Enchanting the King (The Beauty's Beast Fantasy Series)

by E. D. Walker

  The magician Llewellyn brushed her sleeve and nodded for her to get moving. With a sigh, she shook away the troubling spin of her thoughts to remount her horse and fall into the line of riders.

  ***

  They rode for several hours that night until the ground became too rocky and uneven to risk traveling by moonlight. They made no camp and ate only the supplies they had in their packs: dry bread and smoked meat. Aliénor longed for one taste of a bright orange fresh from her garden at home. Or a strawberry. Even some of that violently yellow, sweetly tangy fruit they’d had at Ordinobl. The pineapple. She forced herself to keep chewing anyway and washed the dry, tasteless food down with an ice-cold mouthful of river water that she could feel inside as it trickled through her chest.

  When they all bedded down for the night, she shivered and wrapped her blanket more tightly around herself. The days were chilly but manageable—the nights she often worried she might freeze to death before sunup. Noémi and Violette sandwiched her in between themselves, and they all huddled close for warmth. Her two ladies dropped off to sleep almost at once, Violette snoring softly, Noémi muttering through her dreams.

  Aliénor’s rest eluded her. No hesitation. No regrets. She had regrets about so many things in her life. Was it selfish to want one less? Not that there was anything to be done tonight, but still…

  Well, the least I can do is let my ladies sleep. She, at least, seemed incapable of sleep at the moment. She pushed onto her elbows and gently kicked the blankets away from her legs as she stood.

  The men had made no fire when they bedded down, not wanting to risk anyone spotting the light. The moon was up, and bright enough for her to pick her way through camp. Aliénor tugged a blanket free and threw it around herself. One of the Lyondi knights sat posted as guard. She could just make out his silhouette where he sat propped against a boulder with his sword to one side and his legs stretched out ahead of him.

  As she drew closer, she frowned and paused. Surely not—and yet something in her was vibrating, thrilling with recognition. She dropped down beside him with a small murmured “hello” and felt him jump beside her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” She kept her voice low.

  “I heard you coming, but I thought you were one of my men.” King Thomas leaned against his rock, but there was a tension in his body, a stiffness to his shoulders.

  “Should you be on watch?”

  “Why not?”

  She tried to imagine Philippe acting in this way. If he’d ever spent a single night on watch like a common soldier, she would be shocked. Yet she could almost picture her father doing such a thing. He had valued his soldiers, and he had fought in real wars, not played at it like—

  Aliénor gusted her breath out through her teeth. I must not think ill of the dead. Philippe had been spoiled, coddled, catered to—but then, so had she. How could she judge him so harshly and not examine herself with the same attitude?

  What a mess it all was, a tangled knot of darkness and dissatisfaction that seemed ready to poison her whole life with its contagion. She drew the folds of her blanket tighter around herself, hunching into them.

  She and the king sat together quietly, although the night itself was not silent. To her right, the river rushed and gurgled, busy as ever, and the brush rustled in the forest as night creatures went about their business.

  “How do you know which noises are dangerous, and which are not?” she asked, breathing the words out in a whisper.

  The king shrugged, and she felt the movement all along her side. “The sound of steel being drawn is fairly distinctive, but any soldiers would be at just as much of a disadvantage as us if they tried to attack. The real danger will come when the sky brightens toward dawn, and there’s light enough to shoot straight.”

  “What about their magicians?”

  He made a small grunt. “If they set their magicians on us, there’s nothing for us to do anyway.”

  “So why worry?”

  “Exactly.”

  She shivered in her blankets. His fingers brushed her arm, making her jump, but he only reached for the edge of her blanket and tugged it more snugly around her shoulders.

  “You should go back to bed, Princess.”

  “I cannot sleep, and I do not wish to think. Or remember.” She curled her hands into fists inside her blanket and tucked her arms up around herself. Her stomach churned. Whether it revolted at her dry, unappetizing dinner or the wet, sticky memory of Philippe’s blood on her hands, she did not know. It had been days, and she had washed her hands many times since. Still, the coppery smell of blood seemed to linger in her nose. The memory of it pressed on her heart.

