One Knight Enchanted: A Medieval Romance (Rogues & Angels Book 1)

by Claire Delacroix

  In time the sisters were of a marriageable age, and a young mortal man came calling. He was handsome beyond all, gifted, yet moderate of speech, which pleased the father of the two sisters. He fell in love with Kira as suddenly as Leila fell in love with him. His mortality was not an issue, for the nuptial kiss of a djinn welcomes a mortal partner into the ranks of the immortals. What mattered more was his nature, which was good.

  One might easily imagine the jealousy that erupted in Leila once Kira expressed her affections for the young suitor. Leila delved deep into her store of forbidden secrets, and the love of Kira and her suitor was sorely tested in Leila’s attempts to drive them apart.

  But despite the odds against them, despite the pitfalls laid across their path, the couple’s love was of such magnitude that they overcame every challenge. Leila lied and cursed. Her attacks on Kira becoming more overt, but that golden child stepped through the worst calamity unscathed. Each failure made Leila yet more bitter, and she dove deeper into the shadows of arcane sorcery, but to no avail.

  It could be said that her spells only strengthened the bond between Kira and her suitor, for a good match faced with adversity will grow stronger to survive.

  Meanwhile, the wedding was planned and no expense was spared. Gifts came from far and wide for the happy couple, and the twin’s father, Azzam, built a palace for the newlyweds. It was graced with the gifts and the love of all in the community. It was claimed that Kira’s smile brought the sun into the central courtyard on the most cloudy day.

  Leila, not to be outdone, built a palace so fine that it tugged at the heartstrings of all who came near. Men were drawn to her palace’s beauty, like sailors to sirens upon rocky shores, but Kira’s beloved was immune. He remained in his new home, preparing for his nuptials, and doting upon his intended.

  Leila was infuriated that he spurned her lavish palace. She threatened to cast spells on those who attended the wedding, or those who sent gifts. She cursed a man in the marketplace after he commented on her sister’s beauty and that man never uttered a word again. Similarly, those who gazed admiringly upon Kira from afar found themselves blinded shortly thereafter.

  When Leila’s actions were no longer hidden and could not be denied, the mother of the twins knew that the battle had to stop. Azima knew more than most of the extent of her daughter’s stubborn nature. From the beginning, Leila had been a child bent upon her own satisfaction, regardless of the cost to others. Fearing that her spawn might not be amenable to change, however artfully the idea was presented, Azima planned for the worst.

  She had hoped to never implement her plan, but Leila had driven her to it.

  A djinn goldsmith fashioned a bottle at Azima’s demand. He dictated that any djinn released from the bottle would be obliged to grant a gift to whoever was responsible. The resulting decanter was blacker than black, yet impossible to break.

  Azima took the vessel home, her heart heavy with what she had to do. She planned to visit Leila in her palace, but Leila would not receive her mother’s messengers. Invitations were ignored and even Azima herself was not greeted at her daughter’s home.

  Fearing disaster, Azima instructed Azzam on the role he must play, should anything go amiss on the day of Kira’s nuptials. As soon as Leila dove into the bottle, he was to put the cork in as firmly as he could. Azima reminded Azzam of their responsibility as parents, and made it most clear that all their love would never be enough to control one like Leila should she choose to ignore their appeal for reason. Azima made her spouse swear an ancient oath of uncommon strength to ensure that he would keep his word.

  Then she kissed him with great affection and he wondered at the cause. Perhaps even then she knew what would transpire.

  On the morning of the wedding, Azima was well prepared, though she hoped Leila would stay away and all her plans would be for nothing. When Kira stepped into the carriage summoned to convey her to the nuptials, Azima darted into the carriage just before it pulled away, even though Kira had asked to ride alone.

  Azima found Leila holding a dagger to her sister’s throat. Her plan was to substitute herself for the bride, and to cast a spell over the groom so he did not notice the difference until their vows were exchanged. Azima tried in vain to sway her daughter from this foul deed. Leila was resolute and Kira’s eyes were wide with terror.

