by K. M. Shea
He scratched his chin, then smiled with his eyes. “I will respect whatever decision you make, for I understand that your path is a hard one to walk.”
Angelique shut her eyes and raised her hand to cover them. She was silent for several long moments. “Very well.” Her voice was low but firm. “Send those you wish to remain awake outside of Ciane. I will set up the spell and add some natural defenses so Ciane cannot easily be broken into.”
Tears gathered in Princess Alessia’s eyes. “Thank you, Lady Enchantress. You have saved us.”
Sir Artemio tipped forward in a bow. “If you will excuse me. Isaia, come with me.”
Isaia followed Sir Artemio into the hallway and waited until the door was closed before speaking. “I request permission to remain in Ciane, awake.”
Sir Artemio tilted his head back to look up at him. “You wish to guard the princess?”
“Yes. And someone will need to stay here to guide the foreign princes and dignitaries to Princess Rosalinda.”
Sir Artemio grunted. “You are correct, but I had planned to leave a team in place.”
“The knights will be thinly spread as it is,” Isaia said. “They will have to guard the entire country and keep order. If Lady Enchantress Angelique puts in the defenses she mentioned, I should be the only one needed.”
“It will be a lonely assignment,” Sir Artemio warned.
“I don’t mind.”
Sir Artemio slapped his back, rattling his armor. “You’re a good knight, Isaia.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Chapter 9
Sleeping Beauty
Isaia, mounted on Valor, stood with Lady Enchantress Angelique and her eerie mount. Valor kept snorting at the supernatural creature and tried sidling away from it while keeping a watchful eye on the small clusters of horses and riders that trickled from Ciane.
Donaigh and Firra were settled about twenty feet away, squabbling like children as they waited.
“Alright, I have something in mind,” Donaigh said.
“I don’t care about that stupid word game. I should have burned Rumpelstiltskin to a cinder for teaching it to you,” Firra grumbled.
“Aren’t you going to ask questions to try and figure out what it is?”
“No, because you cheat!”
“I never!”
If all was going as planned, Princess Alessia, Prince Consort Filippo, and King Giuseppe were taking afternoon coffee, and the king would be completely oblivious of what was about to happen.
Lady Enchantress Angelique turned her mount in a circle. “I believe everyone is clear. Prepare yourself, Sir Isaia. Your mount might spook.”
Isaia shortened his reins and drew Valor a reasonable distance back behind the magic user. He tensed, waiting for the spell.
Angelique started speaking in lolling, twisting words of magic he couldn’t understand. When her hand extended towards the castle, a silvery mist crept over Ciane, obscuring the farthest parts of the walled city from view.
Guards standing on the walls drooped over—thankfully none of them were close to the edge—birds flying in the air landed and stuck their heads under their wings, and soon all was silent.
As the fog began to burn away under the onslaught of the afternoon sun, the enchantress turned her attention to the surrounding fields. Again she spoke in the language of magic, and the ground started to rumble. Brambles and thorns burst out of the earth, forming an enormous hedge that enclosed all of Ciane.
Valor had merely pawed the ground at first, but now, as the thorns grew higher and higher until they were almost the same height as the castle’s walls, and nearly as thick as trees, she reared. Isaia understood her concern. The brambles formed such a tight weave, it was impossible to crawl through.
Angelique woozily made for her horse, leaning against it for support. “There,” she croaked. “Everything is asleep—including all animals—and there’s a preservation spell layered in. It will preserve the moment in time so nothing in the city will spoil or rust, and the weather shouldn’t change.”
“Are you alright, Lady Enchantress?” Isaia asked.
“Yes, I’m fine. Just feeling a little ill.”
Donaigh and Firra ended their fight and joined them. “Are you certain?” Firra asked. “That was a much more complex—and powerful—spell than I was expecting.”
Lady Enchantress Angelique managed to drag herself on top her mount. “I’m fine. It just used quite a bit of magic.” She looked a little green, but her animal, for all its showy snorts and pawing, stood patiently as she draped herself over its neck. “You’ll need to hack your way through the thorns, Sir Isaia, to re-enter Ciane. They will replace themselves after a time, so have no fear of cutting them back too much.”
