The Scarecrow King: A Romantic Retelling of the King Thrushbeard Fairy Tale (11 page)

I stiffened at the intimate embrace, my cheeks flushing. This was…decidedly improper.

But his focus was on the sword in my hand, his fingers correcting mine. “You should hold it with one hand. Your grip needs to be tight here.” He touched my forefinger and thumb, brushing his fingers against mine. “And loose here.” This time he touched my pinky finger and ring finger. “This will allow you to direct the sword more.”

I swallowed hard – for some reason I wasn’t thinking about swords nearly as much as I was thinking about his warm body pressed against mine. He smelled good – fresh and earthy and clean. How was that even possible after several days of camping? I smelled like sweat and dirt. It was not fair.

My thoughts refocused as he released my hand and stepped away. “That’s better,” he said, his voice approving. “You’ve got a good grip.”

Concentrating on the sword, I gave it a nudge forward, jabbing. “So I just use this to stab people, right?”

“No stabbing,” he said, circling back behind me and returning to my side. His body pressed against my own again, and I couldn’t say that I was sorry for it – even if I was a little irritated with myself. With his hand, he guided mine closer, until the blade was parallel to my waist, the curved blade arching outward. “Feel this side.”

With my free hand, I ran a finger along the curved inside of the blade. It wasn’t sharp at all.

“A curved sword is not for stabbing. It’s for slashing at your opponent.”

I wrinkled my nose at that. “Slashing?”

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice almost amused. “Much cleaner than stabbing.” His hands moved over mine again, and he showed me how to do a swinging slash in a slow, fluid motion. “You move the blade like so. Slash and move away. If you stab, your sword can get stuck inside your opponent, leaving you with no blade and no way to defend yourself.”

“How…pleasant,” I said in a prim voice.

When his hand left mine, he stepped backward and nodded. “Give it a try.”

I slashed, awkwardly.

“Now again, and faster.”

I did so. Once, twice. A third time, and it started to feel comfortable. Slashing at air was one thing, but I doubted that I’d ever be able to actually swing at someone else. That just wasn’t something princesses – ladies – did.

“You’re good at that,” he said with a cheerful smile over at me. “With some practice, you’ll be able to fight with the best of them.”

Not something I was particularly looking forward to. “I don’t need practice.” With a prim look back at him, I lowered the sword. “And I’m supposed to carry around your weapon while we travel? What are you supposed to use?”

He pulled out a dagger and held it up, grinning.

“You’re going to defend me with
that
?”

“Actually, it’s for you.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why are we having this big training if I’m going to be using a pig-sticker instead of a sword? That doesn’t make sense.”

Alek grinned at me, as if he could tell that I was irritated and enjoyed my reaction. “Because it’ll do you good to learn how to swing a sword. And because you look so pretty when you move?”

I threw the sword down and walked away.

Aleksandr only laughed.

~~ * ~~

When I’d sufficiently recovered from my snit, Aleksandr modified my leather belt and hilted the dagger there. It was quite a bit shorter than the sword, but Aleksandr still insisted that I practice my swings, and even showed me a few stabs (which was apparently allowed with a dagger, but not with a curved sword). I quickly grew bored of this, and as soon as Aleksandr released me from practice, I put the dagger away.

“You should practice every day when we rest,” he advised me.

I made a face at him and flounced to the ground, weary already. The day was warm and I was sweating in my musty dress, but I couldn’t bring myself to change. I was saving it for when we arrived in Lioncourt. “I’m tired,” I complained.

Aleksandr had no sympathy. He glanced up at the sky and then continued petting the horse. “We should leave camp soon and start traveling for the day.”

“Back to the city?” I asked hopefully.

“Not the city. We’re done with the city for now. Like I said, it’s not safe.”

I flopped back in the grass, exhausted and irritated that he was being so stubborn. Hadn’t he ever heard of safety in numbers? “So when do we get there? Tomorrow? The day after?”

If I had to camp for much longer, I was going to lose what little patience I had.

He ran a soothing hand over the horse’s nose, stroking it. “Get where?”

I sat up, suddenly alarmed. “To Lioncourt, of course.”

Aleksandr wouldn’t look over at me. “Soon.”