  Knowing she had no other choice remaining, Azima pretended to surrender the argument. As they rode, she remarked that she had a decanter at home into which no djinn could fit. Leila scoffed at her mother’s inadequate powers, declaring that she would certainly be able to enter the decanter. Azima challenged her to prove it, offering to let whichever daughter could slide into the bottle marry Kira’s suitor.

  Leila accepted the offer without hesitation. Kira protested, but her mother waved her to silence. The carriage turned around at Azima’s dictate to stop at the home of Azima and Azzam. When the women arrived, Azzam fetched the bottle at his wife’s bidding and set it in the courtyard. He kept the stopper hidden, as if the bottle did not have one.

  Now Kira had been pinched by her mother and understood that she was not to attempt this feat. She walked around it, considered her path, behaving as if the matter were more complicated than it was. Leila, impatient, pushed her aside and slid into the bottle with a cry of triumph.

  Azzam revealed the cork a moment too soon and Leila guessed his intent. She tried to leave the bottle, but her mother pushed her the rest of the way in. Leila was overpowered by her mother’s determination to save Kira, but, in the last moment, her hand locked around Azima’s ankle. To the horror of all, Azima was hauled into the decanter along with her evil daughter.

  Azzam hesitated, then recalled his oath and jammed the cork into the bottle with shaking hands. The wedding was held as arranged, for all knew Azima would have desired as much, but the day was less than celebratory for Azzam and Kira.

  Despite Azzam’s hopes, no one could figure out a way to let one djinn free while the other remained trapped inside. Heartsick, Azzam hid the bottle away, unable to look upon it without guessing what his beloved wife suffered within its confines. It was not long before he died, as a djinn seldom does, his heart broken by his part in the tragedy.

  Though Kira looked for the bottle after her father’s death, wanting to ensure that Leila was guarded responsibly, it was never found. Kira and her husband lived long lives, then chose to follow the other djinn to their new realm. Leila’s palace continued to thrive for a time, drawing people to it seemingly against their will but never allowing any of them to depart.

  Over time, the world grew less tolerant of djinns and their kin, forcing those wrought of smoke to hide from mortals. The possessions of the wondrous house built for Kira and her husband were scattered and the house was occupied by mortals. Leila’s palace became a source of legends, though the path to it was lost. The story of Leila and Azima passed into legend and no one ever saw the dark decanter again.

  It was thus, it was not thus, in the oldness of time.

  It was the only tale in the book.

  There were many painted illustrations, presumably of Azima and Azzam, Kira and Leila, and Kira’s beloved. Annelise found an enormous image of a palace with gardens, a palace which looked much like the one she occupied.

  Was it the same palace?

  How similar were palaces in the east?

  Perhaps this palace had been made to resemble the palace in the book.

  Annelise closed the book, her heart chilling with a sudden thought. Could this be Leila’s palace? Had Leila given it to Annelise’s husband? Why? It said little good about Annelise’s spouse if he had won the favor of a djinn as malicious as Leila. That could not be it.

  She read the entire tale again, seeking some morsel of information she could use. The key to this puzzle was proving to be elusive indeed. She shivered and got to her feet, frustrated beyond all, and considered that she should take Mephistopheles for a ride. She imagined that he had become accustomed to her compan
y and the exercise.

  She was crossing the courtyard when she heard the subtle creak of hinges.

  It could not be! She raced through the palace, only to find that the gates were opening. She watched in astonishment. Slowly, almost reluctantly, the great gates yawned wider and wider.

  Annelise ran for the opening. She could squeeze through the space even now and be free. She would flee this palace, seek her husband, even return to Beauvoir if she must.

  She was between the opening gates, one foot almost on the other side, when she saw the wolf. She halted in her steps.

