Ingrid's Engagement: How A Beauty Tamed A Beast (Fairetellings Book 3)

by Kristen Reed

  Ingrid looked away for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip while she asked God for the right words. During this moment of introspection, Viggo studied the count’s daughter. His keen eyes noticed the sprinkling of freckles across her delicate, pointed nose and cheeks and that her upper lip was a touch larger than her lower one. The artist who rendered the portrait in Edmund’s library altered the maiden’s features a bit to make her skin spotless, minimized her upper lip, and changed her locks from their honey blonde shade to a brighter hue all in an effort to make her closer to his standard of beauty.

  In Viggo’s eyes, the features the painter perceived as flaws in need of an artist’s correction only made Ingrid more beautiful … as did her spirit. While it was unwise to demand her hand in marriage without so much as a conversation purely because of her beauty and her name reminding him of his father, King Ingvar, God had been merciful in using his recklessness to give him such a woman … A woman who already had the power to make or break him with little more than a look or a word.

  No wonder his brother had called him a fool when he announced his engagement.

  “All right,” Ingrid finally said, turning her attention back to her surprisingly rapt fiancé.

  “What is your advice?”

  “I know death and war go hand in hand, but don’t take a single life out of anger or vengeance. If someone surrenders or can be spared, show him mercy in the moment and resolve to execute true justice later … even King Ansgar.”

  Viggo’s eyebrows lowered and a crimson flush spread from his dark beard to his hairline. The king sprang into a standing position and began marching away. Ingrid scrambled to her feet and followed, abandoning her borrowed cast iron skillet in the grass.

  “Your Majesty, please don’t walk away. I didn’t mean any offense.”

  The king spun around and faced Ingrid, his blue eyes blazing with rage.

  “Do you know what that monster did?”

  “I know he executed your parents, but—”

  “He didn’t simply execute them. The rat served their entire traveling party supper one evening and poisoned every Villriketian in attendance with tainted wine. Instead of being satisfied with killing their countrymen as a so-called show of strength, Ansgar dragged them into the dungeon. There, he forced my father to watch as he beat my mother to death with his own hands. After slaughtering her, he decapitated my father. I received his head wrapped in my mother’s bloodstained dress weeks later.”

  Viggo’s chest heaved and his eyes burned with unshed tears while Ingrid’s face blanched in horror.

  “Ansgar plotted this betrayal for years. He wanted revenge against my father for leading the charge against him for the Anderike massacre and alienating him from the other kingdoms,” the king continued. “He massacred a village of innocent people for being unable to pay his exorbitant taxes. Then, he took my parents’ lives because my father had the strength of conviction to condemn his actions and sway the other kings to do the same.”

  “I-I’m sorry. I had no idea. My father never told me the details …”

  “Do you understand why I can’t spare him?”

  “I understand your fury. Anyone with a heart of flesh would be enraged, but you can’t end Ansgar’s life out of a desire for revenge. If you do, you’ll be committing the same sin you hate him for … and you’ll be doing to his children what he did to you and Halvard.”

  Viggo scowled at Ingrid and turned to leave, but she seized his arm and he reluctantly stayed put.

  “I know you can’t let him go free because of his crimes, and I’m not saying you should. Ansgar must be brought to justice. I’m only asking you to spare his life on the battlefield so he can stand trial,” she pleaded.

  “What if he’s acquitted?”

  “Considering the atrocities he’s committed in the past few years, I think you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who wouldn’t convict him. If they don’t, you can rest knowing that you honored God by being more virtuous and merciful than he ever was. Please don’t let Ansgar blacken your heart after he’s already broken it.”

  The seething sovereign glowered down at his betrothed for the longest five seconds of her life before Ingrid felt some of the tension leave his rigid body. The hard lines anger etched in his face also visibly softened.

  “I know that your counsel comes from a place of concern, but I will do what I feel is right when the time comes,” he said. “I suggest you make peace with my decision. I don’t want to begin our marriage on a sour note.”

