by Ella Ardent
The miller shook his head. “And then there was the sound of a boy’s voice. Royce returned, carrying the cat with some difficulty. She wasn’t small, that mouser, and was quite the burden for him. He froze, the cat spilling from his arms, when he saw Lars and the king. ‘Father?’ he asked, his voice high, his gaze flicking between them.”
“He spoke to Lars?” I asked, just to be sure.
“Of course. But something changed in the king’s countenance. I fear that was the moment he suspected he had been deceived by Marta. His anger was palpable. Royce clutched the cat so tightly as he retreated that she mewled and leaped from his embrace. She fled as he backed away from the advancing king. To me. I put my hand on his shoulder, knowing I would tempt death to defend a mere child, but my heart raced that I might have to. ‘Your son is tall for two years of age,’ the king said with a precision I knew to fear. ‘All the children in my family are tall,’ Lars replied and the king spun upon him. ‘But is he a child in your family?’ the king snarled, then slashed his blade at Lars without awaiting an answer.” The miller wiped his brow. “It happened so quickly. Lars stepped back, out of range, and stumbled in his haste. The king struck him again, cutting his lip with one of his great rings and tripped Lars so he fell over the edge of the hopper. The hem of his cloak was pulled down into the mechanism. I could see it wound around the shaft and being pulled between the stones as they turned. I cried a warning but the king struck Lars on the head with the hilt of his blade. I heard him collapse in the hopper. I made to run for the sluice, to stop the stones from turning, but the king leaped down and halted me with his blade.”
The miller shook his head. “I have a scar yet,” he said and pulled back his chemise to show me the line of an old wound, right upon his chest. “I saw the murderous intent in his gaze. I feared the worst. I knew that Lars was doomed, but I fled from the king. I seized the boy, who was screaming for his father. I carried him forcibly to my wife and insisted she lock him away with her in this very room.” He swallowed. “Royce saw, of course. He was looking over my shoulder. I didn’t think of it until it was too late. I should have caught him against my chest and held down his head. I should have ensured he couldn’t see.”
“So Lars was killed.”
The miller nodded. “The king ensured he was dead. I saw the water run red. It took days to clean the stones and much of the flour had to be discarded.” The miller heaved a sigh. “But worst of all, the king made me vow to tell no one what he had done. He made me pledge, on the life of my wife, to say that Lars had simply fallen. That his death was an accident.”
“But now the truth is surrendered,” I said, glad to know.
The miller had time to nod before a man cleared his throat behind us.
“What a treasonous lie,” the king said, his expression as fierce as I had ever seen it.
“It is no lie and you know it,” the miller said, bold now that he had uttered the truth. “My wife is dead, so you can take your reckoning from me.”
The king smiled. “That would be too simple. Your wife is dead. Your son doesn’t interest me. But I will have this boy as my reward.” His eyes revealed that he knew my identity as well as my gender. He seized me by the shoulder and hauled me to his side.
“But the boy is innocent!” the miller protested.
I fought the king, but he slapped me hard and when I fell, he ripped my tabard and chemise so that my breasts were bared. “This is no boy,” the king snarled. “And she is certainly no longer innocent.”
“No!” the miller cried.
The king made to grab me again and tried to flee. He was tall, though, much taller than me and in two steps he had snatched me up. His grip was hard but I didn’t cry out. I knew he would like the sound of my fear. I kicked him and he slammed me hard into the wall, so hard that the breath was driven out of me.
“You don’t need your voice for the future I have planned for you,” he said and I thought he would do it again. I tried to kick him, desperate to escape, and he seized my hair, his grip cruel. He banged my head on the stone wall with a chilling deliberation. “Nor do you need your wits,” he whispered when I tasted my own blood.
“Sir!” the miller protested.
“Speak again and I will have your tongue,” the king threatened. “That is the best way to ensure your silence.”
He cast me down and ripped the rest of my chemise and tabard away. He held his sword at my throat. “Remove your chausses and boots,” he commanded, his gaze intent. “From this moment forth, you will be naked and available to serve me at all times.”
I hurried to do his bidding, for rape was better than murder. My thoughts were spinning as I tried to think of a means of escape. He seized me and cast me into the mill, where the air was much colder. He locked the door to the miller’s abode, then the two other doors, one to the road and the other to stables where the miller’s son had gone.
The millstones turned, steadily grinding the flour.
The miller pounded on the door for release, but the king raised his voice. “Silence!” he cried, advancing upon me with a cruel smile. He sheathed his sword and unlaced his chausses and his voice dropped low. “I will have my first taste here.”
He took a step, then suddenly froze at a minute sound.
I had heard it as well and caught my breath.
Royce stepped out of the shadows where he had been hidden, his sword held high.
“Release her,” Royce said with that new authority. His countenance was grim, and I couldn’t tell whether I should be relieved or afraid. Would he save me, or simply take me for his own? Had he drunk the wine this morning?
