Iron Heinrich

by A. B. Keuser

  Iron Heinrich

  A Retelling of The Frog Prince

  The Clockwork Fairytales Book Three

  By A. B. Keuser

  Contents

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  Thank you!

  About the Author

  Other Books by A. B. Keuser

  Copyright

  Copyright

  Dedication

  For Andi

  ONE

  Once Upon a Time…

  Heinrich could remember the first time Prince Maximillian had grabbed him by the wrist and ran with him through the palace. He’d been fourteen, the prince fifteen, and they’d been scolded by any number of staff before Max pulled him into a dark alcove and kissed him.

  This time, Max’s grip was lighter, his pace less excited. Unlike their first journey through the palace halls—and so many others after it—today would not end with as pleasant a result.

  Max towed him through the doors to the queen’s audience chamber. Lined with clockwork minions, the room danced in the long shadows of candlelight. They walked to the center of the room as king and queen looked up at them. The queen’s iron-painted lips were turned down in a scowl as though she hadn’t demanded their presence. The king looked away, nervous as a dog who had peed on the carpet.

  “I see you brought your pet,” Hagnesofia said, her dark, clawed fingers trailing over the too-white skin of her arm. The lines of magic traced like veins, disappearing moments after they’d been drawn.

  She sat on her throne of ever moving gears, as unnaturally rigid as the iron cogs that ticked behind her head. It shifted like a caged animal, ready to strike. She needed no crown to display her stature, power rolled off her with the sickly stench of magic.

  Flat, gray eyes turned from him to Max. “That’s fine.”

  Max stopped in the middle of the room. Hesitant, Heinrich stood to his right, a step behind.

  The prince glanced back at him once before asking the queen, “What do you want, Hagne?”

  Hagnesophia studied him as though he was a rat. “You will not be king.”

  Dark power filled the room with her statement and Heinrich tensed.

  Max had no particular designs on the throne, but telling him he couldn’t do something was the fastest way to make him push back—to prove that he could. This wouldn’t end well.

  Jaw twitching, Max crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t plan to abdicate for your spawn simply because you say so.”

  Heinrich hissed a warning behind him. Pride was expected from royalty, but challenging a fairy—one pregnant with the king’s child and tied to the world by a bond that could only be broken by the king himself—was insanity.

  Glancing sideways over his shoulder, Max shook his head. Heinrich could have argued with him, but the result would be the same as if he stayed silent. Chewing on his tongue, he waited. Dread sank in his stomach like a stone.

  The smile that parted the queen’s lips sent an evil shiver through Heinrich—it wasn’t from the sight of her needle-like teeth. Whatever the queen intended from this meeting, it appeared Max had given it to her.

  “Maximillian Defreaux, you defy your queen’s orders. That is treason and will be met with a just punishment.”

  “Don’t be like this,” the King said in a hushed tone that echoed through the room. “I told you, he’ll marry a girl from another kingdom and go there. We agreed.”

  Heinrich’s jaw tensed. The thought of Max marrying a woman from a far off country didn’t bother him. They both liked women, and there were three kingdoms where no one would bat an eye if they found one who loved them both. But the dismissive tone in the king’s voice, the way he seemed to have already sold off his son in his mind… that made Heinrich want to march up the steps and slap some sense into the man.

  The king’s seal read “Blood and Honor.” Clearly he cared for neither.

  Max, for his part, didn’t say a word.

  He stood perfectly still, his face impassive. It was an expression he’d worn every time he’d been in his stepmother’s company. It was his “you can’t tell me what to do” face.

  “No, Trenton, if your son will not bend to me, no one will. I could put down an uprising… this way, others will know they cannot stand against me.”

  Heinrich stepped forward in spite of himself. Neither the king nor the queen noticed. “We should leave, now. Swords can’t protect you from fairy magic.”

  “She won’t hurt me, not if she wants to keep my father in line.”

  “I don’t know if you noticed, but she’s got him wrapped around her clawed finger. I’m pretty sure he’d let her get away with a lot more than murder.”

  Max shook his head again and before Heinrich could say anything else, the queen spoke. “Treason should be met by death, but you deserve something quieter.”

  With a twist of her hand, dark magic slicked the air with an oily taste. Time stopped.

  The scream that ripped from Max’s mouth made Heinrich stumble backward. Then it was gone. From one moment to the next the prince that stood beside him vanished, replaced by an iron, clockwork frog.

  Rational thought—everything he’d said to Max a moment earlier—left him as his vision turned red. His sword was in his hand without a thought and he rushed the throne. Two steps and he was caught by hard metal pincers.

  The queen’s clockwork minion dragged him back, its grip compressing his wrist until he dropped his sword. It clattered to the ground and the sound echoed the queen’s laughter.

  “A treasonous prince and his devoted lapdog lover.” She stepped down from the dais and sauntered to him. She seemed to shrink with each step, until she stood in front of him, only an inch taller than he was. “I should have you killed. But what fun would that be?”