  Viggo ripped his arm from her grasp and continued to stalk back to his cabin, leaving his fiancée alone in the night. Ingrid wrapped her arms around herself and shivered as she walked back to the site of their brief, bittersweet dessert under the stars. After picking up the skillet, Ingrid lifted her glistening eyes to the sky, her soul filled with worry instead of wonder as she gazed at the heavens.

  God, please help Viggo do what is right. If I spoke wrongly, make him forget every word I said that was not of you. Close his ears to those whose whispers inspire vengeance, and heal the damage and pain that Ansgar wrought in his broken heart.

  Chapter 3

  Edmund awakened Ingrid and Liesel an hour before dawn the next morning to tell them Viggo and his men were preparing to leave. The sleepy young ladies pulled on dresses and cloaks then emerged from the tent. A somber mood had fallen on the camp, and the only subject on the men’s lips as they prepared their guns and other equipment was the battle ahead. Viggo, of course, was reconvening with his brother and a few officers in the tent. There, he and his men discussed strategy and received updates from the men waging war in other parts of Schlagefilde.

  When Ingrid and Edmund stepped into the tent, Viggo cast his fiancée a fleeting glance before addressing her father.

  “Do you need something from me, Lord Edmund?”

  “No, Your Majesty. We wanted to wish you well before you departed for Bjartyra.”

  The count nodded for Ingrid to proceed, and she hesitantly stepped forward, shivering under Viggo’s chilly gaze. She extended her hand to reveal a small brooch featuring an enamel angel studded with diamonds, emeralds, and rubies.

  “My mother gave me this brooch the day before she passed away as a reminder that someone far greater than her watches over me, and I’ve worn it every day since then,” she said. “I’d like you to wear it today and remember that the same God who kept you safe your whole life will be with you on the battlefield. I know it isn’t terribly masculine, but—”

  “I would be honored to wear it,” Viggo interrupted, his voice softer than its usual gravely tone. “Will you pin it on me?”

  “Of course.”

  Ingrid wordlessly prayed she wouldn’t stick the king as she tried to fasten the brooch with shaking hands. The maiden exhaled in relief when she succeeded in attaching it to his blue uniform without pricking him. She looked up at her betrothed, and gratitude filled her heart when some of the stiffness left his face and body. However, the indifference in his eyes had been replaced by sadness she could relate to all too well.

  By mentioning her mother, Ingrid had called to mind Viggo’s own parents.

  While bringing his pain to light wasn’t her intent, she hoped the king would remember the pain death left in its wake and show mercy whenever possible during the last phase of his campaign. Of course, Ingrid knew the inevitability of death during war, but she prayed commands driven by justice and righteousness over rage and vengeance could reduce the number of casualties on the battlefield.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “You’re welcome. You’ll be in my prayers today, Your Majesty.”

  “King Ansgar needs your prayers more than anyone,” Halvard spoke up. “Then again, why pray for a man whose head will be wrapped in his wife’s best dress by sunset?”

  Ingrid bit her tongue and remained focused on Viggo.

  “Please consider what we discussed last night. I know—”

  “I will leave men here
to protect you while I’m away,” he cut off, stepping away to pull on his gloves. “They will guard you with their lives.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Edmund replied. “We’ll leave you to your preparations.”

  Edmund gave a slight bow and guided the women outside, lowering his voice as they walked to their tents.

  “I don’t know what you two spoke about last night, but he’s certainly on edge today. What happened?”

  “I encouraged him to show mercy … specifically to King Ansgar. I didn’t realize the extent of his crimes against Viggo’s parents, but I still stand by what I said. Even if a judge sentences Ansgar to death for what he’s done, Viggo can at least keep his hands clean by not spilling his blood in vengeance.”

  Edmund sighed and shook his head as they entered his tent.

  “I’m sorry, Ingrid. I should have told you about Ansgar’s actions as soon as you agreed to marry Viggo.”

  “I forgive you. I know you were only trying to protect me.”

