Page 39 of Little Red Riding Hood
The cloak pooled around him on the forest floor. His heart stopped. Had it torn? He gathered the fabric in his hands, running his fingers over every inch, searching for snags or holes. Nothing. The rich red wool remained pristine, unmarred by the forest’s assault.
Twenty-four winters of wear, and still the cloak endured. Through childhood scrapes and teenage adventures, palace corridors and forest paths—not a single tear. The fabric slipped like water through his fingers, soft yet impossibly strong. Just like his mysterious mother must have been, to brave leaving her baby on those cold palace steps.
Did she know how precious the cloak would be to me, throughout all these winters?
Red froze mid-step. Movement flickered between the branches—a flash of grey? His pulse quickened. His wolf had come back to him! “Wim?” The name escaped his lips before he could stop it.
But no, the sounds drifted down fromabove, musical and lilting. Someone—or something—lurked in the uppermost branches, where shadows tangled thick and dark. Laughter trickled down like poisoned honey.
Red’s fingers found his bow, nocking an arrow in one swift motion. The muscles in his arms tensed as he drew back, scanning the canopy. His eyes darted from branch to branch, searching for any sign of movement.
More laughter, closer now. The sound skittered across his skin like spider legs. Red’s arrow tracked the noise, but the dense leaves revealed nothing. Whatever creature haunted these heights knew how to stay hidden.
Hold on…That laugh. Red knew that laugh!
A voice rang out, high and clear as a bell: “Having fun on the Queen’s time, little archer?”
The Queen’s Shadow.
Red’s stomach soured. What was this prat doing here?
Most knew him as The Royal Shadow, though Red liked to think of him as The Royal Pain in the Ass—always causing trouble where it wasn’t needed, usually for his own amusement.
He was a malevolent spirit enslaved by the Queen. She had stripped the geist of his name, knowing that anyone who uttered it aloud would take control of him for themselves. He was one of ‘The Collection’—magical beings Queen Schön possessed for her personal use.
The geist quickly flipped his dark hood up, laughing as his body fully materialised. In this human form, he could be mistaken for a nobleman of military standing in his late forties. Red had often been jealous of his black brocade coat and its beautiful ornate gold detailing. The garment commanded authority and respect—not that Red had any intention of bowing down to the aggravating entity.
“Come down from there, geist!” Red snapped at the spirit.
Still cackling, the Queen’s Shadow slowly floated down to the ground ostentatiously, waving one leather-gloved hand in a performative circle. Hitting the forest floor, black leather boots solidified.
Red’s bow remained trained on him. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing here? The Queen has sent me to check up on you.”
“Check up? But I’m not even there yet!”
“Evidently.” The man flashed Red a thin-lipped and cold smile. “But then, she did send a child to do a man’s job.” He rotated his hand in an impatient gesture. “Out with it—what excuses would you like me to pass on to explain your failure?”
Red swallowed, buying time. The last thing he wanted to do was to anger the Queen. “There’s been a few… mishaps.”
The Queen’s Shadow’s eyes darkened until they were impossibly black. He leaned uncomfortably close, sniffed at Red and then frowned. “Why do you smell like… wolf?” His mouth curved upwards into a wicked smirk. “Have you been lying with wolves?”
Red’s heart sank faster than a stone dropped into a deep well. “Your insults have always been atrocious, but that one is simply pathetic.”
The spirit’s eyes swirled with shadows when his gaze roamed up and down Red’s body. “Don’t play coy. You reek.”
Red couldn’t help but flinch as he felt his face colour. “Just… fuck off back to the palace, and tell the Queen I’m almost there!”
The Shadow’s form wavered, melting into pure darkness. The shadows around Red’s feet writhed and twisted, reaching for his ankles with ghostly fingers.
Red jerked backwards. “Stop that!” he snapped, more high-pitched than intended.
The spirit reformed, closer than he had been before. “What’s wrong, little archer? Scared of the dark?”
“I’m not scared of anything, especially not an overgrown shadow puppet.” Red lowered his bow, forcing his racing heart to slow. “How does it feel, by the way? Being Her Majesty’s pet?”
The smile vanished. “Watch your tongue.”
