Royal Chronicles of Denmark, Books 1 & 2 Read online

  Copyright © 2015 All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.

  First Edition: July 2015

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Other books by this author:

  Miss Independent

  Decision Makers

  Live & Learn

  Truth & Consequences (Coming Soon!)

  To Venice, With Love

  Venetian Rendezvous

  Book One in the Royal Chronicles of Denmark Series

  *****

  In this dark retelling of a classic Cinderella tale set in 1818 Denmark, a poverty stricken woman accidentally kills the first born son of the king and soon finds herself blackmailed into marriage by the very man who witnessed her commit the crime: her victim's younger brother.

  Nicknamed for the ashes she acquired during her chimney sweeping days, twenty-three year old Cinder has been living alone in a one bedroom rundown cottage in her small village in Hadenville, Denmark since she was twelve years old. For years, she hunted the woods and forests for food and has committed numerous acts of thievery within the village in order to survive.

  While in search of game near the king’s palace one night, she comes across Willem, a known drunkard and apprentice to the king, who accuses her of trespassing. To keep from dying at his hands like so many maiden’s have before her, a fearful Cinder runs for her life, but is caught by Willem who assaults her. They tussle before she pierces his heart with her sword and rolls his body into the flowing rivers at the far end of the forest. When she hears the Sheriff and his men searching for Willem and the girl he was chasing, Cinder dashes off into the night unscathed.

  The next day, she learns the king has offered a reward for any information regarding Prince Willem’s death and panics. Taken aback by this previously unknown information, Cinder concludes that Willem was the illegitimate son of the king and his first mistress. Figuring the residents have already begun making false accusations against one another in the hopes of receiving compensation, she remembers that someone saw her in the forest and may have witnessed the murder.

  Believing her fate will soon be sealed by this nameless, faceless stranger, Cinder travels to the village square for one last act of thievery after a month of laying low and learns of the king’s plan to invite all maiden’s between the ages of 18-25 to take part in a mating game with his other son, the very handsome and regal Prince Norvack. The goal is to find him a wife for his twenty-seventh birthday. Though intrigued by the proposition and benefits, she ultimately refuses to sign up for the game, fearing that being too close to the royal family will indeed expose her crime.

  A rejected Norvack later confronts her at her cottage and confesses that he has been in love with her since they were children, hoping she feels the same. When she rebuffs his advances, he angrily admits that he was the one in the forest the night she killed his brother, but agrees to keep her safe in exchange for her hand in marriage. She reluctantly agrees after much debate, and soon thereafter moves into the palace.

  On the night of their wedding, Norvack is sent into battle with the King of England and falls from his horse, injuring his back. Now his wife, Cinder must care for him and as a result, begins to see a different side of the roguish prince. Realizing she’s falling in love, she becomes more vulnerable to his advances and forms an unbreakable bond between them.

  But when the Sheriff gets wind of Cinder’s crime, will he allow them to live happily ever after? Or ultimately ruin their chances by exposing her truth to the king, sealing her deadly fate?

  *****

  Contents:

  The Chase

  The Hunt

  The Game

  The Personal Invitation

  The Anticipation

  The Banquet

  The Unanticipated

  The Venture

  The Preparation

  The Wedding

  The Battle

  The Realization

  The Challenge

  The Good Deed

  The Prelude

  The Grand Finale

  It all began in the summer of 1818...

  The Chase

  I ran from a crazed Willem before the fire from his torch could burn any part of my hair or filthy tweed clothes. He believed it was a game, chasing me through the forest on one of the blackest nights of the year. I believed he was insane. I ran so fast, my legs ached and my lungs swelled inside my chest like water filled balloons. I couldn’t breathe, could hardly see past the brush as my eyes filled with dust. My feet sank into the soft, murky ground, wet from the harsh rains just days before. I was running scared, running for my life, afraid I could die at the hands of a maniac at any second, like so many other maidens had before me for treason. My sword swung back and forth beside me as I jabbed the warm and sticky air and cut through the vicious tree branches and thorny sticks which stood in my way, catching onto my clothes, guarding me from eventual safety.

