by M. Lynn
The steady drumming of knives and arrows hitting targets rang in his ears. Wooden swords crashed together with constant thuds.
Stepping up to the straw dummy, he shifted his feet and brought the sword down on its neck. He repeated the gesture with more strength than before and his chest squeezed. He went to work beating the dummy as hard as he could, releasing every bit of pent-up frustration. The dummy couldn’t fight back. It couldn’t look at him with accusing eyes. It couldn’t break him.
He swung his sword again and again, but it didn’t make him feel any better, any stronger.
“Sire,” a gruff voice called through his haze.
He stopped abruptly and turned to see the crowd he’d drawn. How long had he been at it?
The man who’d spoken was a member of Alex’s guard but he didn’t know him well. Simon. Yes, that was his name. He was an older fellow who barely spoke.
“What?” he asked more harshly than he’d intended. The onlookers didn’t bow to him as decorum demanded. He got a few nods, but for the first time in months, he didn’t feel like the king. He didn’t feel like he was above them. On the battlefield, everyone was an equal and in the training yard, it was the same.
Respect there wasn’t given based on the nature of one’s birth. It was earned with the sword in your hand.
Simon stepped forward. “Your Majesty—”
Alex cut him off. “Not here. Please don’t call me that here. I’m just Alex.”
A smile split the older man’s face, and he nodded, accepting the plea easily. “Well, Alex, would you prefer to continue bloodying that dummy or do you want a partner?”
“It’s a dummy, there’s no blood.”
Simon’s grin widened. “Come on.” He led Alex to a clear space in the yard and took his stance. When Alex did the same, Simon laughed. “You’re really as terrible as everyone says, aren’t you?”
Alex couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so honest with him. Other than the words Etta flung at him, it was… new. He shrugged as Simon walked toward him.
“First, you need to relax,” Simon said. “Shift your feet farther apart and bend your knees slightly.” He scanned Alex’s form. “You hold the sword quite well. But you need to be aware of your feet at all times. They will allow your opponent to predict your next move, but they’re also the quickest part of you that can move away from an attack.”
Simon nodded once and backed away. “Come at me.”
Alex shifted his weight and lunged. Simon evaded the attack easily. “Come on, Alex. When your attack misses, don’t back off. Attack again quickly.”
All light was gone by the time they slowed their sparring. For the last blessed hour, Alex hadn’t thought of anything but his next move, the arc of his sword. His arm ached from holding the heavy wooden sword and sweat dripped down his face, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so good.
Simon was faring better as he grinned at Alex. “I dare say we’ll make a master swordsman of you yet.”
“I’d settle for adequate.”
Simon laughed. “I guess in the fight to come, you’re of more use as an archer. Though, as king you’ll be kept from the worst of it.”
“You think it will come to war?”
Simon set his sword down and scratched his jaw. “You’re the king. You know better than I.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
The old guard studied him for a moment. “When I was younger, magic wasn’t outlawed in Gaule, so we had descendants of Bela living right out in the open.” His voice was wistful. “They had a saying. Do you want to hear it?”
Alex nodded.
“Good men aren’t meant to be king.”
Alex’s lungs refused to expand. He’d heard that before. He’d thought it was a dream, but Etta whispered it to him before she left to rescue Edmund.
“What does that even mean?” he hissed.
Sadness washed over Simon’s face, pulling down the corners of his lips. “Phillip was said to be a good man, and he began the destruction of his kingdom when he went over the wall of Dracon, risking himself to protect the woman he loved.”
“That’s a fairytale. Bela was destroyed by La Dame, not King Phillip.”
“Some call it a fairytale. Others name it history. But the same lesson can be learned. Being king is much harder when the heart in your chest beats true.”
“How do you know mine does?”
“I’ve worked in this palace since you were born.” He smiled softly. “But we do not choose our roles in life. You were born to be king, good man or no. It only makes your path forward more difficult.”
“Good men aren’t meant to be king, huh?” Alex laughed at the absurdity of the statement.
Simon clapped him on the shoulder in a camaraderie Alex hadn’t felt since Edmund’s departure. His guards weren’t friends, but he was grateful Simon broke free of that thinking.
He was about to say something else, but the rumbling of a considerable crowd on the move sounded outside the inner gates.
Alex dropped his sword and didn’t bother grabbing his jacket as he jogged across the now empty training yard. Simon picked up his real sword and followed him. Once at the inner gate, he watched the torch-bearing mob march through the streets.
What the hell was going on?
He traveled past the gate and pushed himself into the crowd, getting lost among the faces. No one recognized him in the dark. They followed a cart that bumped over the stone road. It had a covered bed concealing its contents.
People stepped outside their doors as the mob passed, some joining them and others running back inside and slamming doors.
The cart blew past the open outer gate, the driver not bothering to acknowledge the guards on duty. Simon stepped up beside him and stayed close.
Alex knew where they were headed now and fear twisted in his gut as the newly built gallows loomed before them. He hadn’t had the chance to have them torn down yet. Anders and Camille had them built in secret. It was their way of dealing with the magic problem.
Two people stood on the platform with nooses around their necks.