  “I am sorry for your loss, Princess. I’m not sure I said so before. Your husband…he seemed a good man. Dutiful. Pious.”

  Aliénor stifled a snort, something in her chest twisting to hear this gentle, straightforward man lie through his teeth like that. “Philippe was a sweet child when we first married. His family expected much of him. I think he would have been happier in some monastery studying omens and reading signs. He could have served Fate well, been a good oracle if his father had let him take vows.”

  “I suppose I can understand why his father forbade him that path. With only two sons and a war on at the time, King Bernard probably worried he might need Philippe to ascend the throne someday.”

  “He did, yes.”

  “Was this campaign Philippe’s idea?”

  “No. It might have been his brother’s, or mine. I hardly remember. I helped with the organizing, once we’d decided. I coaxed and cajoled the noblemen loyal to me to go, may their ghosts forgive me. I had no idea what real war would be like, and I wanted so badly to get away from Jerdun.” King Thomas made some noise of surprise. Aliénor could not see his face, but still her insides writhed. “I was raised on my father’s brave tales of the south, you see. The exotic palaces of the colonies. The wild weather and soaring cliff tops. Wind in my hair and a sword in my hand. Valiant deeds and treasure. All the stuff they sing in those jaunty war ballads. My father even composed a few of those songs himself.”

  “I never knew maids hungered after such accomplishments.” His voice was warm. Quietly amused, perhaps? Not disgusted, though. Not bitter or angry.

  She blew out the breath she’d been holding. “My father buried all his sons and had me when he was too old and stubborn to care about what was proper. I learned to ride and swim, hunt, shoot a bow.”

  “And fight?”

  “No.” She vented a wistful sigh. “Never that. His eccentricities only went so far.”

  “He named you his heir, though. There was a male cousin he could have named instead, wasn’t there?”

  She let out a low hum of pleasure. “Yes. Papa named me heir and said he was proud to do it. He knew I would take care of our island.” A chill breeze danced over her face, blowing bits of her hair to tickle across her cheekbone. She scraped her hair back, but the teasing wind only plucked it loose again. Irritated, she tugged the blanket up over her head and tucked her hair underneath it. “Philippe didn’t want a crusade at all originally. He certainly didn’t want to lead the thing or come along himself.”

  “What changed?”

  She drew her legs up, pillowing her cheek against her blanket-covered knee. “He wanted redemption for his sins.”

  “His sins?”

  She shook her head, which was foolishness since King Thomas probably couldn’t see her in the dark. She should not speak, should not tell the Lyondi king these things. Yet the memories boiled in her mind like dark, sticky oil. Her gut roiled. Philippe was dead, and she lived. It felt as if these memories, these regrets would burn her from the inside out if she kept them quiet and unvoiced. “Last year one of my husband’s vassals revolted, refusing to supply funds or men-at-arms. My husband led his soldiers in to take the town and castle. Philippe was angry, wrathful, and ordered his men to set fire to the castle.

  “In the heat of battle, they started torching the town as
well. The townspeople took sanctuary in their local temple. And then the—the temple caught fire.” She let out a ragged breath, and dashed away a tear with her thumb. “Philippe has—he did dream of it every night after that. He’d wake up screaming, weeping. After that, all his thoughts were about atonement. About living his life with decorum and honor.” About making sure she lived her life by the same code. “The guilt was a terrible burden for him.”

  Yet that tragedy had spawned this one as her husband moved from rash revenge to rash redemption. “When word came that the Tiochene were taking over our territories down here, Philippe decided the way to redeem himself was to reclaim our colonies single-handedly. Yet he never gave a real thought as to the how. The practicalities of the thing.”

  “You cannot blame yourself for what happened.”

  Aliénor swiped away more tears with chilled fingertips. “But if only I’d put my foot down, told him to wait, forced him to give this action the proper planning it needed.” But she hadn’t. For, truth be told, she’d been as anxious to escape their life, their problems, as her husband had been to escape his guilt. “This was supposed to be our grand adventure, a new start. But you cannot run from yourself, can you? Philippe and I might have traveled a thousand miles together, could have walked the whole world from end to end, and still the two of us could not have outpaced our failings. Our unhappiness.”

