down!” yelled a voice from the front of the house.
A whimper escaped Millissa’s throat. It would take only a few kicks to break down the back door, and then…