by E. D. Walker
With a gasp, she popped her head out of the water and sucked a deep breath into her quivering lungs. She held grimly onto her rope as the river rushed around her, trying to tug her back into its suffocating embrace. Her arms ached, and her body shivered hard enough to hurt.
Something bumped into her from behind and she startled away, an unwise scream causing her to swallow a mouthful of water.
It was the blood witch, facedown in the river. Aliénor caught at the woman’s clothes with one hand as Mistress Helen’s limp body rushed by. But Aliénor’s hands were too numb and cold-clumsy. The witch’s body spun away from her to the center of the river’s tide and was soon swept out of sight. Just one more piece of detritus from the storm.
“Princess? Princess Aliénor!” At the sound of Llewellyn’s voice, Aliénor’s eyes pinched closed with relief.
“Here.” She tried to scream it, but the word came out only a half-strangled croak. A board banged into her side, then a dead sheep. Her body was going cold, sluggish, her eyes drifting closed. Her fingers wanted to loosen on the rope, let go—
Llewellyn’s hands fastened around her arms, and he hauled her up like a landed fish, water sluicing off her clothes and hair. They flopped together onto the dock in an ungraceful tangle of limbs and wet clothes.
After a moment, Llewellyn groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows. “The witch is dead, then?”
“Drowned, I think. How did you know?”
He tapped his temple. “Her spell lifted off me, and I woke up. And the sleepers are no longer under her control.”
“Are they—”
“Still asleep. It’s my magic too in this spell, and unfortunately, mine was the stronger. Perhaps, if all else fails, I’ll have to—” He broke off and cleared his throat, staring at Aliénor. “Anyway, are you all right?”
She just shook her head and pushed unsteadily to her feet. “I’ll decide later. Let’s break this damn curse.”
***
The cursed sleepers had all collapsed again, dozing peacefully right in the middle of the road. Aliénor and Llewellyn dragged the ones by the dock under shelter to make sure no one was washed away or drowned in a street puddle. More in-depth help would have to come later. For now, the best thing for everyone would be to break the damn curse.
The nobleman’s house lay empty, of course. Discarded blankets and bandages littered the floor, and a few splashes of blood from men who had been forced to stumble out of bed to follow the witch’s call.
A note atop the table caught Aliénor’s eye, and she staggered over to the small scrap as if towed there by a leash. Her name was scrawled across the folded note. Eyes stinging, already guessing what she would read, she unfolded the paper. He’d written it in Jerdic. For her.
“Dearest Aliénor, I must leave you now to confer with your cousin.” A splotch of ink lay just there, as if he had sat thinking with his quill pressed to paper before he could continue writing: “Last night was the most wonderful night of my life. I hope we can discuss the terms of our mutual surrender again today. I leave my heart here behind with you. Guard it well until we meet again?”
***
For some reason, the blood witch had not drafted Thomas into her army of sleeping soldiers. He lay stretched out atop the jacquard quilt, his hands folded neatly upon his chest, his face still and composed like in death. He looked like a king, like the golden splendor of glory and honor personified.
I do not want a carven king. I want a tongue and teeth, pokey elbows, strong hands. I want willing arms and a warm kiss. Aliénor folded up beside his body, her knees giving out. She leaned over Thomas, water from her wet hair dripping onto his face. He did not stir, did not even flinch in his cursed sleep.
Llewellyn brushed her shoulder with his fingertips. “You should change your clothes. Dry off. Eat something.”
“No.”
“Princess—”
“No. No more delays. I put this curse on him. I will not make him wait to be free of it. Let’s try it now.”
Llewellyn held his empty hands out. A notch of worry had formed between his brows. “I’m not…sure.”
Aliénor thumped the bed in frustration. “You’re a magician. You drew this poison out of me.”
“The spell was weaker then. And I don’t want to risk you.”
“Risk me?”
He shook his head, half-distracted as if he didn’t quite have the words.
Aliénor gripped Llewellyn’s arm and forced him to turn toward her. “You have an idea, don’t you? What is it?”
