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

by E. D. Walker

  Remember that. Hold to that.

  A knight I was, cherished by the king himself. Respected. Renowned. The most beloved knight in all the land. A hero.

  But now I am a beast. What honor I possessed has disappeared along with my fine clothes and gold-etched armor. Along with my titles and honors and lands. Along with her…

  All lost, all gone, and now…

  The wolf’s upper lip curled back over his fangs, and a low rumble escaped his throat. Were it still a human throat, the growl might have passed for a rueful chuckle. From the throat of a wolf, the sound was little better than a deep snarling.

  And now? And now what? He bounded out of the cool shade of his den. His paws sank into the wet, spongy ground beneath him as he ran through the forest, fighting to outpace his thoughts. Normally he hid himself from the light of the day. The sunshine brought back too many memories of what he’d been—and hammered home all too forcefully what he was now.

  Today he found no rest wherever he went. All his soul searching only stirred up a restless, painful energy inside him. When you are a beast, what good is there in trying to think like a man?

  Echoing growls from his ribcage reminded him of what his human thoughts had distracted him from for too long: wolf, man, or otherwise—he was hungry.

  ***

  Lady Kathryn understood where her duty lay. She truly did. The hitch, though, the tricky part, the twisty trouble was…well, she was having a difficult time convincing herself that her duty was to do her duty.

  The royal court of Lyond had not taken part in a hunt since the marriage of the Princess Aliénor from Jerdun to their King Thomas a month previous. Kathryn had been one of the queen’s ladies only since Aliénor’s marriage, but in one short month Kathryn had grown very fond of her queen. She would do almost anything for her, but…did it have to be hunting?

  Riding had never been one of Kathryn’s favorite pastimes. When her father had gambled away the funds necessary to keep their horses, the loss of her late mother’s mare had caused Kathryn only a small touch of regret. She certainly liked horses, and riding could be pleasant, but this—this neck-or-nothing tear through the woods, the bouncing and jostling, that she could not like.

  Meanwhile, the great brute of a horse below her kept ignoring all her most urgent instructions. Clearly, the horse recognized who was master, and it certainly was not the featherweight astride his back, pulling at his reins. He had his head now and would not have slowed for a rider twice as skillful as Kathryn. With an angry whinny, the horse broke from the group of hunters and careened wildly off into the forest.

  Teeth jarring together, branches whipping her face, Kathryn clenched her legs around the horse’s sides and fought to hold on. Unfortunately, a bare moment later, she tumbled forward off her horse’s neck, the ground rising up to meet her. “Oof.” She lay stunned in the damp leaves, the musty smell of the dirt thick in her nostrils.

  Meanwhile, the careless beast who’d tossed her galloped gleefully back to his stable for some oats and a good brushing down.

  Kathryn pushed upright with a groan. “Oh dear.” The hunt was on, and her companions would probably not miss her for some time. When the world stopped spinning, she stood with the aid of an obliging tree trunk and took in her surroundings. The lush forest possessed a heavy covering of brush on the ground, clustering around the roots of the tall trees.

  “Help!” She put a hand to her chest, trying to calm her still-hammering heart. “Anyone? Hello?”

  The forest swallowed her cries. The only sounds around her were the gentle rustlings of wind in the trees. She swallowed her fear, stifling it, and started walking, hoping someone had noticed her difficulties and come looking. She would be having a very long day if they hadn’t.

  A strange noise caught her attention, and she tilted her head to listen. Barking, horses, and—the high-pitched howl of a wolf? She froze. I thought we hunted the hart this day. This thought was swiftly chased away by another and rather more alarming one: They’re coming this way.

  The crashing of hooves through the underbrush filled her ears, along with the bloodthirsty cries of the hunting dogs and the triumphant shouts of men.

  She stood at the edge of a small clearing. A hoyden in her youth, Kathryn was out of practice now and had a little difficulty maneuvering with her hampering skirts. Nevertheless, she swung herself up quickly enough onto the first branch of the nearest tree.

  Just in time too. The king and his entourage, having trapped their quarry at last, thundered into the clearing, their giant horses trampling over the place where she had been standing.

  ***

  The wolf smelled the dogs before he heard the sounds of the hunt echoing in his forest. The hounds scented him before they gave chase, howling and baying while they tracked his progress through the woods. His werewolf’s scent, and the stench of magic about him, always drove poor beasts like hunting dogs mad.

  Ah, well. The wolf believed himself rather smarter than even the wiliest hunting dog and had tricks enough to bring himself safely home. He stretched his muscles and broke into a run, shoulders flexing, muscles singing at the exercise.

  He caught a hint of smell then—the merest breath to fill his nostrils. But it was enough. A spasm of grief choked him, and a whine broke from his throat. The wolf stopped. He could not have moved if he’d wanted to—and he did not want to.

  My king, he thought, just before the hounds caught up to him. He ran then, cursing himself as he darted between the trees and slogged through the tangles of underbrush. Idiot. You let one smell on the air distract you long enough for the dogs to get your scent. Now what are you going to do?

  Befuddled and at war with himself, he fumbled through his escape, stumbling, taking wrong turns. His baser instincts pulled with every fiber of muscle for him to slip away and lose himself in the forest, foiling this hunt as he had so many others. Yet his human heart, and what parts of his head it still had sway over, urged him in the other direction—back to the humans. Back to the king.

  His hesitation, his dreadful indecision, gave the hunting dogs the edge. The wolf wore himself out running from them and from himself. If he didn’t focus—and soon—the dogs would get him.

