Maelyn (The Nine Princesses Novellas Book 1)
Page 6
Maelyn knew what the miser called a ‘good price’. Even when he worked for the king he often asked to be paid with books rather than gold. But to trek up the hill on creaky ankles to ask her for only one…. He must’ve been offered at least a dozen in exchange.
“Who wants it?” Maelyn asked, genuinely curious.
The miser narrowed his ice blue eyes. “Someone,” he said, clearly suspecting Maelyn to try and trade the book herself, if she could.
Maelyn leaned back in her throne. “Then I’m sorry to disappoint you. I gave that book away.”
“Gave it away?” the miser looked at her as though she had given the nose off her face. “To who?”
Maelyn smiled. “Someone.”
Suddenly she felt guilty. By the looks of the thick, gem-studded book he carried, the miser had come to do a generous trade. And he had given her The Devious Damsel, which inspired her to use trickery with Uncle Jarrod. Though she hated to admit it, she owed the miser a debt of gratitude.
But when she tried to explain this, the miser’s forehead cluttered with wrinkles. “Never owned a book called The Devious Damsel. Never traded one either.”
“No?” said Maelyn. “What about The Heartsick Hero?”
“Never heard of it.” The miser’s eyes glinted. “Are they… are they good books?”
Maelyn’s mind churned with confusion. But beneath the tumult, one simple fact took form. “You gave nothing to Willow. Not one book.” Her hands clenched the arms of her throne. “Because he was trading for me.”
The miser’s sneer lines deepened. “If you desire my books, then come to me yourself. Don’t send the golden swain.”
“Because you enjoy disappointing me. Making me return, again and again, to beg on your doorstep.” Maelyn’s face was hard as a diamond. “You had better go. Now.”
The miser’s gaze shifted back and forth. “So you won’t tell me-”
“I said go, Dorian!” Maelyn shot to her feet. “Let me never see your face here again!”
The miser took a step back but quickly recovered his sneer. “Or what? You’ll kick me in the chin again?”
He had never forgiven her for that. She was only a frightened child when he lifted her off the road all those years before. She had thrashed frantically as he carried her to the shiny man’s horse, and her small heel had crashed against his chin. Father always laughed at the story but Dorian hated her for it. It didn’t help that he had to respect and serve a princess he had once scraped off the dirt.
“I’m not asking you to like me,” said Maelyn. “But so long as I am ruler of Runa, you will respect my commands.”
The miser gave a mock bow and a crooked smile. “Yes, my lady. So long as you are the ruler.”
Maelyn stiffened. “What do you mean by that?” But the miser hobbled out of the throne room in hostile silence.
For several minutes, Maelyn sat quietly, her chin resting on interlaced fingers.
She had better send for Willow.
Chapter 28
“You asked to see me, my lady?”
Maelyn turned away from the bookshelf. “Good day, Willow.” She had spent the past hour rearranging her books, moving her favorites to lower shelves. Her library never looked more beautiful.
Willow strode toward her, his boots hushed by the carpet. “I thought you left. I saw your uncle’s carriage when it passed through Merridell.”
Maelyn smiled. “Turns out I won’t be Prince Murdel’s bride after all.” She slid The Devious Damsel off the shelf. “Because of this.”
Willow looked startled. “Because of… that book?”
Maelyn told him all that transpired during her carriage ride with Uncle Jarrod. Willow leaned against the bookcase, arms folded, his face a blend of the shock and outrage Maelyn had felt. But he grinned through her description of the king’s symptoms as he slowly succumbed to ‘Red Fever’.
“It was the devious damsel!” Maelyn laughed. “She switched ingredients and spoiled the Wicked Pixie’s potion. So I switched Uncle Jarrod’s wine. I wouldn’t have thought of it otherwise.”
Willow smiled softly. “I’m so glad, my lady.”
“I’m glad it worked,” said Maelyn. “It might not-”
“No.” Willow stepped closer, barely a foot from Maelyn’s face. “I’m glad you’re not leaving.”
Maelyn pulled her gaze from the grip of his blue eyes. “Thank you,” she mumbled, forgetting what she wanted to ask. “Oh! Where did you get this?” She held up The Devious Damsel. Willow’s expression became withdrawn.
“And The Heartsick Hero,” Maelyn pressed. “I know they didn’t come from the Book Miser.”
The room had sunk to a cozy gloom as daylight crept back from the window, but she noted the darkening hue on Willow’s face. For a few worrisome moments she wondered if he’d stolen the books.
