Page 32 of Little Red Riding Hood
“These two are like peas in a pod,” Astrid said, appearing beside him. “They have the same mental age, apparently.”
Red laughed. It certainly seemed that way, currently.
“Tobias used to follow Wim everywhere. We’d call him Wim’s shadow. Before he left, Wim was confined to his cottage for several months, and Toby tried to sneak there every single fucking day.”
Red liked this kid more and more by the second.
Panting, Wim stopped rolling around with Tobias, leaning backwards on one arm. “Stay the night,” he said to Astrid. “Go back tomorrow. That’s if you…” His face twisted. “Feel safe enough. Round me.”
“Can you still feel the onset of your condition? Do you still get that warning period?”
Wim nodded. “Aye, but I’d understand if—”
“Then of course we’ll stay, Wim. We’d love that.”
A sharp unpleasantness suddenly coiled in Red’s stomach—he’d presumed that he’d get Wim to himself again, as soon as the pup was found. But it appeared he’d be sharing Wim a little longer.
That’s perfectly fine, Red. There’s no reason to care.
A soft bump against his leg scattered his brooding thoughts. Tobias gazed up at him with dark, pleading eyes, his small wolf form pressing closer.
“Will you play with me later?” he asked, so sweet and so hopeful.
Red’s breath caught. He dropped to one knee, bringing himself level with those earnest eyes. His fingers sank into impossibly soft fur as he scratched behind Tobias’s ears.
“I’d love to,” Red whispered, any earlier negativity melting away as Tobias’s tail wagged with unbridled joy. The pup butted his head against Red’s chest with such enthusiasm that Red toppled backwards onto his bottom.
“Careful there, sweetheart,” Wim called out, eyes dancing with amusement. “He’ll have you wrapped around his little paw in no time.”
Red swept his riding hood around his shoulders with a flourish, nose pointed towards the stars. He minced across the forest floor, each step a perfect imitation of the Queen’s affected gait.
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall…” He pitched his voice into her nasal drawl. “Who is the mostperfectof them all?”
Tobias rolled across the ground, clutching his sides with laughter. Even Astrid’s shoulders shook as she tried to maintain her composure.
“Oh, what’s this?” Red snatched up a wooden spoon from the cooking pot, brandishing it like a sceptre. “Apeasantdares to smile in my presence? Guards! Off with their head!” He swished the spoon through the air with dramatic flair.
“Does she really say that?” Tobias gasped between giggles.
“Oh, worse.” Red draped himself across a log, one hand pressed to his forehead. “Last week she had the royal gardener flogged because his roses bloomedpinkinstead of red.”
Wim lounged against the wall, watching Red’s performance with a gleam in his eye that made Red’s chest flutter. He pushed the feeling aside, focusing instead on Tobias’s rapt expression.
“Tell us more about the palace!” The boy bounced in place, dark eyes wide with excitement.
Red adjusted his hood like a crown. “Well, there was the time she made all the maids crawl backwards for a week because one of them tripped over a bucket of water.” He demonstrated, scuttling across the ground in an exaggerated crab-walk that sent Tobias into fresh peals of laughter.
“And then—” Red leapt to his feet, twirling. “She insisted everyone speak in rhyme during the winter solstice feast, just to entertain her. The poor cook nearly fainted trying to announce each course.” He cleared his throat, adopting a trembling voice. “H-here comes the roasted pheasant fair, served with herbs and special care…”
Tobias clapped his hands in delight, and even Astrid couldn’t contain her laughter now. Red couldn’t help but bask in their attention, the decades of watching the Queen’s ridiculous behaviour providing endless material for his mockery.
“Alright,” said Astrid. “Time for bed. We leave at first light. You’re going to have a lot of apologising to do when we round up your search party, Toby.”
Tobias’s face fell. “But I haven’t even got to hear about the Queen’s son, Makellos, yet! Is he truly the most beautiful man Falchovari has ever seen?”
“Oh, him? He’s boring. No exciting tales about him.” Red must have inserted some venom into his words, because Wim tilted his head.
Red had tried many a time in his childhood and adolescence to befriend the Queen’s perfect son, and had been rejected more times than he cared to think about. The uptight man kept to himself, but had the whole palace under his spell. Red wasn’t entirely surprised—the man was the very picture of beauty, with his skin as pure as white snow, and his silky, ebony-black hair. What Red would give for even a fraction of his allure…