I didn’t like that tone of his. It was too vague. Too casual. “How soon is ‘soon’?”

He paused, then glanced over his shoulder at me. “Three weeks.”

Three weeks?
Three weeks
? My heart dropped, and I felt like bursting into tears of frustration. I was doing my best to cope with the next day or so – I couldn’t even imagine three more weeks of hell. My voice wobbled as I spoke, then grew stronger with anger. “We’re going to stay out here for three more weeks? Are you mad?”

“We’re not going to stay here. We’re going to keep traveling to Lioncourt. I’m afraid we’re going to have to go around the main roads and cut through the mountains. We don’t have a choice.” He gave me a chagrined look. “I’m very sorry, Rinda.”

I threw down the waterskin, resisting the urge to stomp on it and destroy it. I didn't care that we'd run out of water - right now all I wanted to do was destroy something in anger. "You're lying to me!"

Aleksandr stepped forward, snatched the waterskin from the ground, and gave me a grim look. His jaw was tight as he struggled to hold his temper. "I'm not lying to you, Rinda. Will you stop and think for a moment? Do you think I want to trek through the woods for the next three weeks, not knowing when we'll run into enemy soldiers? Do you think I enjoy torturing you?"

"I don't know what to think," I snarled back, sliding my shoe off and throwing it at him. "All I know is that I hate you for doing this to me."

"You think I did this to you?" His laugh was sharp and bitter, and he dodged my shoe with ease. "I saved you! Your father was going to marry you off to anyone who stepped through that doorway. You're lucky it was me and not a pig farmer."

I flinched at his words, every one of them striking me in my heart. "At least a pig farmer has a home," I cried out, struggling to remove my other shoe so I could throw it at his head. "You have nothing! No home! No money!"

He gave me a grim look. "Is money all that is important to you?"

"Yes!"

"Well then I'm sorry you're stuck with me," he said in a low, sad voice.

It was like I'd kicked a puppy. I wanted to weep at the sadness in his face. I'd caused that look, and it wasn't fair to him. I knew it wasn't, but I didn't have anyone else to yell at or make miserable, and I desperately needed to share my misery. I crumpled to the ground, and to my horror, hot tears of frustration began to leak from my eyes. Angry, I swiped them away, but they kept coming back.

"Don't cry, Rinda," Aleksandr said, kneeling next to me. His hand reached for mine and he pulled me to my feet. "Please don't cry. I'm sorry. I know this isn't your choosing."

Aleksandr was too nice. Here I'd been so mean to him, and he was comforting me again. "It's not your fault," I muttered, wiping the tears away angrily. "Not your fault that you're not a pig farmer."

He gave a low chuckle and pulled me into a comforting hug, his hand stroking my tangled hair. I leaned against him, noticing how warm and strong his body was against mine. Here I was, completely exhausted despite sleeping the last two nights, and Aleksandr - who hadn't slept a wink - was still sturdy and strong. For some reason, that made me feel better. Safer. I leaned against him and let him stroke my hair for a minute longer, until my tears dried. When I was feeling better, the awkwardness returned. He'd stopped stroking my hair a few minutes ago, but his hand still rested there, as if he liked touching me. It made me blush, and I struggled for something to divert his attention. "Your stupid song was wrong."

"My song?" He asked, puzzled.

"The one about the Ghost Roads."

Aleksandr chuckled. "It's an old song. I might have gotten the lyrics wrong. That would explain the rotten fruit the audience threw at me,” he said cheerfully. “What's wrong with the song?"

"It said that it took three days for the wizards to travel from Lioncourt to Balinore," I reminded him peevishly, and pushed away from his chest, letting some room between us. I glanced up at his smiling eyes. "Three days in the song. Not three weeks."

"That's because they went through the Ghost Roads under the mountain, and not the main…roads…" he said, his words slowing as wonderment dawned on his face.

My arms crossed over my chest. "So why can't we go that route?"

"Rinda, you are brilliant," he cried out, and in the next moment, he planted his hands on the sides of my face, and in great excitement, kissed me.

It was just a brief touching of lips, but it sent a wave of surprise and rippling pleasure through my body. His lips were soft against my own, firm and warm. As he pulled away, my eyes opened and I stared at him in surprise. I’d felt that entire jolt through my body – it surprised me. I watched him, curious to see if I was the only one so affected.

