The Battle for Princess Madeline
Kirstin Pulioff
The Battle for Princess Madeline
Book II in the Princess Madeline Series
Copyright © 2013 Kirstin Pulioff
Cover Copyright © 2014 Elizabeth Mackey Design
Edited by Magpie Editing & Quill Pen Editorial Services
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than which is published. Your purchase allows you one legal copy of this work for your own personal use. You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of the author. This book cannot be reproduced, copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload, or for a fee.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblances to actual places, people, or events is purely coincidental.
Second Edition- 2015
Visit the author’s website: www.kirstinpulioff.com
DEDICATION
Dedicated with love to my family.
To Chris, my very own knight in shining armor… and Adeline & Tommy, who remind me to dream big!
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
About the Author
PROLOGUE—THE QUEEN’S CHOICE
“Eleanor, you have to choose.”
“Why? Please tell me why.” Eleanor’s big green eyes pleaded with him.
He frowned, sighing and straightening his beard. His voice softened. “You’ve seen the mirror. You know what’s at stake.”
“That’s not fair. That’s not a choice.” ’
“You have a choice; there’s always a choice. It’s just not always an easy one to make.” He looked down at her quivering lips and lifted up her chin. “The fate of the kingdom rests on your shoulders. Your tiny little shoulders.” He sighed.
“But I don’t know him, and I don’t love him.”
“My dear child,” he said, “you will know him. Theodore is a great man and a good king. But it is your decision.” He stepped away, dropping his arms.
“I want to see the mirror once more before I decide,” she demanded, fire in her eyes.
“Of course, whatever will help you,” he agreed, leading her from the room.
A small contingent of wizards led Eleanor to the mirror, a crescent-shaped pond secluded in the mountains east of the kingdom and guarded by a grove trees. It took three days of hard riding to reach the secret location, giving Eleanor ample time to recall her first visit there a few weeks earlier.
The images played over and over in her mind. Her uncle had taken her there to help her decide by giving her a glimpse of the future. Sitting on the shore’s edge with her legs tucked underneath her, she had dipped fingertips into the cool water and asked to see her path. The ripples had grown.
Her first vision appeared, a memory of her family picnicking in the forest. Her parents smiled as she ran by with bouquets of spring blossoms, the soft petals blowing into the wind as she picked them off one by one. That was before the accident that took their lives, leaving her in her uncle’s care. The water shifted to show her the upcoming royal ball. She was dancing with a man, the young king. Her eyes twinkled, and she laughed as they twirled. The last grouping of images filled her with dread. In her arms, she felt the weight of her children: twins, a boy and a girl. They were both beautiful, with piercing green eyes that matched hers. In their eyes loomed a green dragon. The image faded to black.
That was it. A grouping of three visions to decide her future. Her uncle reminded her it was her choice, but he was pushing for a decision. She was only fifteen, hardly a grown woman. She wasn’t sure what she wanted. But the royal ball was approaching.
At last they arrived. Eleanor stopped her companions at the edge of the trees. The vision was hers alone.
Making her way quickly and quietly to the lake’s edge, Eleanor knelt as before, her soft gown tucked under her knees as her hands dipped into the cool water. A chill ran through her body as the water dripped off her fingertips. She took a deep breath, feeling a moment of peace amidst her anticipation. The trees rustled as she waited. Then, “I’m ready.”
The wind blew her hair back as her reflection began to ripple. A soft ringing made her sit up straight.
“Are you ready?” she heard whispered back in the wind.
Eleanor jumped. Her heart started pounding, and she glanced around, making sure no one had followed her. No one was there. Just herself, the trees, the rocks, and the lake. She looked back at the mirror.
“You can speak?” she asked, leaning forward, her voice shaking.
“I can do all,” it whispered.
“You haven’t talked before,” she countered.
“No one has doubted before.” The water stilled. “I showed you one path already. Here is another.”
Colors and images appeared on the smooth surface, beginning the same way as before. The sweet memory of her family picnic came first, and then the ball. She didn’t dance with the king, but stood off to the side, watching as he twirled with another girl.
The image faded and a new one formed. Flames, destruction, and terror burned in the waters before her. People she recognized faded off the lake’s surface as she stared in agony.
“No. No!” she yelled. The pictures continued, clearer than she wanted to see, more terrifying than she wanted to believe. “Make it stop,” she pleaded, tears streaming down her face.
Her companions heard her cries for help through the trees and darted out to meet her.
“Take me back. I must see my uncle,” she ordered with a quivering jaw and tear-stained eyes. The men led her back to her horse, and they rode as fast as they could back to the kingdom.