  “Yet I failed to protect you from the predicament we’re in now,” he said. “Based on the stories my Villriketian friends have shared, I have full confidence that Viggo will make a better king than Ansgar, but I never wanted you to have such a disagreeable husband.”

  “He isn’t so bad,” Ingrid defended. “He’s just lost. Grief and anger have consumed him for years, but I saw a glimmer of the man he once was and could be again. I’m sure he thinks the victory he’s relentlessly worked for will give him peace, but being victorious today won’t change him. God will.”

  “Your faith is greater than mine, but I hope it proves true. My plans for you did not include a cantankerous foreign husband with fire in his veins and vengeance on his mind.”

  “He didn’t become this way on his own, Papa.”

  “No, his brother is more spiteful than any man I’ve ever met, and it troubles me that Viggo trusts him and heeds his advice.”

  “Perhaps they’ll both have a change of heart.”

  “Perhaps.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Ingrid busied herself for the remainder of the day. She rolled up her sleeves to do laundry for the men and cleaned everything she could get her hands on. Though Liesel would have preferred to spend her unprecedented amount of leisure time reading, she abandoned their tent to join Ingrid in her quest for distraction by working alongside her and making conversation when the future queen seemed especially distressed. By the time a messenger returned late in the afternoon, they were both exhausted. Their fingertips were shriveled after hours of cleaning, and sweat dripped from their brows despite the frigid winter air.

  A soldier approached on horseback, and Ingrid stopped chewing on her nails, which were translucent after being submerged in water all day. Without haste, she sprang to her feet and interrupted her father’s card game with Johan.

  “Papa, the messenger is here!”

  Standing up and displaying greater calm than his frazzled daughter had, Edmund strode across the camp to the young man with Ingrid on his heels. Mud and blood soiled his bright blue uniform, but he looked well despite the telltale stains. He gave the two nobles a hasty bow and Ingrid’s mouth went dry as she waited for the news.

  “King Viggo is victorious.”

  “Is he hurt at all?” Ingrid asked.

  “No, my lady.”

  Ingrid heaved a sigh and took a step back, relaxing for the first time in almost twelve hours. The young maiden turned away and tuned out Edmund and the soldier as they discussed the day’s events in detail, thanking God for protecting Viggo.

  “Are you all right?” Liesel asked.

  “Yes, I’m perfect,” she replied, wiping away a tear with a smile. “I’m just happy he’s safe.”

  “Safe and eager to have you by his side, my lady,” the soldier continued. “The king ordered your protectors and I to escort you to the palace at once. Someone will pack your belongings and bring them along tomorrow. Are you ready to leave?”

  Ingrid’s smile faltered as she imagined the once beautiful capital littered with the corpses and devastation that came with war. Despite the unsavory nature of camp life, she preferred a lack of proper bathing facilities and a cloth roof over her head to a luxurious palace tainted and surrounded by death and destruction. Her pulse quickened at the prospect of beholding the bloody aftermath.

  Lord, help me through this.

  “Ingrid?” Edmund prodded.

  “I’m sorry,” she answered, smiling sheepishly. “May I have five minutes to pack a handful of my belongings?”

  “Of course, my lady,” the soldier said.

  “Thank you. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to leave.”

  The soldier nodded and Ingrid turned to go with her father and Liesel by her side.

  “How are you feeling?” Edmund asked, echoing Liesel’s earlier concerns.

  “I don’t know if I’m ready to see the devastation Viggo left in his wake.”

  The count lowered his voice as he stepped into her tent, Liesel opting to linger outside rather than encroaching on their conversation.

  “What else is troubling you?”

  A sigh eased from Ingrid’s lips as she began collecting a few key belongings.

  “I’m terrified, Papa. I’ve known for longer than I can remember that I’d marry someone one day, and I trusted you to arrange a marriage between an honorable man and me whether I loved him or not. I never imagined marrying someone like Viggo.”

