by A. B. Keuser
Heinrich’s jaw tensed. The thought of Max marrying a woman from far off country didn’t bother him. They both liked women, and there were three kingdoms where no one would bat an eye if they found a woman who loved them both. But the dismissive tone in the King’s voice, the way he seemed to have already sold off his son in his mind… that made Heinrich want to march up the steps and slap some sense into the man.
Max, for his part, didn’t say a word. He stood perfectly still his face impassive. It was an expression he’d worn every time he’d been in his step mother’s company.
“No, Trenton, if your son will not bend to me, no one will. I could put down an uprising… but it is easier to nip this problem in the bud.”
Heinrich stepped forward in spite of himself. Neither the King nor the Queen noticed.
“We should leave, now. Swords can’t protect you from fairy magic.”
“She won’t hurt me. She needs to keep my father in line.”
“I don’t know if you noticed, but she’s got him wrapped around her finger. I’m pretty sure he’d let her get away with a lot more than murder.”
Max shook his head. And before Heinrich could say anything else, the Queen spoke.
“Treason should be met by death, but you deserve something quieter.”
With a twist of her clawed fingers, dark magic slicked the air with an oily taste.
The scream that ripped from Max’s mouth made Heinrich stumble backward, and then it was gone. From one moment to the next the prince that had stood beside him was gone, replaced by an iron, clockwork frog.
Rational thought—everything he’d said to Max a moment earlier—left him as his vision turned red. His sword was in his hand without thinking and he rushed the throne, only to be held back by hard metal hands.
The Queen’s clockwork minions dragged him back, one pincer like hand compressing his wrist until he dropped his sword. It clattered to the ground and the sound echoed the Queen’s laughter.
“A treasonous prince and his devoted lapdog of a lover.” She stepped down from the dais and walked to him. She seemed to shrink with each step, until she stood in front of him, only an inch taller than he was. “I should have you killed. But what fun would that be?”
“Love,” the King said in a warning tone as she picked up the frog that was Maximillian.
“Your prince is going to leave this castle along with the rest of the cursed metal that filled this palace between the last time I ruled and now. He’ll travel with a band of thieves who will sell him at the first port they come to. What use will they have for an iron frog? He’ll be melted down, turned into something else, and in the fires of the kiln, he’ll suffer in agony. And you?” She smiled cruelly, her white eyes narrowing at him. “You’ll die slowly, knowing you’ve lost him.”
She pressed her clawed fingers into his stomach and tightness spread over him. Hard, cold metal wrapped around his waist.
“Your prince will be lost and this corset will slowly squeeze the life out of you.” She pushed him back, and the only reason he did not hit the ground was that her automatons still had their grip on him. “Take him to a tower cell. I want him to have a perfect view of the cart trundling away.
The automatons dragged him away. He couldn’t fight, he could barely breathe.
By the time he learned how to breathe without tearing at the skin that had been soldered to the iron, he was locked away in the dank round room, sunlight through the iron bars the only light.
Raucous noises from below echoed up and he dragged himself to the window.
From his cell in the tower, Heinrich could see the procession of thieves and renegades loading their cart. The items therein cost more than feeding the whole of the kingdom for a year.
His grip on the bars tightened as the Queen’s lackey brought out the deep gray bag she had scooped the prince into. It did not move as one ruffian took it away. And as the full dark of night descended on them, the cart and its keepers trundled out of the palace gates, their hoard covered in a black tarp.
He sat rigidly against the wall and watched the moon arch overhead until it disappeared.
In the darkness, he considered how to escape. The men guarding him were only following orders. If he could get past them without hurting them….
Blowing out an irritated breath, he knew that was impossible. He’d trained half of them, and while he might be able to beat them when sparring, he wouldn’t be able to do so without harm if the blades were steel and their Queen’s orders demanded his imprisonment.
He couldn’t get out the window—even if he could subvert the iron bars, there was no way he would survive the six story drop from the tower, and there was even less of a chance he could cobble together a rope from the minuscule amounts of straw surrounding him.
The pain slowly eased and he was able to sit without the feeling stabbing through him. It was a small consolation. And the moonlight bled into the cell, taunting him.
The cell door screeched open. Too early for food, too late for visitors. Maybe the Queen had decided to just kill him.
He touched the iron corset around his chest and shook his head. If she wanted him dead, she didn’t have to come for a visit to accomplish it.
Watching the door, he waited. For a moment, he wondered if it was a trick. Would they convince him to flee so they could justify his death?
It didn’t feel right.
Hushed voices in the corridor outside put an end to that theory.
When a man with a lantern stepped in, all Heinrich could see of him was his shoes.
The King had come to call.
“You’re leaving,” he said, throwing a pair of bags at Heinrich’s feet. “I want my son back.”
“Your wife won’t like that.”
“I don’t need him here, I just need him alive.” The King raised his lantern and lines of worry etched shadows across his face. “An iron frog isn’t useful; he’ll be melted down…. I won’t let that happen.”
“If I can’t find him, you’ll have already let it happen.” Heinrich stood, pain shooting through his hips and chest. “Why did you let her enslave you.”
The King shook his head, but wouldn’t meet Heinrich’s eyes. “I love her, I can’t force her from this realm… but I can’t live with the knowledge my first born is dead.”
“For your sake, I hope he’s not. I will come back here and kill you myself if it comes to that.” Heinrich stared the man down, heedless of the fact he’d just spewed treasonous words.
The King did not argue.
Snatching up the bags, Heinrich pushed out of the cell and hurried down to the stables. His horse was already saddled. The King might want his son back, he might be doing his best to atone… but Heinrich had a feeling his opportunity to catch the men and retrieve his prince were lessening by the minute.
