Enchanting the King (The Beauty's Beast Fantasy Series)

by E. D. Walker

  She had not wished for the witch to follow, but of course that damned Mistress Helen had. The witch toyed with her dagger, watching the blade flash in the sun. “The King of Lyond is a great prize, my lord.”

  At the witch’s words, Aliénor’s skin went cold. “You cannot be serious.”

  The witch eased closer, trying to push Aliénor out of the way as they jostled for Philippe’s attention. “Think, my prince. Let me bleed King Thomas just a little every day and I—you can control his every action, every move. You can return home not just having reclaimed the colonies but having taken Lyond.”

  Aliénor’s heart hammered. “These Lyondi men saw her power, Philippe. They will know what is happening.”

  “So we kill them.” Helen shrugged. “We can make up any story we like after that. A daring rescue from barbarians. You saved King Thomas with your own sword. Anything.”

  Philippe caught his lower lip between his teeth. His eyes warmed a little at the witch’s suggestion. A desperate, tearing fear gripped Aliénor, and she grabbed her husband by both arms, forcing him to look her in the eye. “Philippe, if you follow Mistress Helen’s plan, all you will do is start another war with Lyond.”

  “Do you doubt my power, Princess?” the witch asked.

  “I doubt the Lyondi will let themselves be ruled by a man who’s clearly a puppet to foreign powers.”

  Philippe’s gaze flicked back and forth as he studied the ground, but she knew he was thinking, weighing his options.

  Aliénor pressed on. “We are in neutral territory, Philippe. I do not think the Prince of Anutitum will thank you for this offense. Your brother the king sent you down here to defend our territories. He did not send you to start a war with Lyond.”

  Philippe’s mouth pinched, but still he made no reply. The witch’s smile widened.

  Aliénor shook Philippe as hard as she could, and at last his gaze met hers in shocked offense. “Husband, you cannot murder these soldiers in cold blood. Is that the kind of prince you want to be? The kind of man? Why did you even go on this holy mission if this is what you would do? Will this be like that village all over again? I can still recall the smell of that burning temple even if you have forgotten.” Her voice broke at the end, and the remembered odor of charred buildings nearly made her gag.

  Philippe’s eyes swam with sudden tears, and he grasped her hand tight, mashing the bones together in his own remembered pain. “No, no, you’re right, my love. We must not become like the barbarians we were sent to fight.” He flicked a glare at Mistress Helen, and stepped away to approach the Lyondi prisoners.

  Mistress Helen accepted the snub with a small bow. As soon as Philippe’s back was turned, she glared at Aliénor. Aliénor shivered and looked away. With a grunt of disgust, Mistress Helen stomped away into the bustle of camp. No doubt looking for someone else to torment.

  King Thomas—how strange to think him a king—stood at Philippe’s approach, and how strange to think the two men were both royalty, for they could not have been more dissimilar to Aliénor’s eyes. Philippe was slim and slight where King Thomas was broad-shouldered and tall. The foreign king was older than her, but he moved with the sureness and strength of a soldier despite his recent wounds. He had the face of a soldier too, stern and rugged, yet still handsome for all that with a regal, leonine nose.

  Philippe made a small nod of conciliation. “King Thomas, forgive us our rough and ready methods, but this is a dangerous land. We needed to know how matters stood. Please, accept my hospitality. You and your men are welcome to travel with us as long as you care to. We are on our way to Anutitum, but there will be a port before then that I’m sure can convey you and your men safely home to Lyond.”

  Thomas—King Thomas—narrowed his eyes in brief assessment and held his hand out to shake on the bargain. “I accept your hospitality, Prince Philippe.” A formal declaration, and Philippe understood it as such, for he gave a formal half bow in return. When the two royals shook, the king’s massive paw almost swallowed Philippe’s delicate hand.

  Philippe smiled. “Come, let us seal our accord and share the Kiss of Peace.”

  King Thomas’s mouth gave a small, wry twist, but he allowed Philippe to kiss the back of his hand and returned the kiss himself. “I thank you again, kind prince. I have your permission to cut my men free, I assume.”

