The Scarecrow King: A Romantic Retelling of the King Thrushbeard Fairy Tale (22 page)

A bit mercenary, but unsurprising. I had wondered why the Scarecrow King had traveled so far. Now I knew. “So you sought to ease his mind by stealing his throne, I see? Very classy of you.”

“Now now, princess. You shouldn’t speak that way to your future husband.”

This time, I couldn’t maintain my bland expression. Surprise crossed my face, and when his smile widened, I recovered quickly and gave him a withering stare. “I am already married, sir.”

“Indeed? I have not seen the banns posted in the city proclaiming your handfasting is done.”

Unease began to creep over me. “You have not, have you?”

“Yes. It is a Lioncourt tradition that the priests submit the names of the handfasted to the king for his blessing. Yours has never come up; therefore your marriage cannot be completed in the eyes of the kingdom.” His eyes gleamed and Xavien began to stalk across the room toward me. “I am positive I have not seen it, because I have been looking for it these long days past. It has been my goal to find you and make you mine, and thus secure
my
claim on the throne instead of my cousin’s.”

“I didn’t marry your cousin,” I said in an icy voice. “I refused to marry such a savage, filthy beast, and I will refuse to marry you.”

“No, instead you married a pauper, didn’t you?”

I stilled. Had he been spying on me?

Xavien smiled, the expression completely without humor, and continued to move forward.

Though a shiver ran through my body, I held my ground. I would not let him bully and intimidate me, not even when he came up next to me, his form looming over my own. Not even when he put his finger under my chin and forced me to glare into his eyes.

“We intercepted the king’s party a week ago. My intelligence reports tell me that you were handfasted in your castle a few days before; therefore we only need to wait twenty more days until your marriage is annulled, and you will be free.”

His words sent a chill through my body. “You cannot keep me here as your prisoner.”

“Can’t I, Princess Rinda? I have taken the throne. I am now the king.”

I ripped his hand away from my chin. “My husband will come for me,” I snarled at him, completely out of defenses. This man was not intimidated by my nasty words or my icy demeanor, unlike every courtier I had ever met. He was clearly not noble…and I had no idea how to intimidate him into submission. “He will come for me and you’ll be sorry.”

“So your little husband will come for you?” The smile that curved Xavien’s hard mouth was evil. “That is precisely what I am hoping for, Princess Rinda.”

~~ * ~~

But Alek didn’t come.

Chapter Eighteen

They kept me in a lush prison – a guest room with barricaded windows and a door guarded by no less than three men at all times. I spent the first day refusing to eat or drink, my body locked in utter fear. But as day faded into night and no one came for me, my fear turned to nagging worry. Alek would know by now that I was gone…what was he going to do?

I never doubted that he would come for me. He loved me – it was in every smile that lit his face, and every touch of his hand. Instead, I worried that they would do something awful to him and I’d never see him again. That I would wait and wait for him, and then be shuffled out to marry Xavien at the last minute, only to find out that Alek had been dead for these long weeks. Those were my fears.

Days passed. A week. My prison was a polite one – the guards brought me tempting foods and drinks, and I ate small bites, hating myself all the while for being so weak. They brought me fine dresses and sent in maids to bathe me, and to wash and style my hair. They left expensive books for me to read and offered me needlework to pass the time. In short, they treated me like the princess I was, and I was miserable with fear.

I grew used to the knot of fear that clenched in my belly like a daily companion. I grew accustomed to it, but it did not make me easy. And every time Lord Xavien – I would
not
call him king – came to visit me, my stomach clenched even more, and my hope died.

Where was Alek? What could he do against a king?

On the eighth day of my captivity, the door to my room opened. The captain of the guard stalked in, and I sat upright on the bed.

“Princess Rinda,” he said, his tone stiff with courtesy. “You have been summoned.”

“What has happened?” I swung my legs off the side of the bed and hopped forward. “Is my husband here?”

He ignored my demands, and instead, presented a length of rope. “We are to bind your hands behind your back, princess.”

The dread in my stomach grew monstrous. But what could I do? So I crossed my wrists behind my back and waited as they tied my hands, trying to think of ways to fight against armed men.