Kicking his horse to a trot, he made his way out of the castle walls and into the dark of the forest, moonlight his only guide.
*
Maximillian hadn’t given much thought to the way he would die. But when the moon rose, filtering through the trees, he had another chance at life. As the silvery rays touched him, he burst back into human form and tore apart the bag that had held his tiny metal frog body. The pair of pirates on the back of the wagon tried to do the honors.
He sprang to his feet—suddenly thankful for all the times Heinrich had forced him to spar without a sword—and kicked the first off the wagon. He hit the ground with a sickening thud and the other charged before Max could regain his balance.
When the other man knocked him over, he caught hold of the stinking thief’s wrists and managed to keep the blade in his hand from touching his throat. The other man was stronger, and the blade inched down.
The thief looked down at him with glazed eyes. Enchanted. “Of course,” Maximillian spat out the words as he struggled to get his knee up between them to lever the man off.
“What’s going on back there?” Another man called from the front.
Max grabbed an ornamental sword from the pile of metal objects that had slid from the cart. It was gold, gaudy, and wouldn’t last long against a real blade, but it was the best option he had. As soon as he snatched it up, he threw the blade up to block the advancing blow from the thief who had pulled himself from the ground.
Crashing against the man’s blade, the sword dented with the first strike. Max clenched his teeth and met the next swing, cursing as the blade broke with the collision. He threw the sword aside and backed away. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember the exact way Heinrich had said to disarm a foe in a situation like this. He should have sparred with someone less distracting.
For all that he had the advantage, the thief stalked forward in slow, mechanical movements. He lashed out before he was truly in striking distance, and Max caught his wrist again.
He kicked the man backward. Stumbling, the smelly thief crashed into the side of the cart. His weight broke the wheel and the entire cart sagged as though the axel had gone with it.
Grunting, he pushed himself away and glanced at the driver who walked warily toward them, his hands held out, a blade in each.
Movement from the other side showed the man he’d kicked off the cart had made his way back to them.
Three against one. Those were not good odds.
He looked at each of the men—bigger than him, enchanted in gods new what way, and holding five blades between them—and decided there was only one course of action.
Stepping slowly backward, he waited until he felt the cold brush of tall grass against his leg. Then, he turned and ran.
The forest around him changed quickly from wooden trees to metal—silver bark and leaves glinting in the moonlight.
Metal branches scraped at him as he ducked through the denser bushes, his feet pounding on dirt covered with soft, silver-edged grass. They had passed from his kingdom into Argentelle. He would find few friends here, but the chances he would be killed outright were smaller with their citizens than they were with the ruffians chasing after him.
The forest seemed to shiver around him, leaves curling away. He glanced to his side and would have sworn the trees moved.
Each turn and bend he took seemed to double back on itself, the forest was a maze and he tripped twice before paying attention to the fact a path had been carved for him. Whether it was there all along and he had managed to stumble onto it, or if this path was enchanted, he didn’t know.
He vaguely recalled that Argentelle’s queen was a fairy like his step mother, whether she was a vicious dark fairy like the one who had ensnared his father, he couldn’t remember.
He would take his chances with her forest.
Dodging a low branch, he paused to catch his breath. He doubled over, hands on his knees and shivered as cold metal touched his legs. The forest curled around him, and shivered as if mocking him.
His blood might have been so diluted as to only protect him from the most minor of spells, but he knew the forest sensed the darkness in him, the iron that flowed through his veins stronger than that of a fully human man.
The voices of his pursuers faded into the background and he knew they turned back.
Still, he ran further into the forest.
The dead of night wrapped around him, and his legs burned as strongly as his lungs did. He slowed, and his head swam.
Breath tight in his chest, Max dropped to the cold forest floor, his legs aching and lungs burning.
The sound of trickling water made him look around, the small break in the trees curved around a pool fed by a tiny, trickling fall. He crawled to the side of the pond and gulped down handfuls of water.
Rolling onto his back, he stared up at the stars through the trees high above and felt as though the world was swimming.
Breathing heavily, he conceded to his need to rest, promising himself he would rise as soon as he was able and find his way back to the castle. He wanted nothing to do with his father, the crown or the fairy queen, but Heinrich…
He vaguely remembered her spelling Heinrich. Closing his eyes, he fought with the scattered memories. They filled his mouth with the taste of metal and blood.
Hagnesofia had grabbed Heinrich’s chest. Told him of his slow death. But the time his sluggish mind remembered the corset, the early songbirds of morning echoed in the trees.
He barely registered the sunlight in the trees when his body felt like it was breaking again.
About the Author
When A. B. Keuser isn't trying to make sense of her own brain soup, she writes the "charmingly gritty" Flynn Monroe series, space operas that will keep you guessing, and steamy clockwork fairytales. An Oregon native whose life has transplanted her in the Sonoran desert - where she's slowly desiccating - she writes to stay out of the sun and heat.
Other Books By A. B. Keuser
The Flynn Monroe Series
Enemies of a Sort
The Betrayal of Flynn Monroe
The Reformation of Tyler Harris
The Salvation of Rayna Castiq
Quick & Painless
The Escape of Joslyn Williams
The Deception of Calliope Druthers
Irreparable Damages
The Xyvar Duology
Windthrow
Blowdown (OCT 2016)
The Lunar Colony VI Series
Safety Zone
Gravity Darkening
Zero Proximity
Terminal Shift
Non-Passive Failure
Lunar Colony VI Print Omnibus
Short Stories
Never Alone
First/Last Date
Black Friday
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Amy Johnson
http://www.abkeuser.com