  ***

  The swift hounds chased him for hours, wearing the wolf down, tiring him out so he would be too weak to give more than a token fight at the end. He remembered this tactic well from when he had been the hunter on the horse. He winced remembering all the poor beasts his prized hounds had chased down for him and the terrified, fatigued animals he had put to death as a man and ceremoniously carved up to feed to his hunting dogs.

  At least I know what happens next.

  The largest of the hounds caught up with the werewolf, pacing along beside him. The hound’s rasping breaths rang loud in the wolf’s ears. Dog and wolf were of similar height, though the wolf’s body had more weight to it, larger muscles.

  The hound, a whipcord of wiry strength with jaws of iron, pounced on the wolf. The werewolf dodged, and the deathblow meant for his neck fell instead to his shoulder. Searing heat erupted along the wolf’s side, and he snarled. The hound thrashed and bit down again with bruising strength.

  With true remorse as the wolf remembered how fond he had been of his own hounds, he savagely locked onto the dog’s neck. With a bone-shattering crunch, the wolf snapped the dog’s neck and ripped its throat open.

  Gurgling, eyes rolling back, the dog fell dead to the soft turf of the forest. Even as the wolf mourned the beast, he reveled in the metallic stench of the dog’s blood and savored the hot broth. Yet he did not linger long over his kill as the other dogs caught up to their dead leader. The thunder of hooves and the jeering calls of men echoing among the trees meant their masters weren’t far behind.

  With a whimper, he leapt into motion again, his long strides making his injured shoulder flare with pain. The wolf’s stomach rumbled from hunger. He could still taste the hound’s blood in his mouth, mingling with some of his own. H
is body ached from fatigue.

  His wounded shoulder betrayed him, and he stumbled. Falling, he rolled across the spongy earth, kicking up the rich scent of mud and the sharp tang of broken greenery.

  Wet and sticky with blood, the wolf rolled to his feet with a snarl. He blinked bleary eyes to focus on his surroundings. The dogs closed in around him, pressing him back to a tight knot of trees. He faced the pack of snarling hounds as their masters rode into sight just through the trees. He tried to stagger out of the clearing, to shelter, to safety, but a hound snapped at him and, growling low, forced the wolf back.

  The hunt thundered into the clearing, and the ground vibrated beneath his paws from the force of so many horses. Riders stalked the wolf on all sides, cornering him. Slowly the dogs crept nearer to tear him limb from limb for the delectation of their keepers.

  Let them come. He snapped at the nearest hound, growling loud enough that his whole body seemed to vibrate with the sound. I am not a knight anymore, but I can still fight. This I will do to the end. To the death.

  Through his haze of fatigue, he wondered idly why the dogs had not finished him yet. His human memory cheerfully supplied the answer to the wolf’s addled wits: in a hunt like this, the actual kill was saved for the highest-ranking member. In this case: King Thomas.

  The king was going to kill him. Then the nobles and other worthies would hack him to bits. Very ceremoniously and reverently, of course, but all the same, there would not be much left of the wolf at the end. Then, last, in reward for a job well done, the dogs might get to eat some of his mangled carcass. As far as an ugly death went, it was hard to top that.

  But oh, his body ached and his heart hurt, and if he got to see his king again…Fool that I am, that might almost be worth it.

  Buy The Beauty’s Beast now.

  Also by E.D. Walker

  Fantasy Romance/Fairy Tale Retellings:

  The Beauty’s Beast Fantasy Series

  Enchanting the King

  The Beauty’s Beast

  The Changeling Child

  Other SF/F Work:

  Heir to the Underworld

  The Weaver, An Anthology of Short Stories

  Contemporary Romance:

  (Writing as Eliza Walker & Beth Matthews)

  Love’s Last Call

  A Midsummer Night’s Fling

  Thanks for reading Enchanting the King. I hope you enjoyed it.

  Reviews are one of the best things you can do to support your favorite authors. I appreciate all reviews whether positive or negative. If you would like to leave a review for this book CLICK HERE.

  You’ve just read the first book in The Beauty’s Beast Fantasy Series. The other books in the series are The Beauty’s Beast and The Changeling Child, with more books coming soon. Join my Facebook group HERE to chat with other readers about this series.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Many thanks to:

  My editor Deb. My copy-editor at the Formatting Fairies. My cover artist Simone. My graphic designer Najla. My hard-working formatters at Polgarus Studio.

  My Viable Paradise writer buddies who brave the perilous word mines with me, especially my beta readers on this project Devin, Nancy, and Nadya.

  My supportive family (Mom, Val, Ev & the cats).

  And, of course, so many thanks, ALL THE THANKS really, to my handsome husband Biaggio (who completed SO MANY MISSIONS in Skyrim while I neglected him to finish this book).

  Apologies to Eleanor & Henry for the way I have mangled their histories and personalities (again!) for my own nefarious ends.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  E.D. Walker, a native of Los Angeles, is the author of The Beauty’s Beast Fantasy Series that begins with Enchanting the King. As a child, she grew up knowing all the words to the songs in Disney’s fairy tale retellings. (Sleeping Beauty was always her favorite.) Lo and behold, she eventually grew up to write fairy tale retellings of her own.

  By day, E.D. helps corral engineers for NASA (without doing any of the tech stuff herself, of course). By night, she loves to write her clever heroes and heroines bantering their way to true love. E.D. is a total geek, a movie buff, and a mediocre swing dancer. E.D. and her husband live in sunny Southern California with two of the neediest housecats on the planet.

  For more information about E.D., please visit her website, “Like” E.D. on Facebook and follow her on Twitter, Instagram, and Goodreads. Make sure you also join E.D.’s newsletter to be the first to hear about the next book in The Beauty’s Beast Fantasy Series. She’s always thrilled to hear from her readers. Email her directly at e.d.walker.author@gmail.com.