“They were mine,” said Willow. “After a few visits, I knew the miser wouldn’t bend. But I couldn’t disappoint you.” He smiled uneasily. “And you seemed to enjoy the books I brought.”
“I did,” said Maelyn, wondering why Willow acted like a bandit caught in the treasure room. She stood a bit straighter. “Willow, what is it you’re not telling me?”
Willow sighed, his features succumbing to a bashful smile. “I – I wrote them.”
Maelyn stared at him. Once again she became that knight thrown off his horse.
“I never had many books of my own,” said Willow. “So I learned to write them myself. You wondered why you never saw me before Rowan’s burial. It’s because I was always at home, writing. All day. All night sometimes.” He laughed. “Becoming the messenger has been good for me. It drove me out of my hermitage.”
“How many books have you written?” Maelyn asked.
Willow laughed again. “A lot!”
“Who reads them?”
“My family, mostly. Some friends.”
“Who copies them? Do you hire the monks?”
Willow shook his head. “I can’t afford copies.”
Maelyn gasped. “You mean… the books you gave me - they are all that exist?” She reached out, offering the book in her hand. “Here. I’ll give them back immediately.”
“No, Maelyn. They are for you.”
Maelyn.
He called her Maelyn.
Since her father’s death she had not heard a man’s voice speak her name. A queer feeling tickled her stomach and she looked down, suddenly shy. “But… why would you give them to me?”
A quiet moment passed. Then gentle fingers slid behind her neck. When Maelyn looked up, Willow pulled her against him and kissed her. Softly. Steadily. The book dropped from Maelyn’s fingers.
Willow released her, sliding his hands along her arms to her fingertips before letting go. He scooped up the book and held it toward her, smiling. “Good day, my lady.”
Maelyn clutched the book to her chest until the library door closed behind him. She leaned against the bookcase, breathless, her heart and cheeks burning with a fire never felt. She closed her eyes, savoring the light glowing within her like a new star.
Willow.
She heard the soft clop of horse hooves passing on the dirt road outside. With a frantic, unladylike scamper, she reached the window, shoving the curtains aside. In the russet glow of sunset she watched his mounted silhouette until it faded behind the Lumen trees.
Chapter 29
Maelyn found Arialain in the kitchen, helping with supper preparations. Two fat partridges sizzled on a spit in the cavernous fireplace and the air smelled sharp and smoky. Arialain stood at the rough worktable, her back to the fire, slicing turnips and leeks with a small knife.
“Where’s Heidel?” Maelyn stepped to the opposite side of the table, facing Arialain, and picked up the knife she imagined Heidel had been using.
Arialain shrugged, focused on her turnips. “Went to get something.” Her knife moved with rapid knocks against the wood.
Maelyn pulled a turnip out of a large wooden bowl
and cut off the greens. She sliced it into round disks and slipped them into another bowl nearly filled with chopped vegetables. Heidel must be planning to stuff the partridges. “Did you see Tofer today?”
Arialain paused a moment, then went on chopping. “No.”
“Hmm.” Maelyn reached for a leek. “Well, perhaps tomorrow?”
Arialain’s green eyes leapt to Maelyn’s face. Maelyn set down the knife. “Ari,” she said kindly, “I’m not fond of Tofer. I’m not sure I trust him. But he is your friend, not mine. I shouldn’t have meddled.”
“What about… what about his not being a nobleman?” Arialain asked.
Maelyn laughed. “Mother wasn’t right about everything. Just promise me you will be careful.”
“I – I will!” Arialain clutched the table. “Oh, Mae! Do you think there’s enough daylight?”
Maelyn glanced at the window. “If you take the fastest horse. You’ll miss supper, though.”
But as Arialain scampered out of the kitchen, Maelyn suspected that stuffed partridges were the last things on her mind.
Chapter 30
She’d forgotten about her trunks.
Maelyn shook her head as she paced the empty bedchamber. Somewhere between Runa and Grunwold, all of her possessions rode in Uncle Jarrod’s carriage. She had to borrow a nightdress from Coralina. It was purple.
But no matter. She would send Willow to fetch the trunks in a few days. Perhaps she would borrow another of his books before he left. He had wonderful talent. And she could help him. She could pay for copies so that others could enjoy his work.
She slid beneath the coverlet, her heart warming as she thought of Willow. How he looked at her. How he spoke to her. For the first night in months she forgot to miss her father. Something had healed when Willow tucked her in his arms. She felt whole again… though hungry for more.