When his eyes found his sister standing with Lord Leroy, he bulled his way through the crowd. Amalie stood with them, tears streaming down her face.
“You must see this,” her father was saying to her. “I will not allow you to turn a blind eye to the magic pestilence. Amalie, next time you’ll obey me.”
Alex grabbed Amalie roughly and forced her behind him to protect her from the man he now saw truly for the first time. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Your Majesty,” Leroy said smoothly. “You told me to take care of the problem of people from the Black Forrest.”
His face reddened, and he clenched his jaw. “And this is what you decided? This isn’t right. I told you to begin forming a plan.” He didn’t notice Camille stepping away from them.
“The punishment for magic is death. That is the plan.”
A blast of air blew straight for them, knocking them away from each other. It was all Alex could do to stay on his feet. He looked up at the gallows in time for the air to be cut off when the floor beneath the prisoner’s feet dropped away. Camille stood by the lever.
“No,” Alex screamed. The two unlucky souls struggled, their bodies jerking and flailing. Their faces changed color as they began to still.
Amalie’s sobs rang through the night, but Alex couldn’t look away. One of them was a girl who couldn’t have been much older than Amalie.
He reached back and pulled her forward to tuck her into his side. Her body shook. Lord Leroy moved toward the back of the wagon they’d followed and opened it to reveal three more wretched people.
“They’re too weak,” Amalie whispered. “Dany told me they can’t call their magic when they’re so weak. They can’t get themselves out of this.”
“Dany?” he asked.
Amalie began to cry again, pointing to the young girl still hanging from
the rope. “She was my maid. Father caught us playing a game with her magic.”
Alex squeezed her tighter before releasing her. He strode up to the gallows and stepped onto the platform. The crowd quieted as soon as they realized their king had arrived.
He clenched his fists at his sides but forced his voice to remain calm. “This is not how we do things in Gaule.”
A cry rose up from the crowd as they threw accusations at him.
He didn’t stop. “There will be no more death here today.”
“You’re weak, brother,” Camille yelled. “Father would have had them all executed.”
“Father is dead. I am king. You will obey me.”
Leroy narrowed his eyes before taking off back toward the castle.
“Sympathizer,” someone in the crowd yelled. Others echoed the statement.
“And we wonder why the magic folk hate us?” Alex’s voice boomed over the shrinking crowd. “Why they attack us? Maybe we deserve it.”
Those were the wrong words to say, and he knew it as soon as they left his mouth. Too many of his people had died. There was an anger in his kingdom that threatened to tear it apart. The crowd shouted insults and tried to push forward, but Simon appeared, holding his sword at the ready. That seemed to deter them. Eventually, they dispersed, leaving Alex, Simon, and Amalie with two dead bodies and three prisoners.
Alex surveyed the prisoners. Clean them up and feed them and they’d look like any of his people.
He made a quick decision. “Go.”
They stared at him, stunned and disbelieving. Simon reached into his pocket and procured a few coins, pressing them into their hands. He nodded, and they began to half run, half stumble down the hill that led away from the palace.
“Simon, I need you to go back into the castle for a few guards, a horse, and supplies. We need to bury them.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you.”
“I’ll be fine here. Give me the knife on your belt. Will you take Amalie back?”
“I’m staying with you,” Amalie cut in.
He wouldn’t argue with her so he nodded to Simon. When the guard was gone, Alex balanced on the platform and began to saw at the first rope with his knife. They’d used fraying ropes, so it didn’t take long before both bodies were sprawled on the ground. Amalie held her friend’s lifeless hand.
The crowd dissipated as a handful of palace guards rode towards them. Simon returned a few minutes later.
It was quick work to drape the bodies over the back of the horse. Alex’s mind immediately went to the meadow in the Black Forrest where Etta’s father was buried. He now knew that meant he’d been at Viktor Basile’s grave. These two deserved to be buried there as well, but it was too far.
Instead, they buried them at the edge of the woods.
A heaviness settled on Alex’s heart as they re-entered the castle. The streets were deserted, but he felt his people’s condemnation, anyway.
“I can’t go back to my father’s palace rooms,” Amalie said.
Alex felt for her. She’d been a good friend and had a good heart. Lord Leroy didn’t deserve her. Instead of taking her to her father, he led her into the family wing of the palace and stopped at his mother’s door.
The queen mother greeted them, her eyes showing her surprise at their dirt covered clothing. “You two smell like death.”
Amalie burst into tears.
“Oh dear, I didn’t mean that literally. Come in.” She placed an arm over Amalie’s shoulders. “They’ve drawn up a bath for me, why don’t you take advantage of it?”
Amalie sniffled and nodded, letting one of the maids take her away.
When she was gone, Alex ran a hand through his filthy hair and fixed her with a broken stare. “Mother.” His voice shook.
“Tell me what has happened.”
So he did, not sparing any detail. Pain flashed in the queen mother’s eyes when Camille’s role in the day was revealed, but her only other reaction was to wrap her arms around his shoulders, no longer caring about the smell.
He sank into her embrace. Even after he’d kept her confined in her rooms, she’d forgiven him easily. She always did. She was the one person in his life he could count on.