  “Love,” the king said in a warning tone as she picked up the frog that was Maximillian and dropped him into a dark gray velvet bag.

  “Your prince is going to leave this castle along with the rest of the cursed metal that filled this palace between my last rule and now. He’ll travel with a band of thieves who will sell him at Shisaido’s markets.

  “What use will Cyprean sailors have for an iron frog? He’ll be melted down, turned into something else, and in the fires of the kiln, he’ll suffer in agony. And you?” She smiled cruelly, her inhuman eyes narrowing at him. “You’ll die slowly, knowing you’ve lost him.”

  She pressed her clawed fingers into his stomach and tightness spread over him. Hard, cold metal wrapped around his waist, squeezing his ribs.

  “Find a way to enjoy what little of your life you have left… I know I’ll enjoy your death.” She pushed him back, and the only reason he did not hit the ground was that her automaton still held him. “Take him to a tower cell. I want him to have a clear view of the cart rolling away with his lover.”

  The automatons dragged him away. He couldn’t fight. He could barely breathe.

  By the time he learned how to inhale without tearing at the skin that had been soldered to iron, he was locked away in the dank round room. The pink sunlight of dusk bled through the barred window.

  Raucous noises from below echoed up and he dragged himself across the dirty floor.

  From this height, Heinrich could see the procession of renegades loading their cart with all of the non-iron metal objects from the castle. The cost of the items therein could have fed the whole kingdom for a year.

>   His grip on the bars tightened as the Druan Kimmler brought out the deep gray bag Hagnesophia had scooped the prince into. The queen’s lackey looked up at him and smiled as he handed over the bag.

  It did not move as one ruffian took it away. And as the full dark of night descended on them, the cart and its keepers trundled out of the palace gates, their hoard covered in a black canvas.

  Heinrich slid down the wall, sitting rigidly against the stone and watched the moon slowly arch overhead until it disappeared.

  In the darkness, he considered escape. The men guarding him were only following orders. If he could get past them without hurting them….

  Blowing out an irritated breath, he knew that was impossible. He’d trained half of them, and while he might be able to beat them when sparring, he wouldn’t be able to do so without harm if the blades were iron and their queen’s orders demanded his imprisonment. He had no idea what they’d been told his crimes were.

  He couldn’t get out the window. Even if he could get through, or remove the iron bars, there was no way he would survive the six story drop. There was even less of a chance he could cobble together a rope from the minuscule amounts of straw surrounding him. It would take too long anyway.

  The pain in his chest slowly eased and he was able to sit without the white heat stabbing through him. It was a small consolation; moonlight bled into the cell, taunting him.

  He flinched when the cell door screeched open. Too early for food, too late for visitors. Maybe the queen had decided to kill him outright.

  He touched the iron corset around his chest and shook his head. If she wanted him dead, she didn’t have to come for a visit to accomplish it. Her magic permeated the very walls

  Watching the door, he waited. For a moment, he wondered if it was a trick. Would they convince him to flee so they could justify his death?

  Hushed voices in the corridor outside put an end to that theory.

  When a man with a lantern stepped in, all Heinrich could see of him was his shoes. It was enough to know who his visitor was.

  The king had come to call.

  Clenching his teeth, Heinrich glared at the man. If his chest didn’t burn…. Well, then he’d truly be guilty of treason and the king would be dead.

  “You’re leaving,” he said, throwing a pair of bags at Heinrich’s feet. “I want my son back.”

  Heinrich didn’t move. “Your new wife won’t like that.”

  “I don’t need him here, I just need him alive.” The king raised his lantern and lines of worry etched shadows across his face.

  “If I can’t find him, you’ll have already let it happen.” Heinrich stood, pain shooting through his hips and chest. “Why did you let her enslave you?” He didn’t bother to hide his disgust.

  The king shook his head, but wouldn’t meet Heinrich’s eyes. “I love her, I can’t force her from this realm… but I can’t allow Max….”

  “For your sake, I hope he’s not. I will come back here and kill you myself if it comes to that.” Heinrich stared the man down, heedless of the fact he’d just spewed treason at his sovereign.

  The king didn’t argue.

  Snatching up the bags, Heinrich pushed out of the cell and clutched his stomach as he hurried down to the stables. His horse was already saddled. The king might want his son back, he might be doing his best to atone… but his opportunity to catch the wagon and retrieve his prince was lessening by the minute.

  Kicking his horse to a trot, he made his way out of the castle walls and into the dark of the forest with moonlight as his only guide.

  *

  Maximillian hadn’t given much thought to the way he would die.

  Being studied by a man who smelled like sewage and magic gave him time to ponder it, before he was almost returned to the bag that blocked his awareness. But when the moon rose, filtering through the trees, he had another chance at life.

  As the silvery rays touched him, he burst back into human form, startling the pair of bandits on the back of the wagon. They tried to finish him off with a swipe of unsteady swords.

  Surprise slowed them.