She picked up The Devious Damsel, not quite finished, and opened it on her lap. She hadn’t forgotten Uncle Jarrod’s threat of a new king. Whoever that was, he must be treated as an enemy. Maelyn would have to hunt him down. And warn her sisters.
Despite this worry, Maelyn smiled. Her sisters had given her a festive supper. They had revived memories of their childhoods and laughed at them anew, lingering at the table until the candles burnt themselves into waxy puddles. Though no one spoke of it, Maelyn felt their joy in not losing their eldest sister. It was in their smiles, the quiet attention when she spoke, and the overly generous portion of stuffed partridge on her plate.
Because to them – and to Willow – she was not an orphan from a poor village. She was not a princess of Runa Realm. She was not even a sister or a daughter or a niece.
She was Maelyn. Just Maelyn.
That was real.
* * * * * * * * *
Epilogue
Earlier that day:
Where was Maelyn? Coralina flounced through the corridors, black curls bouncing. The hideous miser had finally gone and she needed to ask Maelyn about the next ball. Most likely she was burrowing in her book cave.
She turned down the corridor that led to Maelyn’s library. She examined her fingernails as she approached the door and so nearly collided with the man coming out.
Willow shut the door quickly. “Her ladyship wishes some time alone,” he whispered.
Coralina huffed a sigh, arms dropping to her sides. “Maelyn and her precious solitude. Why were you in there?”
“I was… delivering a message,” said Willow with a broad grin she didn’t understand. Only then did she notice that he wore the expression of a knight who had just won a tournament.
“Good news?” Coralina asked.
“I hope so,” Willow said cryptically. He gave a short bow. “I must go.”
Coralina raised an eyebrow as he stepped past her. She’d never seen him grin before. In fact, since her uncle’s arrival, she’d barely taken notice of this new messenger, this tall man with honey-gold hair.
Now she did.
“I’ll see you out.” Coralina rushed to his side. Willow made no remark as they traversed the halls but Coralina studied him with quick, sidelong glances. Blue eyes. Elegant profile. Confident stride.
A splendid man.
She lingered on the doorstep as Willow turned his horse down the road. In the russet glow of sunset she watched his mounted silhouette until it faded behind the Lumen trees.
Not now, she thought. She was already courting Prince Luxley. The baker’s son too, though no one knew that. Plus she had a ball to plan, a play to perform, and a few disloyal knights to punish.
Coralina shut the door with a grin that mirrored her memory of Willow’s.
Later, she thought. Later.
Book 2 in The Nine Princesses Novellas
Coralina
Click here to purchase Coralina.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Join The Nine Princesses Mailing List
Receive updates when a new book is released!
'Like' The Nine Princesses on Facebook
About the Author
When I was five years old, I told everyone I wanted to be a princess when I grew up. And I was dead serious.
Um… okay, it hasn’t happened yet. The U.S. is currently suffering from a sad shortage of princes to marry, handsome or otherwise.
So I do the next best thing: I write about princesses! And I love every minute of it.
The idea for this series sprung from a desire to write about a large family of princesses. I settled on nine because there are already three Powerpuff Girls, five Chinese Brothers, seven dwarves, and twelve dancing princesses. So nine seemed good. Yeah. That’s how my logic works.
I’m not actually adopted. But I share a lot in common with Maelyn. We’re both the eldest child in our families, a little bossy sometimes, addicted to reading, and not always as confident as we like to appear. But remember, Maelyn is a princess. And I’m still working on that.
Aside from being an author, I’m an artist who draws cute cartoons of dogs. A mommy of three boys who hate princesses (but like the dogs). A retail employee with a job that seriously cuts into my writing time. And a part-time college student. I barely have time to write this bio.
If you have more time than I do, I’d be forever grateful if you’d go HERE and write a review of my book on Amazon.com. Or, turn to the last screen of this book where is says “Before You Go” and rate my book on your Facebook or Twitter page.
Thanks so much for supporting an indie author. God bless you.
Anita Valle
Links to my Website & Books
Anita Valle Art
Coralina: The Nine Princesses Novellas - Book 2
Heidel: The Nine Princesses Novellas - Book 3
Sinful Cinderella (A Twisted Fairy Tale)
50 Princesses Coloring Book
The Best Princess Coloring Book
Dog Cartoons Coloring Book
Email: anitavalleart@yahoo.com