“Amalie can stay in Tyson’s room while you decide what to do with Lord Leroy.”
He nodded against her shoulder. “Thank you.”
“Always, my boy.”
He let himself relax for a moment longer before standing. “I’m going to seek my own bath and then fall asleep. Maybe when I wake, all of this will have been a bad dream.”
Chapter Four
When had his sister grown so cold? Alex sat on his throne in a perfectly fitted leather tunic. Silver rings were sewn along the collar and his crown sat nestled in his hair. He looked like a king. Good men might not be meant for ruling, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do his duty. He didn’t consider himself a good man. Etta didn’t think him true.
He shook his head. Today was not about Persinette Basile. It was about Gaule and the kind of kingdom he wanted to create.
He gave his sister a hard look, and she stared back unblinkingly.
“Kneel.” His voice reverberated around the room. There was always a crowd when he handed out judgments. Their curiosity irritated him, but he had no eyes for anyone but his sister. She was the last sibling he had in Gaule, but that wouldn’t save her from his wrath.
When she didn’t move, he cleared his throat. “Get on your knees, sister, before I make you.”
She pushed her dark waves of hair away from her face to reveal hard lines. His sister was considered a great beauty, but an untouchable one. She gripped her cane tighter and forced her knees to bend. Watching her sink down was painful. She moved slowly, but she hid the discomfort from her face.
Her knees hit the velvet carpet in front of the throne and she fixed her gaze on his face, challenging him. When she spoke, it was so low only he could hear. “You should not be the one sitting on that throne. You shame father. You shame our family.”
He lurched to his feet to stare down at her. “I am not the one tearing us apart.”
“If you’re bent on siding with the magic folk, why is your dear Etta still locked away?”
He refused to tell her Etta chose to stay in the dungeons. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing how wrong that had gone. Instead, he crossed his arms and scowled. “I am not siding with anyone.”
She spat on his boots. “You should be siding with the people of Gaule.”
Enough. He didn’t want to stare at her face any longer. He’d never gotten along with his harsh sister, but she was family. He’d spare her the dungeons not for herself, but for their mother.
He sat down with a rigid spine and flattened the wrinkles in his trousers. “Camille Durand, I hereby rescind your place in the order of succession.”
She gasped. The king had the power to reorder the line of succession but it hadn’t been done in a hundred years.
He continued. “A marriage contract has been drawn up. I’ve been quite generous with your bride price.”
She shook her head violently. “Who?”
Alex smiled. Even in punishment, he couldn’t be cruel to his sister. He’d chosen a nobleman twice her age, but one who was known to be kind and not a frequenter of court. His estate was in the far northern corner of Gaule where his sister would no longer be a problem to anyone. He wanted her to be happy, but he also needed her gone before he was forced to imprison her.
“Duke Caron,” he said finally.
“Caron? But he’s old enough to be my father!”
Alex sighed. “It’s a good match, Camille, and better than you deserve. He has already begun his journey here and should arrive within days. You will marry and then accompany him to his estate in the North.” He broke their locked gazes. “You may go.”
She shot him a final stricken look and stormed from the room as fast as someone with a lame leg could.
&nb
sp; Alex resisted the urge to sag back against his throne in relief. Instead, he gestured for Simon to bring Lord Leroy to the front. Simon jerked the hefty man down onto his knees. Alex had no kindness for Leroy as he had for his sister.
Leroy hung his head and kept his eyes firmly focused on the ground.
Alex was out of patience. “Lord Leroy, I hereby condemn you for carrying out executions without the crown’s consent. You circumvented me. We do not practice cruelty here in Gaule. Do you deny this?”
Lord Leroy lifted his eyes pleadingly. “I was doing what was necessary to protect my kingdom, sire.”
A sigh pushed past Alex’s lips and his voice softened. “I know you believe that.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of his throne and looked out at the nobles who’d come for this. Amalie stood at the back, her face scrunched with nervousness.
He looked back to Lord Leroy. “You will return to your estate. Focus on the running of your lands and the people under your care. You are no longer welcome at court. If you return, you will be arrested. If I hear of you perpetrating cruelty on your lands, you will be arrested.” He paused. “There is an ancient codicil in the laws of a betrothal. If one family falls into disgrace, the other need not honor it and disgrace their name as well.” He hoped Amalie would understand. “This betrothal is broken. The Leroy family and the Durands will not be tied by this bond.”
He grew silent and Lord Leroy fell forward, his hands curling in the carpet. “Sire,” he croaked. “This will ruin us.”
Alex stood and walked down the steps to stand over the man. He bent and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, my lord, but there is more. You were a great friend to my father, and your time here must be finished, but not your family’s. I hereby take the guardianship of Amalie Leroy. She will always be your daughter, but she is no longer bound to you, nor you to her. Her financial well-being, including her future bride price, is now the direct responsibility of the queen mother. Amalie will stay here at court, separate from your own disgrace.”
Tears broke free of Lord Leroy’s eyes. “You would take my daughter as well?”
Alex squeezed his shoulder again. “I am not taking anything, my lord. This was her request.”