  Aliénor bit her lip to keep back an unwise chuckle.

  Philippe flushed. “Of course, of course. Apologies. We will find somewhere in camp for you and your men. I will send my healers to you.”

  “I have a healer among my own men, but if you could arrange for supplies to be brought, that would be appreciated.”

  Aliénor did not blame King Thomas for not wanting their Jerdic healers among his men. After witnessing Mistress Helen’s blood magic, she knew it to be a wise precaution on the king’s part. She stepped forward and touched Philippe’s sleeve to get his attention. “If it please you, husband, I can make arrangements for King Thomas.”

  Philippe flicked her a grateful glance. “It is well. See to it, my love.”

  Noémi returned, and she fell easily in step with Aliénor as they moved away from the soldiers. Aliénor cast one quick glance at King Thomas. He gave a small nod of thanks. She felt her cheeks heat and hurriedly looked away.

  “Did you do as I asked?” Aliénor murmured to Noémi as they moved through the camp together.

  “I sent the king’s chain mail to be cleaned by one of your servants, and I had all the bandages, sheets, and other detritus burned by the physician while I watched. He grumbled at the waste, but I thought boiling wouldn’t be good enough. Mistress Helen wasn’t pleased when she came sniffing around a few minutes ago.”

  “Good.”

  The camp was all a-bustle with people setting up the tents and fire pits for the night. A stream of stragglers was still riding in from the rearguard. The vanguard always had to stop at midday just to give the soldiers at the tail end time to catch up before nightfall.

  “Do you think the gossip has spread yet, about the king?” Aliénor asked.

  Noémi glanced around with narrowed eyes, like a village sage judging the weather. “No, not yet. But soon, I’m sure.” She pointed ahead. “The servants have finished readying your tents.”

  “Good.” Aliénor continued in a straight line to her own tent. She let out a sigh of relief when she stepped inside its coolness. Violette was already there with wash water prepared, and the gossip about the Lyondi soldiers did seem to be spreading, for she had already heard all of it.

  Her two ladies chatted and gossiped as they helped Aliénor to remove her travel-stained dress. That accomplished, Aliénor went to the wash basin to sponge away the day’s coating of dirt and blood.

  Noémi crossed to sit in one of the four camp chairs in Aliénor’s tent and sank her pudgy chin into one hand, her brow furrowed.

  Aliénor raised an eyebrow. “What troubles you, Noémi?”

  “Did you know when you rescued him?”

  Aliénor flinched. “Yes, I knew he was Lyondi when I had him brought back. He said something in Lyondi when he woke up.”

  Violette’s eyes went wide, and she lowered her voice to a scandalized whisper. “Why didn’t you say anything? Tell someone when you brought him into the camp?”

  “He was injured, barely able to stand. We are not at war with Lyond any longer.” Aliénor sighed. “We’re all so far from home. The Lyondi are here to defend their territories from the Tiochene raiders as well. In this strange land, doesn’t it make more sense that we be allies with them?”

  Violette opened her mouth, then closed it with a small snap, her uncertain gaze darting to Noémi.

  Aliénor knelt in front of Noémi, reaching to press her dear friend’s hand. “Noémi?”

  “A wise and practical thought, Your Grace.” Noémi’s voice was utterly flat.

  “Noémi, please, how do you really feel about this?”

  Her handmaiden was silent for so long that
Aliénor thought she wouldn’t answer, but at last Noémi wet her lips and gave Aliénor a level stare. “Sometimes when I forget myself, I can still remember the taste of my favorite horse, still smell my old home burning from the flaming arrows the Lyondi shot over our walls.”

  Gut churning, Aliénor rose to her feet. “Noémi—”

  Noémi waved her hands to ward Aliénor off, and her face was calm as she spoke. “I’m a practical woman like you, and we are far from home. The raiders that killed the Lyondi force still roam these mountains. I think by the end of this road we shall be grateful for all the help we can get. Even from our enemies.”