  “When you say ‘someone like Viggo,’ do you mean a king or an unpleasant, grisly fellow?”

  “Both! Most women would do anything to have the power, pampering, and prestige that come with being a queen, and their parents groom them for such aspirations. How will astronomy and physics help me support a king?” Ingrid gasped. “And how will I be a good wife to a man whose heart is full of vengeance? I will be a useless queen and a displeasing wife. Viggo will regret marrying me one day if he doesn’t already regret our engagement.”

  Edmund embraced his panicking daughter and his heart broke as she wept in his arms, tears pouring from her eyes as her worries had poured from her heart. The two stood in that position for several moments and Edmund searched his soul for the right words to reassure his distraught daughter. As her brief outburst subsided, he prayed to the Lord that the words on his lips were true and comforting before breaking the silence.

  “I never raised you to have the airs and accomplishments expected of a queen. I raised you to be a woman after God’s heart. Despite my bumbling, you’re a patient, kind, gentle, faithful, and humble young woman who seeks the good of others over her own comfort. You agreeing to marry Viggo is a testimony to your selflessness. The qualities that led you to accept his proposal and treat him with kindness and deference during your brief acquaintance are the same qualities that will help you be a fair, righteous consort and a wife any man would be blessed to have.”

  “But what use are those qualities when Viggo can’t see past his desire for retribution?”

  Edmund pulled away a bit and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  “Even if vengeance blinded Viggo, God can remove the scales from his eyes, and he could use your gentle heart, pure conduct, and respectful behavior to do it. Viggo has noticeably softened since we joined his party, and I can only imagine how God could transform him with you by his side. I can’t pretend to know God’s plans for you, but perhaps he in his sovereignty raised you up to be the queen our kingdoms crave and the wife Viggo never knew he needed as we come out of these dark, tumultuous times,” Edmund said. “You were just trying to convince me of this earlier today. Rediscover the faith you had this morning and be the woman your mother and I raised you to be.”

  Ingrid took a deep, ragged breath and tucked a wild strand of flaxen hair behind her ear.

  “You’re right. Thank you, Papa.”

  Edmund kissed his daughter on the cheek, earning a chuckle as his mustache tickled her.

  “You’re welcome. Now, let’s fini
sh packing and be on our way. We don’t want to keep the king waiting.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  As Ingrid, Liesel, and Edmund traveled to the royal residence, the maiden tried to pass the ride by reading a novel. Despite its riveting plot, the book only served as a visual distraction from the passing countryside. With no details regarding how Viggo had achieved his great victory, she dreaded seeing corpses strewn about her beautiful homeland and other disquieting devastation. It took her at least fifteen minutes to read each page, and her hands trembled more from anxiety than the carriage’s rhythmic rocking and bumping when she turned each one.

  Prayer also accounted for much of her slow progress. Each time her mind conjured up images of blood and violence, she would close her eyes for a moment and turn her heart to the Lord, begging for the strength, character, and iron stomach required to endure his plan for her with gentleness, courage, and self-control.

  When the carriage crossed the bridge over the Dagmar River, Ingrid realized they were less than ten minutes from the palace. Chancing a glance at her homeland turned kingdom, her breath caught in her throat upon seeing that nothing much had changed. Of course, the boots, hooves, and wheels of Viggo’s army, horses, and equipment had matted down the grass and created new paths in the snow-dusted landscape. Yet they had left the countryside otherwise unaffected.

  Though Ingrid couldn’t muster up the joy to smile at this unexpected development, she relaxed her grip on the book in her lap and lowered her hunched shoulders. Considering the terrifying artillery Viggo had at his disposal, the maiden anticipated seeing the mighty oaks and towering pines turned into splinters by cannons or torn in half by Gatling gun bullets. Feeling a bit more brave, the soon to be queen kept her hazel eyes on the scenery for the remainder of the ride. Much to her relief, she didn’t see a single corpse or any signs of warfare.

  It was as if Viggo had won the war without spilling a single drop of blood.