  She had forgotten about the hungry wolves. This one paced restlessly, as though he waited for something. When Annelise inhaled sharply, the wolf fixed his gaze upon her.

  He was waiting for her.

  It made no sense. He was just a wolf, a beast incapable of reason, but his steadfast stare made shivers run down her spine. She recalled only too well the wolf that had chased her toward these cursed walls.

  Her heart stopped when she saw that this wolf also had one blue eye and one silver-gray.

  It was the same beast that had chased her to the palace.

  Wolf and woman stared at each other for a moment that seemed to stretch to eternity. Annelise’s mouth had gone dry. She did not dare to run lest she provoke his attack.

  She took a cautious step backward toward safety.

  The wolf snarled and Annelise’s heart leaped to her throat. She hurried back, tripping over her own feet as the wolf bounded closer.

  “Close, gates, close!” she shouted. “Keep out the wolf!”

  The gates, curse them, remained ajar.

  Annelise ran through the garden as quickly as she could. She could hide behind something in the palace, climb atop a chest, barricade the stables, anything to save her life.

  When she reached the palace, she was surprised she had gotten so far before the wolf pounced upon her. Annelise paused and looked back.

  Only her own footprints marked the snow in the garden. There was no sign of pursuit.

  She saw the wolf pacing back and forth outside the open gates. He snarled, as though agitated, and Annelise grew curious as she watched.

  Why had he not pursued her?

  Perhaps he did not want to devour her.

  What could he want?

  The wolf ceased his pacing as though he felt the weight of her gaze. He turned to her and, though he was some distance away, Annelise felt pinned to the spot by his regard. She could feel his stare, just as she felt that of her husband, even when she could not see his eyes.

  Unexpectedly, the wolf wagged his tail.

  He looked much less fearsome, then, and more like a dog seeking approval. Perhaps the beast did want something of her. Had she been anywhere else, Annelise might have questioned the sense of this thought, but it was clear this palace defied her expectations in many ways.

  Perhaps he merely tried to lure her out into the forest because he could not enter the palace. She recalled the man-at-arms’ assertion that wolves were wily.

  But, Annelise thought, if the wolf could not or would not enter the palace, she could simply ensure that she remained inside the gates. She could approach him, discover whether he wanted anything of her, yet remain safe.

  It seemed a sensible plan, even if it felt particularly bold.

  Her heart was thundering by the time she reached the gates. The wolf did not even seem to blink as he watched her.

  “Do you desire something from me?” she asked.

  The wolf’s ears pricked up, then he trotted a dozen paces away. He turned and darted back to the gate, then repeated the motion.

  Annelise folded her arms across her chest. “You expect me to follow you? You must think me mad.” She spared a glance at the darkening sky. “Night will come soon enough and I do not wish to be alone in the forest with a wolf when it arrives.” She shivered, remembering her similar experience all too well.

  The wolf trotted away and back once more, his feet marking a trail in the snow. Annelise chewed her lip. Every instinct within her demanded that she follow the beast, although she knew it was folly of the worst kind.

  Curse her curiosity.

  “Why should I trust you?”

  The wolf opened his mouth in what looked like a smile. Annelise could have sworn he winked.

  That was it. Her mind was playing tricks upon her of the most cruel nature. How could she even consider following a wolf into the forest at night? How could she imagine such a beast could smile or wink?

  Evidently, solitude had dismissed any scrap of sense she might have had.

  It was odd that both the wolf and her husband had eyes of different colors, one blue and one silver-gray.

  Exactly what curse had been laid upon her husband?

  Annelise shook her head, dismissing what had to be whimsy.

  “This is madness.” She could not help but explain herself to the animal. “You are a wolf, a brute beast. You cannot possibly be urging me to accompany you, and I cannot be considering doing precisely that. Go away and leave me alone.”

  Annelise turned back to the courtyard, but the wolf let out a howl from behind her.

  She tried to ignore it, but the wolf barked sharply, then howled louder.

