Page 18 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)

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 from above , 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 Schon 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.”

“Or what? You’ll go crying to your mistress?” Red’s words dripped with venom. “That’s all you can do, isn’t it? Run back to her like a good little pet.”

Darkness exploded outward from the spirit’s form. The forest dimmed as if night had fallen in an instant. Shadows danced across tree trunks, taking the shapes of writhing serpents and snarling wolves.

Red’s hands trembled, but he pressed on. “Does she at least pat you on the head when you fetch her slippers?”

“You little—”

“Or does she just snap her fingers and point?” Red clicked his fingers. “Here, boy! Heel!”

The Shadow’s face contorted with rage. With a rush, shadows surged forward, attaching to Red’s cloak and tightening the fabric around his throat. Though the geist’s shadows slithered across his skin like frozen serpents, Red lifted his chin and held the spirit’s gaze steady.

“You’re an unwanted, foolish child, and I don’t have time for your insolence. No wonder the Queen sent you to the Schwarz Wald in little more than a red cloak. You’re entirely expendable—as you always have been, from the moment you were abandoned on the palace steps,” the Queen’s Shadow spat.

Red’s chest tightened, but he forced out a laugh. “Better abandoned than enslaved. I may not have family, but at least I’m not spending eternity as someone’s trained dog.”

The shadows constricted around Red’s throat, leaving him suddenly gasping for air, spots dancing in his vision.

“You dare—”

“What’s wrong?” Red taunted. “Does the truth hurt? Go on then, run back to your kennel. Tell the Queen how mean I was to you. I’m sure she’ll give you a treat for being such a good boy.”

The geist let out an inhuman screech that pierced through Red’s skull. The shadows around Red’s throat dissolved as the spirit’s form exploded outward, fragments of darkness scattering like shards of black glass.

Red’s crimson cloak whipped upwards in a violent gust, the fabric snapping like a banner in a storm. The force knocked him backwards, and he stumbled against a tree trunk. His hood flew off his head, exposing his face to the sudden, bone-chilling cold that radiated from the dispersing spirit.

In moments, the forest returned to its natural state. Weak sunlight filtered through the canopy once more, and Red’s cloak settled back around his shoulders. He adjusted the clasp at his throat, fingers trembling despite his best efforts to steady them.

He’s gone, Red assured himself, smoothing down his hair while his breathing steadied. But for how long? Red had royally pissed him off. Goodness knows what the foul spirit would say to the Queen. She’d made her expectations extremely clear to Red, including what failure would result in.

After allowing himself one mighty sigh, Red trudged onward.

The sun crept across the sky like a timid child, ducking behind clouds whenever Red glanced up. His shadow stretched and shrank as hours trickled past, marking time’s passage across the forest floor.

His legs burned. One foot in front of the other, again and again, until walking became a mindless rhythm. The forest blurred into an endless sea of brown and green, broken only by patches of weak sunlight that dappled the ground. His crimson cloak caught on brambles, tugged free, caught again.

More than anything, Red was bored. He hadn’t fully appreciated having Wim permanently by his side, to chat to—or complain at—over the last few days.

Now, it was just him and his thoughts. His anxious, turbulent thoughts.

His brain churning over Wim, his quest, and what exactly the Queen’s Shadow would tell her when the snitch reported back.

When Red next lifted his gaze, the sun had shifted from yellow to orange, painting long shadows across the leaf-strewn path. How many hours had passed? His muscles screamed the answer: too many.

A distant buzz caught his attention… voices carrying through the trees. Red froze, hand flying to his bow. The sound grew clearer: excited chatter, multiple people talking at once. His first instinct screamed to slip away into the undergrowth, to avoid any chance of confrontation.

But… there was something about the tone. A festive, enthusiastic energy. Something exciting was afoot.

Red’s curiosity won out. He crept closer, keeping to the shadows of the larger trees. The voices grew louder, clearer—definitely commoners, by their accents. The clink of metal tools accompanied their chatter.

He peered around a thick oak trunk. About twenty people had gathered in a small clearing, clutching farming implements: scythes, pitchforks, even a few rusty spades.

Their clothes marked them as farmers—rough homespun wool and leather, patched and worn.

Despite their weapons, their faces shone with excitement and glee.

What could have drawn such a crowd so deep into these woods?

Red crept forward through the underbrush, careful to keep his movements slow and deliberate. His boots found purchase on patches of moss, avoiding the crunch of dead leaves. The excited chatter grew louder as he approached the edge of the gathered commoners.