Isaia bowed while mounted. “Thank you, Lady Enchantress.”
Angelique waved faintly—still draped over her mount’s neck. “Happy to help,” she said. “What next, Firra, Donaigh?”
“We planned to look for Carabosso next,” Donaigh said, “as we’re not too anxious to return to the Conclave and get a lecture. Also, King Giuseppe put a bounty on Carabosso’s head, and I never say no to money.”
“If you will excuse me,” Isaia said. “I shall begin making my way to Ciane.”
“Of course.” Firra smiled at him. “Donaigh and I will try to drop by frequently to share intelligence. I hope the princes arrive swiftly!”
“Take care of Little Rose,” Donaigh said.
Isaia nodded and wheeled Valor towards the wall of thorns. The mare wasn’t exactly thrilled to approach them, but he could feel her relief at leaving Angelique’s strange mount behind.
When they reached the hedge, Isaia dismounted and unsheathed his sword, then began hacking a pathway inside. The thorns sheered easily under his magic-infused sword, but he would have to sharpen the blade after the repetitive use.
It took him about an hour to make a pathway big enough for both himself and Valor, and the mare’s nostrils flared red as he led her through the hedge that was thicker than a castle wall.
When they broke through, Isaia remounted Valor and rode into the city.
Just as Angelique promised, everything was silent, still, and asleep.
People and animals alike were slumped over, leaning against buildings, and sprawled in the streets—unnaturally silent. There wasn’t even a bird to chirp or a chicken to squawk.
Instead of stabling Valor in the Magic Knights’ stable—where any remaining horses would be sleeping—Isaia led Valor to a small private barn that usually housed horses for couriers but had been cleared out for the mare.
Leaving Valor safely stowed and chewing on some hay, Isaia made his way through the palace, checking rooms and hallways as he went.
He found the royal family. Princess Alessia and King Giuseppe were seated at the table, a tea tray set in front of them. The prince consort was splayed on the ground near the window—he had probably been looking outside the window before the spell hit him. Isaia took a moment to heft the older man into a chair.
Finally, Isaia checked on Briar.
She was alone—for Isaia had passed Lady Delanna on the ground with a basket of apples and had moved her to a settee for her comfort.
Isaia peered out a window at the cloudless sky. The early fall felt pleasant, and the leaves on the trees hadn’t yet changed colors, but soon fall would come in full force, and the air would turn cool—it was a good thing the lady enchantress had added the preservation spell.
Soon, hopefully, the foreign princes would come, and surely one of them would be worthy of Briar and bring the right love for her bright future. They had to.
Isaia twirled his sword, lunged forward in a stabbing motion, then whirled and swung his blade. Though it was midwinter and outside Ciane the thorn hedge was dusted with snow, inside the city it was as warm as a mild fall day.
Angelique’s spells held strong, and as Isaia—performing his training routine—whirled up and down the hallway, he wondered just
how powerful the lady enchantress was that she could place such a powerful spell on an entire city.
To finish his routine, Isaia climbed the east tower and stood on the top, wiping sweat from his face with a towel as he looked out over snow-covered fields. As he scrutinized the land, he thought he saw movement and shielded his eyes from the glittering sun.
He retrieved the spyglass he kept in the tower and, after several still moments—for the few birds that had moved into the city since the spell was cast spent their time pecking around in the castle courtyard—he was able to confirm. Over a mile away, shuffling across the snowy field, came several figures bearing a black and gold flag emblazoned with a white swan—the Arcainian standard.
Isaia hurried down the tower and returned to the palace to reclaim his swords and winter gear—which he would need outside the city. He roused Valor, who—disgusted with their quiet life—happily tore through the palace grounds and clattered down the cobblestone roads of Ciane.
She neighed loudly when Isaia slipped off her to open the city gates, and snorted when they left the mild temperatures of Ciane and joined the rest of Sole in winter. Valor pranced over to the small pathway Isaia maintained in the thorn hedge, kicking up snow.