  “Cursed creature!” Annelise stormed back to the gates and pushed upon one heavy door. “Cursed gate! Close out this creature that I might be in peace.”

  She pushed and strained, but the gate was as immovable open as closed. The wolf ceased his howling when she drew nearer, and Annelise spared him a glance.

  He wagged his tail, reminding her of the pups the ostler had once bred in Sayerne’s stables. Who would have imagined a wolf might have a certain charm?

  Clearly, the cold was addling her wits.

  Annelise shoved at the door without success.

  “A plague on this palace,” she muttered, then stepped through the portal to try to pull it closed.

  Too late Annelise realized she had stepped over the line the gates made when they were closed. The wolf barked and the portal slammed closed so quickly that Annelise almost had her finger caught between the doors.

  She was locked outside the palace’s gates.

  She spun to face the wolf and propped her hands on her hips. “You did that,” she accused.

  The wolf wagged his tail as though conceding his guilt, then trotted toward the forest. He glanced back at Annelise.

  “You truly expect me to follow you.”

  He ran back to her, nuzzled her kirtle so quickly that she had no time to pull away, wagged his tail, then bounced along the well-trodden path once more. He waited on a small rise of snow ahead, his posture expectant.

  He might have been a puppy waiting for her to throw a ball.

  Annelise gave the gates one last shove, already knowing that nothing would happen. They did not budge.

  “It seems that I hardly have a choice.”

  The wolf barked and trotted into the woods. If she was going to keep sight of him and not find herself lost in the forest again, Annelise had to follow him quickly. She picked up her skirts, muttering under her breath, and did precisely that.

  The wolf set a killing pace through the forest, yet his path was straight. It was evident he had a destination in mind, and had Annelise not known it was ridiculous, she would have sworn his manner was anxious. He moved so quickly that she guessed it was distant. He glanced at the sky, which Annelise eyed with no small trepidation herself.

  The farther they traveled, the lower her confidence that she could return to the palace by nightfall. She was already uncertain that she could find her way back alone. There was no choice but to follow the wolf.

  He gave a bark some moments later and she saw his wagging tail. He raced back to her side, gave her a nudge, then hurried ahead to a clearing. Annelise followed him as quickly as she could, then stopped at the sight of blood in the snow.

  A carcass had been dragged into the forest to her right and she went to look.

&n
bsp; It was a dead wolf, the arrow still lodged in its throat.

  It had been eaten by its fellows and there was precious little left beyond the fur. Annelise staggered back into the clearing in revulsion.

  But the wolf nudged her again, leading her to the far side of the clearing. There in the snow were the imprints of horses’ hooves.

  Large shod horses.

  Annelise fell to her knees to examine the tracks, the wolf fast beside her. “A destrier,” she whispered, her hand hovering above one set of prints. “Fleeing to safety.”

  The wolf barked as if to agree with her, then pushed his nose into another set of tracks.

  “A second horse,” Annelise said in wonder, smiling as the wolf sniffed at more tracks. “A third and a fourth. Yves escaped! He rode back to Beauvoir!”

  The wolf barked and ran circles around her, apparently sharing her joy. Annelise was so relieved that she felt tears on her cheeks and her throat was tight. She had the curious urge to hug the wolf, but he was no dog.

  She turned to consider him and found him watching her again. “How on earth did you know to bring me to this place?” she asked softly.

  Once again, he seemed to smile and wink.

  Then he barked at the sky and darted to the other side of the clearing.

  Annelise understood. It was time to return to the palace. She blew a kiss down the path that Yves had taken, wishing him well, then picked up her skirts and followed the wolf.

  Although she quickly realized that he led her in another direction, she hurried after him, not wanting to be left to fend for herself. Darkness was falling quickly and if anything, the wolf ran more quickly than before.

  It was already twilight. Annelise’s hems were heavy with snow and her fingertips were chilled. The cold was growing more intense and, in only a matter of moments, the light would fail completely.