A woman stood at the fringe of the group, her hollow cheeks and sharp collarbones visible above her threadbare shawl. Despite her gaunt appearance, her eyes sparkled with an almost manic energy as she gestured with a pitchfork.

“Pardon me,” Red whispered. “ What’s all this about?”

The woman whirled around, her face lighting up at the prospect of sharing news. “Wolf sighting! Just this morning, near the stream.” She clutched her pitchfork closer, knuckles white against the wooden handle. “Biggest one anyone’s ever seen, they say. Grey as storm clouds.”

Red’s heart plummeted. Wim.

“We’ve not had meat in months,” she continued, practically bouncing on her feet.

“Think of it—enough wolf meat to feed the whole village! The pelt alone would fetch a fine price at market.” She peered at Red’s cloak with undisguised hunger.

“You look like you know quality furs. Care to join the hunt?”

The crowd surged with renewed enthusiasm as someone shouted about fresh tracks. Red’s fingers tightened around his bow, bile rising in his throat as the commoners brandished their farming tools like weapons.

But surely Wim should be miles upon miles away, in the opposite direction?

“I highly doubt you lot are capable of bringing down a wolf,” Red said, not caring about his rude tone. It was true—this ragtag group of merry men likely couldn’t bring down a sleepy kitten.

The woman scoffed, jabbing her pitchfork towards Red’s chest. “We’ve got more than just tools, pretty boy. Jed and his lot laid out poisoned rats near the stream.” Her grin stretched wide, revealing several missing teeth. “Once that beast’s slowed down, we’ll finish it off proper.”

Ice flooded Red’s veins. Poisoned rats! His mind flashed to Wim, hunting alone in the forest, stomach growling after days of sharing his food with Red. Would he be desperate enough to eat dead rats?

“Smart plan.” Red forced the words past numb lips. His fingers found the smooth wood of his bow. “Actually, I’d love to help. Been tracking wolves for many winters now.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. “This bow’s brought down plenty. ”

The woman’s eyes lit up as she took in his weapon—far superior to their silly farming implements. She turned to the crowd. “Oi! This one’s a proper hunter!”

Faces turned towards Red, hungry eyes fixing on his bow. A burly man with a pitchfork stepped forward. “You know how to use that thing, boy?”

Red drew himself up to his full height. “I killed several slave traders with it just days ago.”

Murmurs of approval rippled through the group. The burly man nodded, though he eyed Red warily. “Welcome aboard then. We’re heading to the stream first—check on them rats.”

Red’s heart lurched wildly. He had to somehow find Wim first. Had to warn him. But how to slip away without raising suspicion?

“Excellent.” Red kept his voice steady and light. “I’ll scout ahead, see if I can pick up any tracks. I’m sure you know this, but wolves have keen noses—better if we spread out rather than moving as one big group.”

The commoners nodded eagerly, already breaking into smaller clusters. They buzzed with a sense of purpose, of strategy, that made Red feel even sicker. They didn’t notice his hands trembling as he checked his quiver.

Red was being foolish. Even if he did succeed in finding Wim, the wolf would likely bite his head off before Red could open his mouth. He’d certainly been close to doing just that, earlier. Really, Red should ignore this and press on to the Dark Forest—there had already been enough delays.

The path before Red split like a forked tongue, neither direction promising comfort. For someone who’d spent his life following orders, choosing his own path felt dangerous—yet thrilling.

Teetering on the edge of his decision, Red’s mind suddenly conjured up the soft wolfish whimper of pain Tobias had made, trapped in that snare.

His chest tightened at the memory. Whatever Wim was hiding, whatever game he was playing…

Red couldn’t bear the thought of the wolf meeting a similar fate, alone in these woods .

You’re going soft in your old age, Red. That, or he had a soft spot for this damn wolf.

His stomach lurched as he turned away from the commoners, forcing his steps to remain measured and calm as he headed towards the treeline. The moment he passed the first row of trees, he picked up speed, all earlier weariness and hunger forgotten.

Then, Red ran, praying that he found his wolf before they did.

His wolf.

Shaking his head dismally, Red chastised himself. But it was no use—he couldn’t deny it. Red had much more than ‘a soft spot’ for the insufferable mangy mutt.

That was dangerous. Caring, the Queen often said, made you weak, made you vulnerable.

The real question was: which would kill him first—the wolf, his secrets, or Red’s own foolish heart?