The magician just shook his head, looking frazzled. “Kiss him.”
She recoiled. “Kiss him?”
“Yes.”
“Just kiss him? Like a silly fairy tale or something?”
Llewellyn folded his arms, brow furrowing in exasperation. “Look, when you kiss him I’ll open a channel up between you two. You follow that down and bring him back to us. Just leave all the fiddly magic bits to me, all right?”
Aliénor swallowed. “Fine.”
“If it doesn’t work and you get sucked down into the cursed sleep with him—”
“What?”
The magician flung up a placating hand. “Never fear. If this fails, I’ll just cut my throat and then all the magic will unravel. All right?”
“No.” They glared at each other for a long, tense minute. Then Aliénor swabbed water out of her eyes. “I’m not going to fail.” She breathed out through her nose and shivered, her wet clothes clinging to her skin. “You’re right, though. I should have changed my gown.” With that, she closed her eyes and leaned down, pressing her lips to Thomas’s mouth.
He was cold against her and still. It’s not working. She tried to ease back, but then something gripped her hard, drawing her down into darkness and cold. An eerie quiet. She gasped and stilled her instinctive urge to wrench away. No. I’m not giving up.
Instead of retreating, Aliénor threw herself toward that reaching darkness, toward the choking black mass boiling behind her eyelids. The magic took hold of her, a hard, angry grip eerily like being choked. She pressed closer to Thomas. She flung her will, her hope out toward the sleeping king. I love you, Thomas. Come back to me.
***
Thomas lay in utter darkness, numb, afraid. His legs felt chained, his arms pinned. Drawing breath grew more painful with each moment, as if someone were stacking rocks on top of him and steadily adding to the pile.
“You left us.” The voices of those he’d failed echoed all around him. His dead soldiers. His father. His brother, Hugh. His missing nephew, Gabriel. “You’ve destroyed the kingdom.”
Rosamund…
“You’d replace me with some foreign girl?”
“No. Not replace. Never replace.” His heart had been dead, dust-barren and empty for so long. How could Rosamund begrudge him this new growth with Aliénor? These hopeful green shoots of spring hurt, but they healed him too.
“The people will never accept her.”
“She’ll destroy the kingdom.”
“It will mean another war with Jerdun.”
“Thousands more lives lost because you can’t control your lust.”
He thrashed, trying to free his arms, trying to stop the voices as they swelled and crashed against him like a punishing wash of waves, a tide trying to crush him against the shore.
Rosamund stood beside him, her soft hands tracing over his brow. “Sleep, Thomas. Sleep. Isn’t that better? Sleep and forget.”
Under her gentle hands, the riot of voices softened to a gentle susurrus of whispers. Easier to ignore. Thomas expelled a tight breath through his teeth. He was so tired…
“Aliénor will be better off without you, anyway.”
“She’s so young.”
“So bright.”
“Why let her chain herself to a dried-up old man like you?”
“Sleep, dear Thomas. Just sleep.”
Thomas felt his head nodding, his chest aching. He let his eyes flutte
r closed, let his limbs relax in their restraints. “Yes. You’re right.”
“No.” The voice was soft, faint, but it brought with it a warm glow, a light that reminded him what sunlight felt like. Aliénor.
The voices emitted a chorus of hissing, and his eyes startled open again. When he looked around him, he did not see familiar faces. Rosamund was not here. Just a boiling black cloud. A formless evil thing. The cloud churned, but a figure moved behind. As he caught sight of red hair and a pale face in the dark of the cloud, Thomas tugged at his restraints. “Aliénor!”
She drew closer, the black cloud swirling and shifting around her as she pumped her arms, thrashing and swimming toward him even though the inky blackness tried to haul her away.
A firm hand grasped his chin and turned him away. He stared into the face of Rosamund. “Thomas, you must sleep. Just let go. Stop fighting and we can be together.”
He clenched his jaw, his heart aching with missing her.
“Thomas,” Aliénor cried out.