He dismounted so he could lead her through the trail, cutting back the few thorns that had encroached since he’d cleared the path the previous week. He had to cut back the entrance—he usually tried to drag thorns to cover it so less than savory folk wouldn’t notice it—and popped out of the hedge with ample time to remount Valor and ready himself to greet the Arcainian emissaries.
Roughly eight men composed the party—all mounted on sensible, sturdy horses that looked like they would be comfortable even in the icy Kozlovkan or Verglas winters. Five of the eight wore the uniforms of soldiers. Out of the remaining three, one wore fashionable clothes that—though warm and covered with fur—would not look out of place in Sole. The other two were identically built—broad shouldered and nearly as tall as Isaia.
It was a smaller group than he’d expected, given that there were seven Arcainian princes and only one was married. (It was rumored another was spoken for, though nothing official had been announced.)
“What-ho, Magic Knight!” one of the broad-shouldered men chirped. “How goes the life of the knightly hermit?”
Valor snorted and bobbed her head. Isaia patted her neck. “You are aware of the situation?”
“That all of Ciane sleeps with your dear princess until she is awoken from her curse? Yes.”
“Nick.” The second broad-shouldered man said. “Shut up.”
“Forgive my uncivilized brothers,” the court dandy said. “I am Prince Gerhart—youngest son of King Henrik of Arcainia. These are my brothers, Prince Mikkael and Prince Nickolas. How do you do?” He bowed—still on his horse—with flawless manners.
Isaia was impressed but not fooled. All the royal family of Arcainia was involved in running the country. They had eschewed the usual cushy court positions, and instead ran the place like true government officials. Prince Mikkael and Prince Nickolas were in charge of national security, namely the army. Prince Gerhart was said to be preparing for a career in the Foreign Affairs Department, explaining his charismatic charm.
“I am Sir Isaia, a Magic Knight of Sole. Welcome to Ciane.”
The worst part of this role, Isaia reflected, is not all the lonely hours, but having to play host to princes and the like. In his short time as a host, he had learned that royals seemed to fear silences and had to fill every moment with words, a practice not embraced by knights. It made for stilted visits.
Isaia turned Valor back to the wall of thorns and led the way to Ciane. He did not miss the way Prince Mikkael signaled for their escort to remain behind.
Prince Gerhart, pulling his mount along, was the first to follow him. “Which royals have visited so far?”
“Prince Johann of Erlauf, the King of Torrens, and Prince Viggo of Ringsted.”
Viggo had almost passed out in relief when his kiss to Briar’s hand did not awaken her, and Prince Johann had asked Isaia with a small amount of confusion if the princess had a sister who lived in the country.
“A fair showing.” Prince Gerhart’s voice was warm and friendly. “Prince Toril—King now, I suppose—is off the market as he will be married to a lady of his lands next spring, but there are a few candidates left.”
Prince Nickolas snorted. “Like who?”
Prince Gerhart ducked a branch. “Crown Prince Lucien of Loire.”
“Oh, yes. That idiot would be a lovely contender. He’s even worse about his clothes than you are, Gerhie,” Prince Nickolas said.
Isaia led Valor through the last bit of brambles and turned around to see Prince Gerhart glaring at his older brother.
The idea of Briar with anyone made Isaia’s heart twist, but as he knew it was an unavoidable fate, he tried to think of it from a tactical perspective. Prince Nickolas is probably not the one. He is too carefree—he’s certain nothing will happen. Prince Gerhart perhaps…but Prince Mikkael would likely be a better match. He studied the trio, slightly surprised when he realized Prince Mikkael was giving him the same treatment.
Isaia nodded to him and led the way to the city gates. “This way.”
As they entered Ciane, the princes shed their hats and gloves, and eventually shrugged off their jackets and cloaks. When they reached the palace, he showed the princes where they could stable their horses, then began escorting them to Briar’s room.
“I thought only two of your brothers are…spoken for,” Isaia said.
“Yes,” Prince Gerhart said.
“Then will your other two brothers come separately?”