  The king had been quiet so long while she vomited out her secrets to him. What must he be thinking of her? Curse this wretched dark. Her blood flamed hot underneath her icy skin. “Forgive me, my lord, for burdening you with my secrets. I’ll go back to bed now and cease to trouble yo—”

  His hand brushed her shoulder and followed the line of her arm until he found her fingers and squeezed them. His hand was cold, but his grip was firm, and warmth began to uncurl inside her wherever his skin touched hers. “You do not trouble me, Princess. And nothing you could ever say would be a burden too heavy for me.”

  Her heart hammered now, punching away at her chest until she felt almost sick with it. “Th-thank you.” Alarmed and excited all at once, she tried to calm her racing heart, to quiet her panting breath. Never, never had she felt like this before. No hesitation—

  “My king?”

  Thomas jumped beside her, his shoulder knocking into hers, but his voice was calm. “Yes, Llewellyn?”

  “Shift change, Your Highness.”

  “Right.”

  Thomas pressed Aliénor’s hand and nudged her gently with his arm. She pushed to her feet, gathering her blanket around herself as she scurried away in the dark, back to her ladies. Her cheeks burned with excitement, with shame. She had been very foolish tonight, speaking with King Thomas so long. And alone.

  True, they’d been surrounded by his soldiers, and her own ladies had been within hailing distance. Still, the easy intimacy of the dark could be intoxicating.

  Foolish girl. To risk your reputation. The voice in her head sounded very like Philippe.

  Aliénor bit her lip, trying to rein in the smile that wanted to blossom. She had been foolish, but she had no regrets.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thomas wasn’t surprised Llewellyn wanted to lecture him about his talk with Princess Aliénor—he was only surprised the magician waited as long as he did. Llewellyn had let Thomas retire to his own bedroll and sleep the night through. Indeed, the magician did not broach the subject until they were up and riding beside the river the next morning. “What were you and the Jerdic princess talking about last night, my king?”

  Thomas gathered his reins and idly glanced about to see how close the others were. Aliénor—Princess Aliénor—rode toward the back, surrounded by Thomas’s men and her ladies. Thomas and Llewellyn were a little ahead of the others, within calling distance, but not so close that anyone could hear their conversation. Thomas sighed as he reconciled himself to his lecture.

  “Well?” Llewellyn said, raising one pale eyebrow.

  “Well what?”

  “What did the two of you talk about?”

  “Nothing that I will tell you.”

  “You trust her?”

  Thomas gritted his back teeth. Llewellyn’s paranoia had kept them alive many a time, but it could be wearing. Especially in this instance, when the magician was not entirely in the wrong. “She is the Jerdic princess. Of course I don’t trust her.” Yet that was a lie, wasn’t it? He’d trusted her with his life several times. Even last night. She could have easily slid a knife between his ribs and slipped away into the dark. Still, he’d let her sit close enough to him that he could hear each breath she took, feel her shoulders brush against his arm. Smell her hair, her skin.

  Llewellyn studied Thomas’s face. “She’s rather young for court intrigue, I grant you.”

  “Rather young for me, you mean.”

  Llewellyn’s pursed his lips in a look that almost certainly meant, You said it, not I. He was a wise man as well as a magician, and he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Llewellyn tilted his head side to side in a so-so gesture. “Certain sure, the princess seems very kind, very generous. But she is young, and perhaps she doesn’t understand as well as you do the consequences.”

  Anger spiked in Thomas’s belly, sharp and hot, but he kept his voice even. “Consequences?”

  “It’s clear to everyone here the girl is half in love with you. Even her idiot husband saw that.”

  “Llewellyn.”

  Llewellyn must have heard the warning in his king’s voice, but the magician only shook his head and leaned closer, made his voice even more urgent. “If her dear brother-in-law, the Jerdic king, thinks you have trifled with the girl’s honor, it will mean war with Jerdun. Again. You know the man wants another chance at seizing our lands. Don’t offer him so convenient an excuse. Not over something like this.”

