Anngel Quickly grabbed a pen and paper to write down the pot recipe. Her hand look with excitement and something else, something she did not want to face but she knew that using magic for selfserving purposes, especially in matters of the heart, was wrong. This was different, she told herself. David already loved her. She just had to make him love her enough to want to accept her as she was; half human. She knew this was possible because her own father loved her mother and she was not human at all. He knew she was not and he had not run away. Engel did not want to believe that David could be less of a man than her father.
She slammed the big book closed and the sound boomed through the stacks of books in the Palace Library. Luckily she was alone. With the paper clutched in her hand, Angel rushed from the room and down the long gallery corridor as two hundred generations of kings and queens stared disapprovingly at her from gilded frames. rounding the corner to the main stairway, she stopped short, nearly colliding with the Queen. “Excuse me Mother”, She said, catching her breath, “sorry”.
Startled, Morgain clutched her chest, “Goodness child, what's the rush?”
“um”, Anngel whipped the incriminating paper behind her back.
“What's that?” Morgain asked, curious.
“Nothing. Got to go, sorry.” Before the Queen could inquire farther, Anngel was rushing down the stairs as fast as she could go, her skirts swishing behind her.
Out in the courtyard, the late morning sun hid behind ominous storm clouds like a manifestation of the turmoil roiling insider her. She did not slow. She knew if she did, she'd to think about how wrong this was, and she did not want to face that just yet. All she could think about was getting David back and that little piece of paper clothed in her trembling hand was the answer to her intense need.
Soon she had reached the stables and it didnt take her long to find Ronan, the Royal groom. He was polishing Buttercup's saddle, the Queen's favorite mare. Hearing someone enter the stables, Ronan paused and looked up from his work. “Your Highness” he said, standing and bowing. “I did not know you wanted to ride today”
She traveled away the formality, “Saddle Brin for me please, Ronan, I have an important business in the village. Um, it's rather unexpected.” When he did not respond right away, She demanded, “Hurry now!”
Not long after, Anngel and Brin were pounding down the cobblestone the road to the nearby village. She was headed for the apothecary's shop. He was sure to have all the ingredients she needed. She would pay him well for his silence she thought as one hand touched the leather pouch at her side.
The village was busy this time of day. All manner of shops had their wares out on display despite the threat of rain. Crude shelters were identified to protect the many handcrafted tools, clothes and fresh farm goods. The crush of shoppers parted to let her through, many calling out greetings to her. She barely nod to them in acknowledgment, so single minded was she. Reaching desired destination, she slid down from her mount and entered the dim little shop. She found the shop unoccupied “Apothecary!” She called. maybe he was in the back. “Lorrimore, are you here? I need your services!”
A tall, thin man with white, shoulder length hair emerged from behind a dark curtain at the back. Despite having white hair, Lorrimore was not an old man, but he was not young either. Angel could not really tell how old he was, but he had been the royal apothecary for as long as she could remember. His face was smooth and free of wrinkles but his clear, blue eyes belied the youth of his out appearance. “Angel, child” he blessed her, “What brings you here? Is your mother in need of more liniment?”
Why did people always call her 'child'? She was twenty three years old, not a child at all. She kept her rebellious thoughts to herself and said instead, “I have a personal request, Lorrimore,” she handed the crumpled paper to him, “I need these items and no questions asked.” She was unaware that her chin had lived in an almost defiant manner. Lurrimore read the list of ingredients that she had requested, lifting one neatly arched brow. He said nothing, but she could tell that he did not have to ask her what she was up to. He knew a love pot when he saw one.