The Changeling Child

by E. D. Walker

  “But they won’t,” Llewellyn promised her.

  “No?”

  “No. The queen grew complacent in her hill. She didn’t realize the sort of numbers Lord Stephen could muster. There were barely thirty fairies in that hill, and Stephen gathered more than twice that many soldiers. That scared the queen and all her folk. They’re used to facing terrified farmers, not vengeful nobility. You scared them too, my lady.”

  Beatrice scoffed, “Me?”

  “Oh yes. Capturing the kelpie—”

  “That was Mary.”

  “But you fought your way into the heart of the Good Neighbors’ realm, carried their queen off, rescued me. You even faced down your husband and got your way. I would think the fey folk are more scared to flout the Mad Baroness than they are to face even your husband’s army.”

  From a rocking chair in the corner of Llewellyn’s room, Mary nodded. “The folk in our village are quite taken with you too. The tale keeps getting passed back and forth how you went into the queen’s realm and carried out two babies wrapped in your skirts and fought the fairies off single-handed to get the children to safety.”

  “Two?”

  Mary cleared her throat. “I’ve been, uh, putting it about that the changeling is an orphan you saved from the fairies. True enough. People have pretty much forgotten he’s a changeling. Not many knew that of him to begin with. It helps that he always looks human when there are other people about.”

  That was true. The changeling would drop his glamour sometimes when Beatrice nursed him, when he felt particularly happy or safe. But her little man never did that around strangers, and he certainly hadn’t done it before Stephen the few times her still uncertain husband had visited the women’s quarters. She rather thought the changeling was working his magic even on Stephen, though. Her husband had rolled the ball back to the baby once and even inquired about getting a wet nurse to help feed him. That might have been to make sure all her milk went to Stephen’s own son, but still it was a useful gesture, if not necessarily a kindly one.

  Mary had also warmed to the changeling once it was clear he was much like any other baby of her acquaintance, who needed his diaper changed and his spit-up mopped away, and not some sinister fairy spy. Beatrice decided it was probably also hard for a midwife to hold a grudge long against any child.

  During his convalescence, Llewellyn busied himself with updating his journal. He was, in fact, writing a book of magical occurrences in the kingdom and wanted to drain every last drop of memory from Beatrice about what the inner corridors of the fairy court had looked like. The magician was merry company, and both children loved him. Beatrice would never have thought it possible only a few weeks before, but she would be sorry to see him go.

  Unfortunately, soon enough, the magician had to be on the road, off on another errand for his king.

  Beatrice took Mary with her to bid him farewell at the castle gates. The midwife held Little Stephen while Beatrice held her younger son herself. Juggling the squirming changeling, she still managed to give Llewellyn a small purse with the rest of her strand of pearls before he swung into his saddle. Payment to see him safely on his way. The magician’s eyes widened as he peeked inside the bag. “Lord Stephen is generous. I didn’t think he was pleased with my work in this case.”

  Beatrice hefted her new son on her hip and smiled at the magician. “But the Lady of the Castle is.”

  “Will you be all right?” Llewellyn asked. “With Stephen?”

  “Yes. Stephen is a kind man at heart, and I think the baron will get used to the idea of having Robin around. Eventually. He became accustomed to his werewolf son-in-law, didn’t he?”

  “Hmm. Yes.” Llewellyn smiled. “Is that what you named the lad then?”

  “Robert, yes. After my father.” She bounced the changeling on her hip, and he giggled. “My little Robin.”

  “It suits him.”

  “Are you sure, Magician, that you don’t want me to give you the names of those two, uh, gentlemen at court? They were very congenial.” You seem lonely, she did not say.

  He flushed and shook his head, shooting her an amiable glare. “Farewell, my lady.” He swung into his saddle and started to turn his mount away, but at the last moment he looked back at her. His face reminded her of the first time he’d rode in, so earnest and sincere, so concerned for others. How did I ever believe him wicked before? “Baroness, if you should ever have need of me, I am at your service.”

  “Thank you.” Beatrice hesitated, biting her lip, not sure if what she wanted to say would be considered impertinence. And if it is? She tossed her hair and raised her chin in challenge. “And you, Magician, if you should ever need assistance…I stand ready.”

  His mouth curved, barely the suggestion of a smile, but he nodded solemnly. “I thank you. My lady.” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “And I will remember you said that.”

  Promise or warning? Beatrice wasn’t sure which, and she bit back a laugh at his wry expression. If he ever did call in his favor, she was certain it would be quite the adventure.

  She couldn’t wait.

  As he turned his horse toward the road, she raised her hand in farewell. “Kind Fate follow you down the road, Magician.”

  ***

  Later that afternoon, she lounged on the parapet with her babies, Mary, and the Lady Petronilla—who was quickly becoming Robin’s new favorite person.

  Repairs on the roof had begun. After this scare, almost losing Little Stephen, her husband had seemed to reevaluate his priorities. In the last few days he had sold several horses and the flashy new bird he’d bought. They had money enough now to repair the roof with lead.