  “I’m not trifling with her.”

  “But you can’t marry her, can you? The Jerdic king will want to keep her lands in his family. Moreover, after so many years without a queen, I don’t think our people will take kindly to a Jerdic princess. ‘A Jerdic princess to replace our dear departed Queen Rosamund? What is ol’ Thomas thinking?’ They’ll be suspicious of her, angry. They’ll think you’re an old fool taken in by a pretty face.”

  “Flattery, flattery. Please, feel free to speak your mind, oh wise Magician.”

  Llewellyn sighed. “I don’t mean to be cruel, my king. I’m just worried. You haven’t looked at a woman like that since—well, since your poor wife died. And that was fifteen years ago. I like Princess Aliénor. I truly do. I just don’t see how this can end happily.”

  Thomas ground his teeth together as he stared straight ahead. The mountains soared high away to the west, snow-capped peaks stabbing into the gray morning sky. The air blew heavy and scorching today, muggy with the coming storm. His skin was clammy and burning despite the chill in the air. Even though he had his armor stowed across his saddle, everything in him felt over-hot and tired. I wish I were a simple farm lad. Although, even if he were a farmer, he’d still be too old for Aliénor.

  Anyway, he wasn’t thinking of marrying her. That was absurd. She’d just been widowed. She was Jerdic. And since he wasn’t going to marry the girl, he should stay far, far away from her as Llewellyn advised. To do anything else was to court scandal and dishonor. Thomas straightened on his mount. “I thank you for your wise counsel, Llewellyn.”

  “Which means, ‘I’ll do what I damn well please and keep your bloody nose out of it.’”

  Thomas bit back a grin. “No, you’re right, old friend. I’ll stay away from her. Better that way.” Easier on his old heart, certainly. He allowed himself one small look behind, watching as the sunlight caught on a stray lock of red hair that slipped free of her braid. “Bah.” Foolish old man. He had half a mountain range still to cross and two dozen people to see to safety. What cared he for red hair at such a time?

  ***

  “He’s watching you again,” Violette whispered as she passed Aliénor
the canteen. They’d stopped by the river to water the horses and eat quickly before continuing.

  Aliénor took a long swallow out of the canteen, then wiped some of the sticky paste of sweat mixed with dirt off her face with a handkerchief. As she passed the canteen on to Noémi, she frowned at Violette. “What?”

  “That…their king.” Violette’s lip twitched with dislike. “He watches you, Princess. I think he means to attempt some impropriety. And here we are, stuck in the wilderness with only his men to protect us.” The younger girl pressed a trembling hand to her throat and looked wildly toward the line of trees just up the ridge. “Perhaps we should try to get away from them.”

  Aliénor stifled a groan.

  Noémi was not so sensitive and laughed outright. “Child, we’d be dead in a day without these knights around us and their supplies. If they meant to demand such favors for their aid, they would have asked by now.”

  Violette drew herself up. “He wants her. I know the look of a man with that on his mind. Why, my husband always—” She broke off as sudden tears shone in her eyes.

  Aliénor’s own chest ached with sympathy, and she reached out to squeeze Violette’s small hand. “It’s all right, Violette. Really it is.”

  The girl gave one quick, fierce shake of her head. “He ought not to look at you like that, my lady. Our prince dead not even a week and him looking at you like that.” She hurried away to the river to splash water on her face.

  “Go with her, Noémi.”

  Noémi passed Aliénor her canteen and followed the younger maiden down to the river. Violette was without a protector now that her much older husband was dead.

  Although she was sorry for Violette’s grief and fear, Aliénor couldn’t help thinking the girl would be better off with a husband nearer her own age this time. Or none at all. Perhaps Aliénor could arrange things so Violette could keep her freedom. Fifteen years old had always seemed far too young to be married anyway. I was certainly too young. Of course, that hadn’t stopped King Bernard from giving Aliénor to Philippe.