“You have no right to give me an order,” the king scoffed as he pivoted to face his son. I took a chance and scrambled to my feet to run to the stable door. The king snatched at me again, and locked one arm around my waist. He easily held my feet off the ground, and his grip was sure despite my struggles. He wore heavy gloves so I couldn’t bite him, though I tried. I heard him draw his sword again and saw it flash.
“I have every right to uphold the law of the land,” Royce said, stepping closer.
The king laughed. “I am not bound by the law of this land. I am its law!”
“The king should be bound by the law of the land. The king should create it, enforce it and follow it,” Royce insisted.
“Spoken like the peasant you are,” the king sneered. “I will not name you as heir, after all.”
“I don’t care. Release her.”
“You have nothing with which to bargain. I hold all the assets. I always do.” The two circled each other. I struggled and kicked, but the king had an unholy grip upon me. “I will keep the maiden and I will keep the crown. You can go back to Marta and live in poverty again. Perhaps you will welcome its familiarity.”
“Perhaps I will raise a revolt against you.”
“You won’t succeed. I might let you try, just to enjoy your defeat.” I felt the king stiffen slightly and knew he would do something. I cast a glance at Royce and parted my lips to warn him, but the king flung me hard toward the millstones. I hit my shoulder on the stone casing that surrounded the bedstone and pulled myself away. I turned to see that the king had lunged toward Royce. Evidently, his quick move had been a surprise, for there was a bleeding slash on Royce’s cheek.
They battled back and forth, the mill ringing with the clash of their blades.
Royce flicked the barest glance at me and I knew his meaning.
I should run.
I didn’t want to leave him but knew that my presence was a liability. I spun and seized my torn garb. I tugged on my boots, unable to keep from glancing back at the battle between prince and king, and so I gasped when Royce was struck hard on the arm which held his sword. The weapon clattered to the ground and he looked up at his father, as if to plea for mercy.
I knew there would be none.
I raced toward the king from behind, pushing him aside and claiming Royce’s blade. The king laughed and
seized me by the ankle. He spun me and cast me over his shoulder, racing for the stairs as Royce lunged after him. He kicked Royce hard, then locked his hand around my throat, squeezing until darkness closed around me. I heard him laugh. I felt myself fall.
And then I knew no more.
Chapter 11
Royce
My mother always said there were things worth dying for. I had never believed her, not until I had to choose between myself and Eleanor.
It was easy to discard a kingdom to grant her the chance to escape.
It was easier yet to risk my own life to see hers defended.
I launched myself at the king, even as the memory of that long-ago day unfolded in my thoughts with perfect clarity. I wouldn’t see the king steal another from me. He made the mistake of watching Ellie fall into the hopper, savoring his triumph, and so he missed my quick pursuit.
Perhaps he underestimated me.
Perhaps he didn’t realize how much I had learned in the palace.
I was on him like a mad dog. I seized his sword and flung it aside, grabbing his dagger to cast it the floor below as well. I punched him in the nose so that his blood spurted and he was momentarily startled. I didn’t waste a second. I shouted for the miller and his son, even as I drove my knee into the king’s groin. He doubled over in pain and I grabbed his hair, driving his head into the wall with sufficient force to knock him unconscious.
Then I kicked his limp body down the stairs.
“How do I stop the mill?” I roared to the miller even as I leaned into the hopper. I couldn’t hear his reply. I caught Ellie’s ankle and pulled her up. I never thought I would be glad that her hair was cropped but in this moment, I was. Her torn chemise practically fell from her shoulders, proving that my father’s assault had its benefit.
I jumped down the stairs, carrying Ellie to the miller’s abode. I unfastened that door and he began to apologize profusely. I cared nothing for that, only for Ellie. She stirred in my arms and I kissed her brow, then touched my lips to that mark upon her breast again. Her eyes opened and she searched my gaze then smiled at me. “Royce,” she whispered, her relief making my heart soar.
“No more wine from Imperium,” I vowed with a smile, then urged her toward the miller. “See her warm, please, while I tend to this matter.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You will give testimony at his trial,” I said. “I ask only that you tell the truth.”
Relief lit the miller’s eyes. “I will be glad to do so, sir.”
My father was stirring when I bound his hands behind his back. I tied his knees together so that he was hobbled, then opened the other two portals. The miller’s son, Jacob, stared at the bound king, who began to complain mightily about his state.
“Will you ride to the village for me, please?” I asked him. “I dismissed my men but now have need of their services. You might have to ride all the way to the palace to find them. Say that I have need of a party of four knights to take a prisoner into custody.”
His eyes widened and he bowed. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
I turned to find Ellie standing in the doorway to the miller’s abode, a plain cloak wrapped around her shoulders. There was blood on her temple and a cut on her lip, a bruise rising on her throat, and her hair was chopped roughly. When she smiled at me, I was sure there was no greater beauty in all the world.
“It was you, all the while,” I said and she blushed as she nodded.
“It was.”
“I’m sorry that I didn’t see the truth.”
“You were beguiled.”