  Money was still tight, of course, but with her two beautiful children, Beatrice suddenly felt like the richest woman in all the land. The sun felt wonderfully warm on her face, and the boys were happily playing and laughing together. Unfortunately, she was worried lest they get too much sun. “We should take them inside.”

  Mary and Petronilla nodded, Mary grabbing Little Stephen while Beatrice snapped up Robin, and Petronilla gathered their toys as well as the blanket.

  “—have you seen the baby yet?” Voices sounded from the stairwell ahead, echoing in the old familiar way.

  Beatrice froze and motioned for her ladies to wait.

  The voices continued, probably guards again, maybe even the same two. “He seems a strong lad. Good chubby cheeks. Nice hearty lungs.”

  The other man laughed. “Yes. Yes. And the two mites get along like brothers natural-born.”

  “I don’t believe the talk that the little one’s some fairy monster.”

  “No. Course not. That’s just venomous talk against the baroness. She fought her way past all those fairies alone, kidnapped the queen, saved the children. A true heroine, our baroness.”

  Oh, poor Llewellyn. And Mary. Clearly, their parts in the tale were doomed to be forgotten.

  “—faced that uncanny fairy queen and rescued both babes. A mother’s love, you know. Powerful stuff.”

  “Right admirable when you think about it.”

  “Well, makes sense. She dotes on her own son so. That’s always been obvious.”

  “Yes.”

  Beatrice bit back a grin and started toward the staircase. As the two guards emerged blinking into the sun she smiled a greeting to them.

  Finally, she had done something worth gossiping about.

  ***

  Read on for an excerpt from the first book in E.D. Walker’s Fairy Tales of Lyond…

  Enchanting the King

  ******

  The gentle rocking of her wagon might have been soothing once upon a time. Unfortunately, after so many weeks and miles spent trapped inside it, Aliénor thought she might go mad if she had to travel another foot in the damn thing.

  “Do you have the headache again, Princess?” one of her ladies-in-waiting asked.

  “I’m all right.” Aliénor flung a hand out to steady herself as they rolled o
ver a bump in the road, jostling her and the two other ladies in the back of their traveling coach. Aliénor gritted her teeth together. “I did not join this quest to be rolled across the world in a wooden box.”

  Aliénor twisted away and snatched up one of the plush silk pillows littering the benches of her coach. She hugged it to her gut, resisting the urge to tear the stuffing out. This wagon had been a gift from her husband Prince Philippe, a pointed reminder of just how he thought she should conduct herself on this journey. Filmy curtains at either end of the compartment helped separate her ladies from the dust of the road and the stares of other men.

  “Would you like to stop and walk outside a bit, Princess?”

  Aliénor shook her head. Some grand adventure. Riding along in a wagon she could probably outpace without breaking into an unladylike sweat. Oh, Papa, your war stories were never like this. When Aliénor had set out on this road, she’d meant to walk in the footsteps of her glorious father. See the lonely mountains of the east, smell the fresh sea air, taste the wind of the deserts. Expand her mind, stretch her horizons. Instead, her husband had kept her closed up tight in her plush little box with not one but two lady chaperones. Instead of stretching her horizons, she’d shrunk her world to a stuffy wooden trap.

  No more. Not today. Aliénor flung a hand out to knock hard on the wooden roof. “Driver, stop.”

  Her two ladies-in-waiting blinked in surprise. Aliénor flung the curtains away on the back to step out. Servants had already come around the sides to help her. Aliénor shook their reaching hands away and leapt down herself.

  “My lady, are you all right?”

  “What do you require, Princess?”

  “Saddle my horse, please. I will walk for a bit while you do.”

  The servants exchanged a look, but finally one went off to do as she’d asked. Satisfied, happy for the first time all day, she tipped her face toward the sun as she walked. She took a deep breath too but choked on road dust. Aliénor laughed at herself, and covered her mouth with a kerchief once she’d finished coughing. Servants still hovered at her elbow, but she dodged around them and began walking down the road, passing the stopped wagon as she gazed all about her. A flurry of activity and raised voices sounded behind as ladies and servants scurried around, some to catch up to her and some to saddle her horse like she’d asked.

  In the confines of the coach, her husband’s army had not been so loud, but the sound rolled over her now. Thousands of feet tramping, thousands of men chatting and laughing and yelling good-naturedly at each other. Horses too, hundreds of them prancing down the road with their masters. It was a dizzying sight, impossible to take in all at once. The supply wagons were still somewhere far behind, carrying the tents and mattresses and other accoutrements of camp. Her husband’s army did not travel light. Behind her down the road, the baggage train seemed at least half as long as the column of soldiers. She frowned, considering that tail of carts and animals lagging behind on the long river road.

  The jingle of harness drew her attention, and she wheeled around just as her husband rode up. Her heart quailed a little to see he had brought his royal witch with him, Mistress Helen. The witch was a decade or so older than Aliénor, and the woman’s cool, composed manner never failed to make Aliénor feel like a grubby, disorderly child. And Mistress Helen’s magic never failed to make Aliénor ill at ease.