She found her uncle sitting quietly on her bed. Eleanor ran into his open arms and sobbed.
“Have you decided?” he asked at last.
“I have,” she replied, wiping the final tears away with the back of her hand. “I will do it. I will become the queen.”
“I found this for you, among your mother’s things,” he said, holding out a beautiful green silk gown, with gold embroidery and pearl accents.
Eleanor smiled as she held the soft silk. “It’s beautiful, but green?”
“Yes,” he chuckled at her. “It’s what we wear,” he said, pointing to his own robe.
“Yes, Uncle,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
“Our kingdom thanks you,” Elias said, turning to walk out of her room.
CHAPTER ONE
“Princess Madeline?” her professor called. “Princess Madeline!” he yelled, whipping his willow branch on her desk, shaking his head. “Please pay attention. In the ancient days of the dragon
s, Lord Hawthorne created what we call ‘Hawthorne’s Theory,’ a series of complex battle maneuvers designed to startle the enemy and keep them off guard,” he continued, pointing to diagrams on the wall.
Princess Madeline could barely keep her eyes open. She was waging a personal battle between fighting off sleep during the day and fighting off her nightmares at night. Her eyelids grew heavier the longer Professor Warren spoke. The low, steady tone of his voice, the long lectures on lords, kings, and history, and even the bland beige robe he wore lulled her to sleep.
It wasn’t Professor Warren’s fault. He was doing the best he could to manage the thin compromise between King Theodore and Princess Madeline.
Earlier that summer, King Theodore had reminded Madeline of her royal duty and pressured her to marry. Outraged by his plan, she devised her own—defying him and running away to save her freedom. After being captured and beaten by bandits and narrowly escaping, she realized that she belonged at home. She returned, and new compromises were reached. Every day since, she and her father had performed a calculated dance, each giving in a little and each taking a turn leading, still trying to figure out some of the quirks of their arrangement. Professor Warren fit right in the middle, faltering under the control of King Theodore and the stubbornness of the princess.
“…And that is why his theory is generally regarded as a fool’s notion in the battlefield.” Professor Warren turned around and squinted, rubbing his eyes with his forefingers.
“Princess Madeline! Pay attention!”
Jumping at the sound of his voice, she opened her eyes, reluctantly leaving her dreams of sunshine and birds.
“Princess,” he sighed, “could you please explain Hawthorne’s Theory to me?” Crossing his arms, he waited for a response.
Madeline looked down at her notes. Brushing a few loose strands of brown hair out of the way, she smiled. Her papers were full of sketches of herself and Daniel, rather impressive ones, too, for only a few hours of work. She scanned the rest of her notes, feeling the professor’s eyes on her and hearing the tap-tap of his shoes.
Looking up, she gave him her most innocent smile. “Good Professor Warren,” she said, batting her sparkling green eyes. “You speak of Lord Hawthorne as if he were the most innovative of our leaders. I always believed my father, King Theodore, was the most innovative. What are the differences between their techniques?”
Professor Warren looked like he wanted to cry. His fingers tightened their grip around his willow branch and his temples pulsed. Since she had posed her response as a question, he felt obligated to answer and continue with his lesson. Madeline’s cheeks turned pink as she contained her laughter. An impish grin stretched across her face as he turned around to show her the differences.
She closed her eyes, concentrating on the warmth of the sun on her long brown hair and porcelain skin. With her slender build and royal upbringing, she epitomized the perfect princess—mesmerizing, charming, poised, and confident—though she was stubborn as an ox. Her chestnut brown hair draped her back in deep waves, and her emerald eyes were still closed to focus on her daydream for as long as she could.
Daniel filtered into her mind: his sandy blonde hair, the sweet way his bangs fell down over his gray eyes, and his gentle smile. His laughter filled her mind and ears: a deep, throaty laugh, full of playfulness and strength.
The laughter continued, and Madeline realized it was coming in from the window, not just her mind. Her eyes drifted over, watching the golden sunlight flood in.
She sighed and looked down at her notes and drawings. Already forgetting the lesson, she traced her fingers over the figures of herself and Daniel. Earlier that summer, she had broken many hearts by choosing her knight champion, Daniel, to be her betrothed, instead of the eligible royals.
Her sigh must have been louder than she thought. At the same time that she turned her gaze toward the sunlight, her professor sprang into action. His willow wand cracked against the window. With one swift twist, the drapery closed.
“Now, we will continue,” he said, looking down at her notes with a sigh of his own.
The throne room bustled with activity. With the rapid approach of the fall festival, the long line of farmers and villagers waiting to see the king wrapped around the grand hall.