“We must blindfold you as well, Princess,” the captain said.

“Do as you must,” I said, my voice clear and unwavering. The last of my hope burned away and I stood strong. I would not be a coward in front of them, or in front of Xavien, no matter what he had planned for me. Alek would want me to be brave.

They covered my eyes with a sash and I immediately regretted letting them bind my hands without a fight. I thrashed against their grasp, but it was too late.

Rough hands grabbed my arms and escorted me forward, and I stumbled down the corridor with the guards leading me. The carpets changed beneath my feet, the only thing that told me how far I had walked. After a time we paused, and I could hear the sounds of double doors opening. Then we moved forward again…

I was immediately thrust toward someone. I stumbled forward with a gasp, my body pitching as I slammed toward the ground. Someone caught me just before I did, but the faint scent of an unwashed body tinged my nostrils a scant second before I felt the rough grasp of Xavien. His hand tangled in my hair and tilted my head backward, and I felt his chuckle on my neck.

“Xavien,” I greeted coldly, determined to be regal.

“Remember me, princess? I’m touched.”

“Your smell does tend to linger in the air,” I said back. “The scent of baseborn filth is impossible to mistake.”

His hand clenched hard in my hair, yanking my head back so far that my back cracked. “You are a nasty piece of work, aren’t you? I should cut out your tongue.”

I pursed my lips angrily, saying nothing.

“Not so lippy now?” His low growl of a laugh echoed in my ear, and he steered me forward. “Come then. Let us begin the show.”

I heard the sound of another pair of doors parting, and then a breeze began to touch and lift my hair, and the warm sun touched my skin. I tilted my head, trying to recognize where we were – a balcony? The wind played with my skirts.

“Rinda!” Alek's anguished cry came from somewhere below.

I stiffened in utter fright, my heart pounding, my throat dry. “Alek?”

What were we going to
do
?

“Let her go, Xavien,” Alek's shout echoed around me, and I desperately wished he was closer. The ring of swords being drawn – a great many swords – made an entirely new fear pulse inside my body.

Xavien’s arm moved to my neck. I felt something cold and hard press against my throat. A knife. It dug into my skin, and I felt something wet slide down my throat.

Blood. He’d nicked my skin.

“Wait,” Alek called. “Don’t hurt her!”

I remained stock still, my mind fixated on the blood dripping down my throat. A bare trickle, but I let a shiver of my Birthright magic out.
Please be lucky for me
, I told it. I didn’t know if my magic could work in reverse, could make other people’s objects work against them, but I prayed for it.
Be lucky for me
, I told the blood sliding over the knife.
Be lucky for me
.

“I don’t want to hurt her, boy. I want to marry her and secure my claim on the throne. After all, a king needs a royal bride.” His arm tightened against my shoulder. “But right now, you stand in my way and you leave me little choice in the matter.”

The knife cut harder into my throat.

This time, I couldn’t help the frightened gasp that whistled out of my throat.

A long pause, and then Aleksandr spoke. “Don’t hurt her.”

“Then lay down your weapons. Surrender to me, and I won’t cut her pretty throat right here.”

Fear shot through me – he was going to kill my husband. “No, Alek, don’t do it–”

The knife dug harder, cutting off my words. I tilted my head back, trying to avoid the blade, and whimpered.

“I yield,” Aleksandr said sharply. “I yield. Don’t hurt her.” And I heard the sound of a sword clanging to the ground.

The blood flowed thicker down my throat.
Be lucky for me
, I told it again. The sound of a hundred swords hitting the ground filled the courtyard, and Xavien began to laugh.

Oh Alek. What would happen to him now?

“Take her away,” Xavien said, and I was thrust into a pair of unfamiliar arms.

“No! Wait,” I cried.

No one listened to me. Another pair of hands grabbed me by my arms, and they began to drag me back into the building. The uproar from outside faded away and I could hear the quick patter of boots on the rugs, but everyone seemed to be heading in the opposite direction of where the guards dragged me. I writhed, frantic to get away, but it was no use. I was weak and they were much, much stronger than me.