“No.” Prince Nickolas jumped up the last step with a jaunty smile. “We’re not actually here to try and awaken your princess—well, little Gerhie is, but Mikk and I are just his guards.”
Isaia blinked and stopped striding down the hallway. “I beg your pardon?”
“Steffen—that’s Crown Prince Steffen—said we should tell you this whole business of summoning men who have never met Princess Rosalinda to kiss her and see if they are her true love is idiotic and ineffective. He says true love requires sacrifices and unbreakable bonds. Mind you, Steffen has become quite the romantic since our swan curse forced him to be away from his wife for a season and—”
Prince Gerhart practically jumped him, slapping his hands over his brother’s mouth. “Shut up, you fool!” he hissed. “I don’t care what romantic drabble Steffen declared. Sole is still an important ally and the only country we don’t have a loan out against. If we alienate them, Elise will kill us! That is why we came instead of sending a messenger.”
Judging by the hushed voice the young prince used, Isaia was not supposed to hear this. It filled him with a mixture of dread and hope—for now he really didn’t want Briar to awaken for any of them, but he did so miss her mischievous smile and her deep belly laugh, and he would have given anything for her to just open her eyes and crack a joke.
Isaia opened the door to Briar’s bedroom and motioned for the three princes to enter it. His heart burned when he glanced and saw Briar, as motionless and still as she had been since the day her curse hit her, arranged peacefully on her bed.
Prince Gerhart approached the bed and bowed to the unconscious princess. He then dropped to one knee and, with the manners of a courtier, kissed Briar’s knuckles.
He did not seem at all surprised, or disappointed, when Briar did not stir. “She is quite beautiful. I am certain one day she will do Sole proud, and it is my sorrow that I am not her true love,” Prince Gerhart said. The young prince turned around and leveled his brothers with a look of fire.
Prince Mikkael sighed and crossed the room. He also kissed Briar’s hand—although he did so without the pomp and ceremony his little brother had used. He paused long enough to determine Briar did not move, then retreated to the door.
Isaia, Prince Gerhart, and Prince Mikkael turned to stare at Prince Nick
olas.
The prince rubbed his nose—which looked like it had been broken a few times. “What?”
Prince Gerhart looked ready to strangle him. “It is your turn, Nick.”
Prince Nickolas laughed. “Oh, no. I’m already engaged.”
“Captain Meier remains unaware of and unconcerned with your feelings,” Prince Mikkael rumbled.
“Well, Captain Meier is just as attached as I am—she just hasn’t acknowledged it yet.”
Prince Gerhart pursed his lips. “There’s nothing for her to acknowledge. She dumped you in a trough the day before we left.”
“Oh Gerhie, you’re so young and foolish. You can’t understand such noble concepts like love.” Prince Nickolas preened.
Prince Gerhart scowled and grumbled under his breath. “What I understand is that I am related to an imbecile.”
“We are sorry the princess sleeps on,” Prince Mikkael said, ignoring his siblings’ squabbling. “And I regret to confirm Gerhart’s words: our other brothers will not come.”
Prince Gerhart hastily inserted himself into the conversation. “What he means to say is that we experienced what an act of love can do when we were cursed ourselves. And…well…this is not it. I’m sorry, Sir Isaia, and I apologize.” Prince Gerhart’s eyes were genuinely pained as he glanced at Briar.
Sir Isaia nodded quietly. He couldn’t keep himself from taking a step towards Briar’s bed, his heart sinking with their words.
Prince Nickolas was quiet for once and stared at the door—clearly wishing he could leave.
Prince Mikkael, however, looked from Isaia to Briar with a quirked eyebrow. “I think it will not be long until she awakens,” he said, “if her true love can muster the courage.”
Isaia suspected the prince meant to imply something about him and his loyalty to Briar, but he was not moved. It still remained that he loved Briar enough that he wouldn’t trap her, but he was selfish enough and not desperate enough to put himself through the bittersweet act of kissing her when he knew he couldn’t have her—not yet anyway.
“Thank you for coming,” Isaia said—forcing politeness in spite of the disappointment that the princes had not succeeded. “I will escort you back to your companions.”