Rosamund’s fingers dug into the skin of his jaw. “Sleep and forget, Thomas. Forget your responsibilities. Forget your sorrows. Thomas…” She leaned down to kiss him.
“No, Thomas, fight!”
He looked back at Aliénor. Her summer-red hair swirled around her as if a great wind buffeted her. She gripped the edge of his platform, her fingers white. Tears streaked her cheeks.
He wanted to dash the tears away, but when he tried, the chains around his wrists clattered.
“Sleep, Thomas.”
“No!” Aliénor’s nostrils flared with anger. “Thomas, you’ve fought so hard for other people. To do the right thing, the honorable thing. Fight that hard for yourself now. Fight that hard for us.”
He turned his face away, tears stinging his eyes.
“Thomas,” Rosamund crooned and leaned toward him again. Yet when he looked at her, really looked, her skin was gray, wispy at the edges, like a face formed in a cloud.
He pulled as far away from her as he could. “I will always love you, Rosamund. But I can’t linger in the past anymore.” He’d done that for fifteen years, held so hard to the memory of her that he hadn’t tried to move on at all. “I want more than beautiful memories now. I want a beautiful future.”
The apparition hissed and recoiled from him, breaking into the black fog once more.
Aliénor let out a sobbing gasp of relief and flung herself against him. “We have to go.”
The chorus of voices erupted again, cruel laughter that sounded eerily like the blood witch, but magnified—as if the whole world were Mistress Helen doubled and doubled again. A whole chorus of cruel, laughing witches.
“You think you can have that with Aliénor? She’ll never forgive you. You choked her, nearly killed her. You’ve failed at everything. What woman would want you now?”
Thomas swallowed and pinched his eyes closed with pain. Of course. He turned his face away, turned from the grace that he did not deserve.
“Thomas.” The voice was stern now and so near. A gentle touch brushed against his cheek, forcing him to turn to her, to see her. And he felt her skin, her warmth. He wondered how that shadow touch could have felt so real to him when he had breath and life standing beside him now.
“It’s not real, Thomas.” Aliénor’s skin glowed faintly lustrous, luminous as a pearl, and the coppery-red waves of her hair danced gracefully around her as if stirred by a warm breeze. The maiden of spring. His beautiful princess with summer-red hair.
“Thomas,” she said again. A soft plea, a tender touch of her soul to his own.
“I did hurt you, Aliénor. I failed you.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I’m weak. Foolish. Old.”
“I choose you. I want you. Come back to me.” She gripped his face in both her hands, her sweet breath stirring against his skin.
“You deserve better.”
“Thomas.” She was fading, the light of her blinking out, dimming away. “Thomas, stop. Stop fighting me. Believe in me. Trust in us.”
He let out his breath, and it felt like one of the bands around him had loosened. A warm spring breeze seemed to tease across his face. “Surrender to you?” he whispered.
She smiled, and the whole world brightened around her, pushing the black fog back. “Yes, Thomas. Yes. I’ll surrender to you if you surrender to me. Remember?”
“Aliénor…”
“Thomas.” Her lips traced over his, gently, sweetly. Her mouth opened against his, exhaling warmth and life back into him. He opened himself to her gift, her light. Her life. Pins and needles started along his arms, pain. Light engulfed him, and a tingling warmth that almost hurt. Something pulled him forward, up. He felt dizzy, light-headed. “Aliénor?”
“I’m here. Follow me, Thomas. Follow me home.”
***
Aliénor gasped in a deep breath and her chest hurt with it, as if it were the first real breath she’d taken in her life.
The room spun around her, but Llewellyn caught her by the shoulders before she could fall backward off the bed. “It was so dark.” She frowned, and rubbed at an ache behind her eyes. “Did it work?” she whispered.
Thomas still lay quiet and unmoving on the bed, breathing deeply, eyes closed.
“My king?” Llewellyn’s voice shook.
“Thomas.” She leaned toward him, her heart hammering. She traced a hand down his cheek. “Thomas, it’s time to wake up.”
