Princess Calliope's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

After the birthday news, Calliope shut herself in her bedroom. She stayed there for two days. She did not touch the meals left at her door. She did not answer the servants who knocked. She turned her mother's ring on her finger and stared at the wall. The plan to journey had felt brave in the dining hall. Alone, it felt like a cliff she could not step off. On the second evening, hunger pushed her into the hall. She followed the smell of fresh stew toward the kitchen. Then she heard shouting. "Shoo! Go on, get!" The head cook stood at the great table, waving a wooden spoon. She was a broad woman with flour up both arms, and her face had gone red. "Filthy thing! Out of my kitchen!" Under the table crouched a dog. Its coat was dark brown, one paw white. One ear stood straight up, the other flopped down. It had a stolen crust in its jaws and terror in its eyes. When the cook swung again, the dog flattened itself against the stone. Calliope had spent two days feeling small and cornered. She knew that look. She stepped into the room. "Stop," she said. The cook froze. The other servants went still and bowed. A princess in the kitchen at night was not a common sight. Calliope knelt on the floor. The dog watched her, shaking. She reached to a platter and lifted a steak bone with meat still on it. Slowly, she held it out. The dog crept forward and took it, gentle, careful. Then it settled against her knee and ate. "He is not filthy," Calliope said. "He is hungry. That is all." She looked up at the ring of faces. "He broke in because he is starved. We have more food here than we can eat. We can spare some." The cook lowered her spoon. "Princess, it is only a stray." "Every living thing deserves better than a spoon to the ribs," Calliope said. "Even a stray. Especially a stray." She scratched the dog behind its floppy ear. It leaned into her hand. No one argued. One young servant fetched a bowl of water and set it down. The cook watched, then nodded, slow. Calliope stood. For two days she had felt trapped and afraid. Now, with a warm dog pressed to her leg, the fear had loosened its grip. She had walked into a room and changed it. She had chosen kindness and made it stick. "He comes with me," she said. The dog followed her out, its uneven ears bobbing. In her room the walls no longer felt like a cage. She would not wait behind a door any longer. Tomorrow she would tell her father the truth. She was ready to ride for her mother's lands, and she would not go alone anymore.