I smiled. “And so I still am, but it is by you.” I dropped to one knee before her and took her hand in mine. “Be my queen?” I asked, hoping she wouldn’t spurn me.
She lifted one brow, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You assume much, for you are not crown prince yet.”
“I will be, this very day.”
“I would wed you, whether you are to be king or not, Royce,” she said, to my delight. “Surely you know that you are the only man I love.”
“Surely you know that you are the only woman I could ever love.”
We kissed then, beneath the beaming miller, and had it not been for his presence, we might have done more.
My birthday was a day of marvels, just as I had hoped.
I was crowned king in that very afternoon in the chapel of the palace. The bishop placed the plain golden circlet upon my head as I kneeled before him. I was named both heir to the throne and king within the same ceremony, while my father shouted at the injustice of his situation in the dungeon of the palace. A beam of winter sunlight slanted through the high windows and lit the interior, setting gems afire and making me think it was the angels who sang so sweetly.
I couldn’t believe how much my life had changed.
Queen Ruby even joined the company for the service. I had never yet seen her and was shocked that she appeared to be so much older than the king. I had heard the rumors of her madness, though, and expected little of her, given that I wasn’t her son. She stood stiffly beside the bishop, her gaze fixed on some point in the distance and her countenance grim. She was dressed in blue and silver, her fingers heavy with rings, but she might have been carved of ice for all the emotion she showed.
That made me think of my mother’s simmering fury, and truly two women could not have been more different than the queen and my mother. It was remarkable to me that the king had been with both of them—but then, his marriage had probably been a matter of alliance and not passion. Perhaps he had not lain with the queen, and her barren womb was due to his absence from her bed.
I pushed such speculation from my mind.
I was king and that was a marvel.
I was disappointed that my mother hadn’t come to the service. There were a few from the village, allowed into the back row of the chapel as witnesses.
And there was Ellie. Hastily fitted into a splendid dress that must have come from the queen’s own closet, she was radiant in silver and white. Those dark pearls were wound around her throat like a great choker, disguising a bruise and making her look regal at the same time. That red heart fairly shone upon her breast and I could not wait to kiss it again and again. We exchanged our vows and I was humbled that she would trust me after what she had witnessed, but her gaze was clear and confident. The bishop married us after he had crowned me, and I placed a heavy golden ring upon her finger, marking her as mine.
When I kissed her at the end of the service, the entire company cheered. Most of my father’s guests had remained, and I knew there would be tales aplenty of their adventures in Euphoria. Ellie and I led the procession to the great hall, where the fine feast planned by my father to celebrate my coming of age had been laid.
Never before had my birthday been celebrated so gloriously. We dined upon swans and peacocks. We drank wine as clear as sunlight that bubbled on the tongue. There were sweets and confections, laughter and conversation, beautiful ladies and handsome courtiers every place I looked.
The best of it was Ellie radiant on my left.
I was keenly aware of the weight of the circlet upon my brow, and the obligation it carried. With Ellie by my side, I ensured that I spoke to each guest, learning their names and opening the possibility of diplomatic discussions. There was so much to learn and to do. I was excited by the possibilities and hoped I could find another with the wisdom of Balthazar. I was glad when Queen Ruby spoke to me of advisors and suggested two from the court as good candidates. I took her advice immediately, to show that I valued her counsel.
“You make a good beginning,” Ellie said when we bowed and waved to the guests before retiring to our chamber. “Do you truly mean to encourage such change?”
“I do,” I said. “For I mean to avert war, if it can be done.”
“My father was right, then,” she said. “War comes to our borders.”
“But not this night,” I assured her, raising her hand to my lips. “Although there will
be another conquest made, I hope.”
She smiled, an invitation in her sparkling eyes. “I am yours to command, your majesty.”
“I know,” I said, urging her into her chamber with anticipation. “And I mean to ensure you never forget the fullness of that.”
She might have laughed, but I caught her close and kissed her, loving how she met me touch for touch. Her hands were in my hair, her mouth feasting upon mine, her breasts crushed against my chest. Her nipples were hard and she was wet, the scent of her filling me with a desire that would never be satisfied.
And that, I suspected, suited both of us very well indeed.
Chapter 12
It was three days after the Yule when Marta heard the crack.
It was early yet, not quite dawn, and her hut was quiet. She was awake but not ready to begin her day, lying in her bed and thinking. Otherwise, she might have missed the soft sound. She rose quickly and looked in the cup on the mantle.
It was a small crockery cup, like the ones she used to serve her ale. She’d lined it with a bit of soft unspun fleece. Nestled in the fleece was the tiny egg she’d found in the cage after the second Golden Lovebird had died. She’d kept the egg warm, hoping but doubting.
But the shell cracked now and Marta smiled as the small yellow chick emerged from the egg. She lifted it gently and cleaned it even more gently, then wondered how to keep it warm. She couldn’t cup it in her hands all day. She wrapped a length of linen around her breasts, then nestled it into her cleavage, right against her heart. The chick cheeped then burrowed deeper, its contentment making Marta smile.