  Philippe dismounted with easy grace and hurried toward Aliénor, dust kicking up in his wake. His dark hair had a fine red coating of the stuff, turning his hair a lighter shade of brown than usual. He crossed straight to Aliénor and caught her by the arms. “Why has your wagon stopped? Are you ill?”

  Aliénor fought to keep her gaze focused on him and not the witch behind him. “I needed some air. That’s all.”

  “Again, Aliénor? I thought we’d settled this. It is not proper for you to walk about in the open air. You are a Princess of Jerdun. You are not meant to be a spectacle for the common rabble.”

  “I often walked and rode at home in Jerdun. How is this different?”

  “Because you are one of only three noblewomen in the camp. Indeed, you are one of only a handful of women in the camp at all. I’m doing this to protect you.”

  If you hadn’t banished all the camp followers, my women and I wouldn’t be such a curiosity. Or a temptation. She bit her tongue on that unwise remark. Discipline had been harder to maintain since that particular order of Philippe’s banning all prostitutes in camp. But a large army in a foreign land was difficult to manage at the best of times.

  Isn’t it? Aliénor looked away, studying that rugged line of mountains in the distance. High red peaks, barren and harsh against the clear blue of the sky. The sight fired something in her blood, a longing, a determination. I want more than simple comfort and privilege. She wanted to reach those high red peaks and trail her fingers across the sky.

  “Aliénor.” Philippe cupped her cheek, turning her face toward him. His eyes were pinched, his mouth tight. “I have so many responsibilities on this expedition. Please do not make yourself a burden.”

  She flinched. “Do not treat me like a child, Philippe.”

  “Stop behaving like one.”

  “I did not come on this trip to sit in a wagon and rot.”

  His nostrils flared. “You shouldn’t have come on this trip.”

  She broke away from him. Though the blood pounded in her veins, she managed to keep her voice low. “If I hadn’t rallied my nobles in the south, if I hadn’t spent months persuading and cajoling them to come along, you wouldn’t have an army at—” All along her body, Aliénor’s muscles tensed up, and her jaw clamped shut with a click of teeth that hurt. No. Aliénor tried to twist away, as if simple motion could stop what was happening. Her muscles refused to obey her.

  Mistress Helen sauntered forward, and her eyes glowed a little as her magic held Aliénor in a grip so tight it ached. “Now, now, Princess. We discussed this. You swore to do better. To be more obedient.”

  An angry flush darkened the sallow skin of Philippe’s face. “Helen, let her go.”

  “But, my prince—”

  “I don’t need your help to control my wife, witch.”

  Needles of pain pricked all over Aliénor’s arms and legs as she tried to throw the witch’s curse off, to free herself. Useless…

  Buy Enchanting the King now

  Also by E.D. Walker

  Fantasy Romance/Fairy Tale Retellings:

  The Fairy Tales of Lyond Series

  Enchanting the King

  The Apprentice Sorceress

  The Beauty’s Beast

  The Changeling Child

  Other SF/F Work:

  Heir to the Underworld

  Zandro: A SFR Novella (coming soon!)

  The Weaver, An Anthology of Short Stories

  Contemporary Romance:

  (Writing as Beth Matthews)

  Love’s Last Call

  ******

  Thanks for reading The Changeling Child. I hope you enjoyed it.

  Reviews are one of the best things you can do to support your favorite authors. I appreciate all reviews whether positive or negative. If you would like to leave a review for this book CLICK HERE.

  You’ve just read the fourth book in The Fairy Tales of Lyond Fantasy Series. The other books in the series are Enchanting the King, The Apprentice Sorceress, and The Beauty’s Beast.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to all the folks on my publishing team: Editor Deb Nemeth, Cover Artist Simone Sadie, Graphic Designer Najla Qamber, the Formatting Fairies for copyedits, as well as Jason and Marina Anderson my formatters at Polgarus Studio.

  Thanks to all my wonderful (and thorough!) beta readers on this one: Alex, Other Beth, Karen, and Mary.

  And, as always, much love and thanks to my supportive family: Biag, Mom, Val, Ev & the cats.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  E.D. Walker, a native of Los Angeles, is the author of The Fairy Tales of Lyond Series that begi
ns with Enchanting the King. As a child, she grew up knowing all the words to the songs in Disney’s fairy tale retellings. (Sleeping Beauty was always her favorite.) Lo and behold, she eventually grew up to write fairy tale retellings of her own.

  By day, E.D. helps corral engineers for NASA (without doing any of the tech stuff herself, of course). By night, she loves to write her clever heroes and heroines bantering their way to true love. E.D. is a total geek, a movie buff, and a mediocre swing dancer. E.D., her husband, and their son live in sunny Southern California with one of the neediest housecats on the planet.

  For more information about E.D., please visit her website, “Like” E.D. on Facebook, and follow her on Twitter, Bookbub, and Goodreads. Make sure you also join E.D.’s newsletter to be the first to hear about her newest projects.

  She’s always thrilled to hear from her readers. Email her directly at e.d.walker.author@gmail.com.