  Chapter Four

  Dinner was an awkward affair, with poor Philippe trying to make stilted conversation with King Thomas. A difficult transition that, to go from torturing Thomas’s men in the afternoon to fêting them with the sunset. Aliénor could have helped, perhaps, except Philippe had set out a table just for her and her ladies, “so you are not bored by all our military talk.” Rather so she would not speak too much with King Thomas. She noticed Mistress Helen still sat with Philippe, which seemed to Aliénor a social faux pas at best and, at worst, a grave insult to King Thomas.

  As dinner finished, Aliénor gazed at the darkening sky and studied its ominous blanket of clouds. The army had made camp on the slopes by the river, and now the whole shore seemed transformed into a jolly little city with tents and banners arranged on one side. The horses had been turned out to pasture in meadows nearby, and all her husband’s fearsome soldiers seemed transformed to country lads as they laughed and splashed each other on the river’s shore. Aliénor longed to take a swim in that cool water herself, but there was nowhere private enough for her and her ladies to bathe. For a moment she missed the warm waters of her island home with an almost physical ache.

  A chill wind kicked up and blew a tendril of Aliénor’s hair into her face. The tents whistled and flapped all about them. The air blew heavy and cold, damp with a promise of coming rain. Dinner had been concluding anyway, but with these ominous signs from the weather, Philippe rose and formally took his leave to return to his own tent.

  “Prince Philippe, a word?” He kept his voice low, but King Thomas caught up to Philippe very near Aliénor’s own table, so she could not help but hear their quiet murmured conference.

  Philippe raised an eyebrow. “Yes, King Thomas? Is there something I might assist you with?”

  “I wanted to drop a word of advice into your ear.”

  “Oh?”

  Aliénor winced, hearing that chill tone. Philippe did not like advice. He did not like anything that might call his authority or knowledge into question.

  King Thomas, either oblivious to the uninviting tone or determined despite it, shifted closer to her husband. “I don’t think you should let your men camp so close to the river. It looks like rain is coming on, and the water—”

  “King Thomas, I thank you for your kindly meant counsel, but I’m sure my men know what is best. They are experienced campaigners.”

  Aliénor bit her lip to stop herself from joining in the argument. She looked down to the river again, seeing it with new eyes. Were it a fine summer evening, it might have been appropriate to have men and horses camped so close to the water’s edge, but this was winter with a storm coming on. The scene no longer appeared cheerful to her eyes—now it seemed a disaster waiting to happen. She glanced again at the misty gray sky and felt her stomach drop.

  Violette had already finished her dinner, so Aliénor touched her hand to get her attention. “Violette, go to Lord Ysen and ask him to order the men to move back from the river’s edge.” She kept her voice low so Philippe would not hear.

  Violette rose from her seat, her face troubled. “Most of the men down there are not from Ysen’s force, though. They might not listen.”

  “Have Lord Ysen try.”

  Violette gave a determined nod and took herself off, one of the servants following behind as escort.

  Aliénor forced herself to finish her portion of dinner before rising. She knew how precious these supplies were, and she had learned over the long hard months not to waste food when it sat before her. She was still chewing the last piece of dried meat as she pushed to her feet to leave the table.

  “Princess Aliénor?”

  She whirled at the sound of King Thomas’s baritone, a pleasant prickling starting along her scalp. She swallowed and dropped a small curtsy. “King Thomas.”

  “I wanted to apologize for my deception earlier. Not telling you my name. I would not have willingly lied to you, especially after you saved my life.”

  “No, I understand why you did so.” She hesitated, wondering whether to speak to him about the dangers of the river, and then decided against it. She had already taken steps to avert potential disaster, and she did not want to be accused of scheming with the Lyondi king.

  “May I walk with you awhile?” he asked.

  A little thrill of feeling burst inside her, which she did not understand. She should have been wary of the attentions of this Lyondi soldier, not flattered. More evidence of the perversity of her nature, she supposed. She cleared her throat, then said to him in her best Court Lyondi, “I should be delighted to show you the way to Lord Ysen’s tents where you will be sleeping.”

  He blinked, startled, and a spontaneous smile broke over his face before he smoothed it away. “I thank you, Princess,” he answered her in the same tongue.