He still didn’t open his eyes, but his mouth crimped in a small smile. “But if I lie here and keep pretending, no one will make me do anything.”
Llewellyn barked out a half-hysterical laugh. Aliénor took in a shuddery deep breath, her heart swelling with a love strong enough to burst it. “Maybe you need another kiss, my king?” Catching her breath, holding it, she leaned down and kissed him again.
With a small groan, his mouth opened against hers, and he gasped in a deep breath, like a man swimming up from deep water.
She sat back and smiled at him, combing her fingers through his hair. “Hello.”
His eyes opened at last, and his gaze was warm on her face, adoring. “Aliénor.”
She bit her lip and traced her thumb over the soft curve of his mouth.
“Llewellyn!” A voice from downstairs. Someone calling. Someone else awake.
The breath gusted out of Llewellyn. He clasped the king’s shoulder in relief, then pushed Aliénor gently down on the bed. Llewellyn allowed no such rest for himself, but rose instead to go to the stairwell.
“Hello?” Llewellyn called down.
“Master Llewellyn!” It was Violette’s voice.
Aliénor closed her eyes, almost doubling over with relief. Praise be. Violette was awake. Violette was all right.
“Is the princess there?”
Llewellyn laughed. “Yes, yes.”
Violette clattered up the stairs, her voice still over-excited as she babbled from the hallway. “Everyone was asleep.”
“We know.”
“Even the Tiochene outside the walls were asleep. But they’re all awake now. All of us too. Noémi’s here.”
“Oh—”
“They’re retreating. The Tiochene. They’re fleeing into the wilderness.”
Aliénor widened her eyes at that.
Llewellyn grinned. “Scared of our magic, I wager.”
Violette stood in the bedroom doorway now, mussed and bloody, but beaming fit to split her face in two. “Anyway, Lord Guillaume urgently wishes to speak with you, Master Llewellyn. He’s outside. He wants to get all of us, soldiers, citizens, all of us people out of the city as fast as we can before the Tiochene return. Something about joining up with one of the other Jerdic city-states before he attempts to strike back.” She bit her lip, looking worried. “I think Lord Guillaume thinks this city is cursed now.” Her gaze flicked back and forth between Llewellyn, Thomas, and Aliénor. “He’s worried it was the Tiochene who cast the sleeping spell and it backfired on them. I
wondered…was it you?”
“No, it was Mistress Helen,” Aliénor put in before Llewellyn could open his mouth. Guillaume still did not know Llewellyn was a magician, as far as Aliénor was aware. Best not to let her cousin figure that out now, of all times.
Llewellyn tugged at the ends of his hair, pacing in place, his brow furrowed in thought. “All right. I’m on my way.” With a last sunny look at the king, Llewellyn hurried out the door to clatter down the stairs. Violette trailed behind him, happily rambling on about Lord Guillaume’s plans for evacuation and eventual reprisal.
Aliénor shook her head, ignoring the bustle outside the door, and leaned closer to Thomas. “King Thomas.”
“Princess Aliénor?” Thomas tilted his head to the side, his expression quizzical.
She brushed her mouth over his, teasing his lips with her own. “I received your note. Would you like to negotiate the terms of our mutual surrender now?”
A grin flashed over his face, and he sat forward to catch her about the waist, pulling her down on top of him. “I would like that.” He hesitated, and his gaze darted up to lock with hers. “I would like that very much. My queen?”
Aliénor caught her breath. Mutual surrender. Mutual compromise. Was that not the way to make a marriage work? Both of them moving together, working together in tandem. A team, a partnership. She cupped his jaw in her hands and leaned down to kiss him again. “Yes,” she whispered against his lips. “I say yes, my king.”
***
Thank you for reading!
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Read on for an excerpt The Beauty’s Beast,
E.D. Walker’s compelling follow-up to Enchanting the King…
The Beauty’s Beast
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Once upon a time…
Is that how all the stories used to start? After all this time, all this solitude, I’m not sure what I remember anymore. What is real?
Once upon a time I was a man. I remember that much. Not just a man, but a knight.