Ignoring my protests,they dragged me back to a quiet room and thrust me in a chair. I stilled, waiting for them to untie my hands and the blindfold over my eyes.

The door clicked shut. Silence fell.

“Hello?” I said tentatively.

Nothing.

“Is anyone there?” I shifted in the chair. Now that I was out of immediate danger, the bonds cutting my wrists were beginning to throb. “Hello?”

No one answered.

They were going to leave me here blindfolded and tied? Rage burned through me, quickly followed by the intense worry for Alek. I had to do something. I couldn’t sit here and wait for someone to come back.

I had to help, somehow. I had to save him.

My neck itched from where the trickling blood was drying. If only I could get it on my hands, maybe I could magic the rope and loosen it. I twisted my hands – the ropes were tight, cutting into my skin painfully. Biting my lip at the pain, I gave another rough twist, and I felt my skin burn.

It gave me an idea. Slowly, methodically, I began to rub. Pain shot up my arms, but I kept reflexively twisting.

If I could break the skin, my blood could magic the ropes. Then I could slip free…

I concentrated hard, viciously twisting my wrists back and forth. Time seemed to slow, and there was nothing but the burning pain of my skin chafing against the thick rope, the frightened pant of my breath, and the endless back-and-forth twisting motion that I made in an attempt to break the skin.

Another rough twist of my arms, and I felt something damp slide down my wrist, even as the pain intensified. The magic fluttered within me, and I focused on the ropes, concentrating hard. This time, instead of shifting my wrists, I stretched my hands and made them flat, and attempted to wiggle free of the ropes.

They fell to the ground. I was free.

Relieved, I hastily grabbed the blindfold, tearing it off of my eyes and blinking at my surroundings. I was in a strange room that I didn't recognize. Some sort of study - that perhaps was why they had not untied me.  The room was thick with furnishings, and a table full of maps lay on the opposite end of the room, as if there were always more planning needing to be done. It was a masculine room, an interesting room, if it had not been a prison. My mind was racing, thinking of ways that I could get out of the room, break free somehow. A guard would be posted at the door, I knew that much. So I moved to the desk and rummaged through it, then moved to the fireplace. There, a long-handled pan used to scoop ashes. I grasped it and weighed it in my hands. Heavy but not too heavy. I held it out in front of me, testing the length, and gasped to see my wrists.

I'd shredded them in my efforts. No wonder they hurt so badly. Red and bloody, it felt like my skin was being held over a fire. I couldn't dwell on it now. Biting my lip, I rubbed my wrist along the pan and thought of luck, and felt the magic tweak again. Then I moved to the door, and rubbed my wrist along the doorframe, wincing at the sensation.

It hurt, but the smear it left behind meant a lot of magic. I thought hard, trying to influence my Birthright. My mind was full of thoughts of doors opening in silence, of not being locked and falling open.

I tried the doorknob.

Not locked. It fell open silently, without the slightest creak of rusty hinges.

A guard was at the door, facing the other way. I lifted the pan and crashed it down on the back of his head. The bang of the pan reverberated in the hallway, and the guard slumped to the ground.

I froze in place, waiting for someone else to appear, but no one did - again my luck held strong. I knelt beside the guard and placed my hand in front of his mouth. Good, still breathing. I hadn’t hurt him badly, just knocked him out. Next, I searched him, looking for a weapon. A short sword was belted at his waist, and I tugged it free. Tiptoeing over the body of the guard that I'd knocked out, I began to move down the hallway. Night had fallen while I had waited, and the windows were dark, the only light leaking in filled with moonlight and shadow.

"I'm coming, Alek," I whispered into the silence.

Clutching the sword tight in my hand, I crept down the hallways, looking for Alek. I had no idea where he would be, but I wouldn't let it overwhelm me. My fears didn’t matter. He needed me and I was going to find him. So I walked, resolute, my steps quiet on the carpet.

A regiment of soldiers passed by. I hid behind a tapestry and rubbed some of my blood on it. The shadows swallowed me and they walked past without glancing my way. After they were gone, I crept back out and moved down the long corridor once more. If Alek was captive, where would he be? Would Xavien have hidden him somewhere? Was he torturing him even now? Or was I too late?