  They moved forward together in step, and Noémi fell back to walk beside the tall blond man from this afternoon, one of the king’s men. The Lyondi king clasped his hands behind his back and shortened his stride to match Aliénor’s. “How is it you speak my language so well?”

  Aliénor waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, my nursemaid was Lyondi. An old village woman who married a Jerdic soldier long, long before the wars started in your father’s time.” The memory of her old nursemaid was probably why Aliénor could never find it in her heart to hate the Lyondi as so many of her countrymen did.

  “How many of your cities are threatened by the Tiochene, Princess?”

  “My cousin, the Prince of Anutitum, first requested our aid. But two of our other cities further south will be in danger if Anutitum is taken.”

  “Yes. Four of our colony-cities were imperiled when we first left, and the damned Tiochene have already taken one of those since. Without much bloodshed, thank goodness.”

  “Really?”

  He shot her a wry smile. “These places have been our cities for only a generation or so. Most of the people in them are, shall we say, sympathetic to the Tiochene cause.”

  “I see.” Aliénor gnawed on her lower lip. What a complicated mess of politics. What a silly girl I was to throw myself into this without better knowledge.

  “I was a little surprised at our early dispersal from dinner.” King Thomas’s voice had gentled, as if sensing her inner doubt. Indeed, this subject change was a mercy. “Do the Jerdic nobility enjoy no music or poetry in the evenings? Surely the nights grow long without something to while the evening hours away.”

  Aliénor restrained a sigh. King Thomas did not know he prodded an older wound of hers. “My husband views this mission as a sacred crusade to reclaim Jerdun’s rightful lands. He thought it impious to bring along troubadours and bards on what should be a most solemn mission.”

  King Thomas’s mouth worked as he fought back some small sound, either of contempt or frustration. “Prince Philippe has led many military campaigns?”

  “This is his first.”

  “Ah.”

  “What?”

  King Thomas hesitated, then looked at her with a pleat between his brows. “On a military campaign, your greatest enemy is not necessarily the one you move to fight. It is boredom. The soldiers need some distraction, entertainment as they make the long march to war. If you do not provide it, they will find their own.”

  Aliénor opened her mouth, then swallowed the words down. I must not be disloyal. I must not
speak ill of my husband. Especially not to this man. Yet she could not help but remember the chaos that had followed her husband’s army like a poisonous cloud. They had been forced to hang three of their soldiers in the last two weeks for brawling and stealing. In every town they had passed through, they paid heavy fines and penalties because of the rowdiness of their soldiers. The last town had even refused them entry, barring their gates and only lowering supplies down to them in baskets from behind the city walls. She had thought the townsfolk overly cautious because of the Tiochene raids, but now she wondered.

  Wetness dripped onto her nose, and a wet plop hit her sleeve. “Oh dear. We had better hurry you back to your tent, King Thomas.” When she looked over, he was watching her, a warmth in his eyes that kindled an answering heat deep in her own belly.

  “I do not fear a little rain, Princess.”

  “Nor I, but it will give us a good excuse to run. This way.” She lifted her skirts a little and took off running, laughing as the rain kissed her head and shoulders. She heard the king chuckle behind her and the sound of his breath puffing out as he too began to race through the rain.

  When she recognized the blue stripes of Lord Ysen’s tents, she tried to slow to a stop, but the treacherous rain had wet the ground to a deep wet muck already. She slipped and slid in the gooey stuff. King Thomas caught her elbow but was too imbalanced himself. They crashed together and fell with a splat into the mud.

  On his knees now, the king lifted her by her arms. “Princess Aliénor?” Mud had splattered a trail of dots across his long aquiline nose. Seeing that, she choked on a laugh, and he grinned at her. “The dignity of kings, eh?” Chuckling, he smeared some mud away from her cheekbone with his thumb.

  Her skin tingled at the touch, and the laugh died on her lips. He hissed a quick breath out and jerked his hand back as if her skin burned him. Aliénor eased away from him and pushed onto her feet, sliding and slipping in the mud. King Thomas, unhampered by wet skirts, rose to his feet with better ease. He offered his hand down to help her stand.