  He sprang to his feet—suddenly thankful for all the times Heinrich had forced him to spar without a sword—and kicked one off the wagon. The man hit the ground with a sickening thud and the other lunged before Max could regain his balance.

  When the second man knocked him over, he caught hold of the stinking thief’s wrists and managed to keep the blade away. Max’s throat wasn’t the only part of his body he needed to worry about: the change had left him naked.

  The other man was stronger. The blade inched down.

  Glaring at him with glazed eyes, the ruffian smiled. The movement was lazy. Enchanted.

  “Of course,” Maximillian spat out the words as he struggled to get his knee up between them to lever the man off.

  “What’s going on back there?” Another man called from the front, blocked from view by a high wooden seatback.

  The cart stopped abruptly, and Max tumbled to the ground. His opponent hit the hard dirt road beside him with a grunt.

  Max pushed to his feet as soon as he had firm ground to stand on and the other man slashed at his ankles, rolling as he tried to take advantage from his position in the dirt.

  The back boards of the wagon broke under the strain and a pile of metal trinkets, dishes and weapons slid to the dirt road. Max grabbed an ornamental sword from the glittering mess.

  It was gold, gaudy, and wouldn’t last long against a real blade, but it was the only option among the plates and snuff boxes that littered the ground. As soon as he snatched it from the pile, he drew the blade up to block the advancing blow from the thief who had scrambled off the ground.

  Crashing against the man’s blade, the sword dented with the first strike. Max clenched his teeth and met the next swing, cursing as the blade broke with the impact. He threw the sword aside and backed away. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember the exact way Heinrich had said to disarm a foe in a situation like this. He should have sparred with someone less distracting.

  For all that he had the advantage, the thief stalked forward in measured, mechanical movements. He lashed out before he was truly in striking distance and Max twisted, catching his wrist again.

  He kicked the man backward.

  Stumbling, the smelly thief crashed into the side of the cart. His weight broke the wheel and the entire cart sagged as though the axle had gone with it.

  Grunting, Stinky pushed himself away and glanced at the driver who walked warily toward them, his hands held out, a blade in each.

  Max stepped away from them, but had to pivot again. The man he’d kicked from the cart was back.

  Three against one. His luck was improving by the minute. Cursing under his breath, he looked for any advantage.

  He looked at each of the men—bigger than him, enchanted in gods knew what way, fully dressed, and holding five blades between them—and decided there was only one course of action.

  Stepping slowly backward, he waited until he felt the cold brush of tall grass against his bare legs. With one final glance toward the road they’d come from, he turned and ran.

  The forest around him changed quickly from wooden trees to metal—silver bark and leaves glinting in the moonlight.

  Metal branches scraped at him as he ducked through the denser bushes, his feet pounding on dirt covered with soft, silver-edged grass.

  They had passed from his father’s kingdom into Argentelle.

  He would find few friends here, but the chances he would be killed outright were smaller with their citizens than they were with the bandits chasing after him.

  The forest seemed to shiver around him, leaves curling away. He glanced to his side and would have sworn the trees moved.

  Each turn and bend he took seemed to double back on itself, the forest was a maze and he tripped twice before paying attention to the fact a path had been carved for him. It could have been there all along and he had managed to st
umble onto it. But it was more likely the path was enchanted. He’d have to take the risk.

  Argentelle’s queen was a fairy like his stepmother, whether she was a vicious dark fairy like the one who had ensnared his father, he couldn’t remember. He only knew they hated each other and had been locked in a feud that spanned centuries.

  Dodging a low branch, he paused to catch his breath. He doubled over, hands on his knees and shivered as cold metal touched his bare legs. The forest curled around him, and leaves writhed as if mocking him.

  His blood might have been so diluted as to only protect him from the most minor of metal spells, but he knew the forest sensed the darkness in him—sensed the iron that flowed through his veins stronger than that of a fully human man.

  He heard the men who chased him. Their voices were faint and echoed around him in a confusing melody. A moment’s shouting and their voices faded into the background.

  He’d escaped.

  Still, he ran further into the forest.

  The dead of night wrapped around him, and his legs burned as strongly as his lungs. When he finally slowed, his head swam.

  Breath tight in his chest, Max dropped to the cold forest floor. His whole body felt like one, raw nerve. Covered in dirt and scraped up by the foliage through which he’d run, he couldn’t bear to move.

  The sound of trickling water broke through his stupor, nudging him to survey his surroundings. The small break in the trees curved around a pool. The clear water was fed by a tiny, trickling waterfall at the far side. It wove through lichen covered, glittering rock. He crawled to the side of the pond and gulped down handfuls of water.

  Rolling onto his back, he stared up at the stars through the trees high above and felt as though the world had spun off its axis.

  Breathing heavily, he conceded to his need to rest, promising himself he would rise as soon as he was able and find his way back to the castle. He wanted nothing to do with his father, the crown or the fairy queen, but Heinrich…

  He vaguely remembered her spelling Heinrich. Closing his eyes, he fought with the scattered memories. They filled his mouth with the taste of metal and blood.