It seemed that I was. Just when I thought Aleksandr was done with surprising me, he pulled something out from behind his back – another flower. He extended it out to me.

My mood soured immediately, and I reached out and smashed the flower with my hand. “Nice try, but I refuse to stay married to you.”

“I have twenty-eight more days to prove you wrong,” he said cheerfully.

I ignored him, giving the flower one more vicious twist before releasing my fingers and letting the petals flutter to the ground.

Chapter Ten

Despite how completely bizarre our new plan was, Aleksandr was excited, and his shoulders seemed a little straighter, his eyes a little brighter.

I did not share his cheerful mood. I remained surly and uncooperative as we traveled, a counterpoint to his easygoing demeanor.

We journeyed for half the day, doubling-back into a valley we’d already passed. There was a small farm in the valley, and I expected us to steer clear, but to my surprise, Aleksandr wanted to stop by there. As we approached on the rocky path leading to the farm, I dismounted from the horse.

A woman stood in the shadowy doorway of a small farmhouse. It couldn’t have been more than a small room or two, and made from crude logs. A thin whisper of smoke trailed from a fireplace. It looked unassuming. Aleksandr turned to me and unsheathed his sword, and then handed it to me with a meaningful look.
Be on guard
.

I took the sword and waited next to the horse. He approached the woman with a friendly smile and open palms. As he greeted her, I ran my thumb along the sharp edge of the sword, and then pressed the droplet of blood into a thumbprint at the base. Magic tingled along my fingers and I felt it infuse the sword. Whatever luck I could give myself, I could certainly use.

They talked for a few moments in the doorway, Aleksandr gesturing at me as I stood next to the horse, one hand on the blade and the other on the reins. The horse didn’t seem to be nervous at all – he chewed grass as they spoke. Aleksandr laughed, the sound light and charming, and I almost blushed despite myself. What was he telling her about us?

And then it didn’t matter, because he was waving me inside with a smile. A house. A real, honest to goodness house with a roof. He didn’t have to tell me twice. I sheathed the sword, tethered the horse and sprinted across the lawn to join them. Perhaps we’d even get a bath.

The woman greeted me with a tentative smile, bouncing a baby on her hip. Her smile faded as her gaze skimmed over my tattered gown and my dark, snarled hair. She paled and dropped into an awkward curtsy. “Your Highness! I had no idea that it was you. My apologies.”

I reached out to pull her up – her baby was in danger of tumbling from her arms if she curtsied any lower. “It’s quite all right,” I said. “I’m not looking to be recognized. We are traveling privately.”

Her immediate relief made me uncomfortable. Was I so terrible that she was frightened of me? Was my reputation among the people that bad?

“Of course you are,” she said as we followed her into the small house. “I had heard the rumors that you had been married, but I thought those were just…well…” she blushed. “I thought someone was jesting with me about your marriage.” She gave Aleksandr an appraising look, and I knew what she was thinking. How could this poor minstrel have married a princess of Balinore?

It was a thought that crossed my mind every morning. “It does sound rather ridiculous,” I said in a dry voice. “Are the rumors unkind?”

“Of course not,” she said quickly, in a tone that told me everything I needed to know. She gestured at the rough wooden benches pulled up to the table, the only furniture in the small cabin other than her bed. “Please. Sit down. Make yourselves comfortable.”

I sat on the edge of one bench, smoothing my dirty, wrinkled skirts. They made me self-conscious, especially in light of the fact that I’d been recognized. Not that I should have been embarrassed – my dress, despite its filth, was likely more expensive than the entire contents of this rude house. The walls were hung with rag-quilts and the small bed had a wooden cradle at the foot of it. A large fireplace took up the back wall, and the entire room was clean if bare of comforts.

“Can I fix you something to eat? I’m making a carrot stew, but it won’t be ready for another hour or so.” An uncomfortable blush crossed her face. “Carrots are my Birthright. It’s small, I know.”

Carrots. That was a ridiculously small Birthright, though no surprise, judging from the dull brown of the woman’s hair. But even my snobbery was conquered by my empty stomach. I glanced over at Aleksandr, hoping we’d eat.