The colorful outfits of the entertainers brought whimsy to the hall. A red tunic here, yellow and purple pants there—like festive flags blowing in the wind, the patterns moved and swayed with their steps. The warm aroma of freshly baked bread, herbs, and spices filled the air. The jingling of bells and tuning of instruments charmed the ears as the stewards checked and double-checked that all were in their correct arrangements. Even the clucking of hens fitted the clamor.
Every year around this time daily headaches burdened the king, reminding him of the price of planning this festival. The mixture of sounds from the hall and the weight of the crown pounded his head from mid-day on. The added importance of this year weighed on his mind. Just as King Theodore had his hand in the lessons for Madeline, he had other ideas for his son. This year served as an introduction to the more tedious occupations of leadership.
Madeline’s twin brother, Prince Braden, shared little in common with the princess. King Theodore thanked the stars that his son was his serious child. He might struggle to keep Madeline’s adventurous nature and stubborn spirit in check, but at least he knew his kingdom would be ruled by a steady hand when he was gone.
Adjusting his crown, King Theodore looked over at the never-ending line of colors, noises, and animals. With a smile, he waved the first person forward.
“How may I be of service today, good farmer?” he asked.
“Good King, my neighbor and I,” he started, pointing a finger back toward another farmer in line, “we’re both top sellers at the festival each year, me for my pumpkins and him for his squash.”
“You, please come forward,” the king directed, pointing to the other farmer.
A skinny man with a stained work apron and dirty pants with holes in the knees stepped forward. He bowed low to the ground and placed a basket, filled to the brim with squash, at the king’s feet.
“Please, continue,” the king said, waving his left hand and leaning his head onto his right.
“Your Majesty,” the first farmer began, bowing. “We both are successful in our own respective specialties, but his field workers are claiming plants that are on my land.”
“Not true, Your Majesty,” the other jumped in. “The plants are on my land.”
“Both of you claim the plants are on your land? Are they squash or pumpkins?” the king asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Neither,” they said in unison.
“Hmm…” King Theodore looked at each one respectfully and scratched his chin. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
The farmer’s eyes widened as they listened.
“Each of you is to prepare for the fair as usual—pumpkins and squash—your booths side by side. I also want you to sponsor a third booth together—for this mysterious plant. Those proceeds will be split between the two of you and me. Next year, be more careful marking off your crop rows. Next.” He waved the farmers off and winked at Prince Braden.
Surprise passed over both their faces at the next person in line.
“Prince Paulsen. Welcome.” The king stood, shaking his hand firmly. “This is a surprise. What can I do for you this morning?”
He sat back down and stroked his beard, his curiosity and eyebrows raised high. Prince Paulsen had not been seen in the kingdom since earlier that summer when Princess Madeline had returned.
Prince Paulsen was a noble from the southern territories near the Bay of Morengo, known for his charisma and well aware of it. He knew how to use good looks and pleasing manners to get what he wanted.
“King Theodore,” he began, bowing enough to show respect but not so much as to ruffle his perfectly-coiffed hair. “Earlier this season, I vowed my services to you. I searched for the princess and r
isked my safety for hers. Upon her return, I went even further than my word and captured all the bandits of the forest. It took months, but they’ve all been rounded up.” He flashed a smug smile.
“You have my gratitude. This kingdom truly values your valor and courage,” the king said, bemused. Prince Paulsen stared back at him. King Theodore raised his palm to ask if there was anything else on his mind. The prince’s striking blue eyes went flat, losing their twinkle in outrage.
“Your Majesty,” he continued, “I am here to claim Princess Madeline’s hand in marriage. Surely you recall our deal?” His voice got higher with each word. Snickers crackled through the throne room.
“Our deal, Prince Paulsen,” the king began, sitting up straight, “was that if you brought home my daughter, then she was yours to marry.”
Prince Paulsen’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“You see, Prince Paulsen, you did not bring her home, so you don’t get her hand.”
“But surely my work these past few months wasn’t for nothing?”
“Of course not; our kingdom thanks you. We can all sleep better now, knowing we’re safe.” A twinkle flashed in the king’s eyes as he held in laughter. He always enjoyed getting the better of someone.
Prince Paulsen glowered as the king waved him aside to call his steward forward. Leaning in, the steward whispered something into his ear.
“Perfect,” the king said, clapping his hands together. “Thank you for your hard work.” He turned to face the crowd. “Gentlemen,” he said, addressing the people still in line, “an important matter has arisen. Prince Braden will answer the rest of your concerns.” Prince Braden’s head shot up, and he straightened at the mention of his name.
The king stood and left the throne room, leaving Prince Paulsen fuming as the line of farmers snickered, hiding their faces behind their hands.
“Next,” Prince Braden called out.
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