  He came closer, and I felt the heat from his torch as he made his way through the thick forest behind me, thrashing about as he moved through the mud, and I realized I wasn’t quick enough for him this time. I knew if he had chosen not to kill me, he would’ve taken me to King Belarus, who was sure to accuse me of thievery and toss me in jail for the second time in a month. But this time, I was guilty of nothing. I had only crossed the king’s land because I was hunting for food. Food that managed to scamper near the palace before I could catch him by his brown fluffy tail and dash from the premises without being noticed.

  “I am coming for you, girl!” said Willem in a guttural voice, possessing a slight Norseman accent. I remembered it well. “I am coming for you!”

  I ran faster because of this, until I stupidly tripped over a large rock and outstretched my arms as I fell to the ground. The mud and grass splattered across my face as I landed beside the sword that leapt from my hand. I turned over quick and sat up in the marsh with the feeling that I had twisted my ankle -- my skin burned inside my thick boot as if it had been lit afire. But there was nothing I could do about any of that. I had to save my life. I had to keep running.

  It was quiet for the first time since Willem found me and I wondered if he had gone to another place within the forest in search of my whereabouts. I wondered, but in truth, I knew better than to wonder; he was waiting for me to make the first move -- for me to scamper away like the furry little animal I had planned to skin for dinner. I waited the same as him, though for different reasons. I waited until I knew it was safe enough for me to run again. In spite of the pain I felt with each step I took, I carried on. And soon enough, the pain subsided.

  Before long, I found myself standing at the end of the plush green forest, and with nowhere left to go but down, I waited for him to find me. It was a risk I was willing to take. A risk because I knew he could have killed me with just a single snap of my neck, and would have enjoyed doing so. I listened out for him, hearing nothing but the sharp winds as they whistled inside my sensitive ears. Though it was not long until I saw the flames from his blazing torch as they burned the trees that stood tall before me, forcing the brightest color of gold to burst into the sky like fireworks. I breathed so hard that I could see my own chest rising and lowering beneath my chin. And I watched in fear as he approached me past the brush. A villain’s smile gracing his thin, pink lips.

  “You have crossed this land o
ne too many times now, my lady,” he said. Spittle spewed from either side of his mouth, landing onto his white ruffled tunic. “And for that, you must conform like the others.” He tossed the well lit torch to the ground and the fire burned out in the mud. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve like a savage who had just eaten a human’s flesh for dinner, and staggered toward me in the manner of a three legged cat, with no weapons in sight. Only the large hands I had seen wrapped around the necks of many maidens time and time again. Maidens who had often refused his vile advances. He believed I would comply to his wishes like the few who had complied before me. But unlike them, I wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  Before I knew it, I was on the ground beneath his heavy body. Little by little, I sank into the mud. He slapped my face until my cheek swelled and pinned me as if we were in the midst of a muddy wrestling match. I had no idea how it happened, it was all so very fast! My face burned from the sting of his hand but I became distracted when he slipped that same hand beneath my jumper, and the other down my trousers. His mouth came toward mine, the smell of rum on his tongue set my nostrils ablaze, and I knew I had to find a way to get him off me. My only option was to knee him between the legs as hard and quick as I could, which I did. He clutched himself and rolled to the side. I kicked him in the stomach and face as soon as I could stand. When I reached for my sword, he slipped his hand around my ankle and pulled me down with a quick jerk.

  I lay face down in the mud.

  He stood over me, laughing louder and louder at my apparent weakness as I struggled to move. I became so angry that my ears inflamed and my cheeks flushed burgundy. The warmth trickled to my lips, burning them like fire. I used that fiery anger to push myself up to my knees, then finally my feet. He stepped back in surprise at my unwillingness to give up, but came forward again, still staggering, as if it were a dare. I turned once and elbowed him in the stomach as hard as I could. Then I spun around with my trusty sword in hand and though I did not mean to do it at first, I pierced his chest, his heart, with all my might. It was as if I had sliced through melted butter. The move was sleek, clean. His skin, the touch of a wet scroll. Though it wasn’t. His hazel eyes opened wide, bulging beneath the lids, and blood spewed from his mouth onto his chin and tunic. When he bent forward on the blade, I saw the pointy tip of my sword sticking out of his back. I ripped it from his thick body with ease and he slumped to the ground like a slippery eel. Dead.

  I realized in that instant that I had to carry him to the edge of the cliff near the low raging waters. Because if the king found him first and learned I had killed his leading apprentice, I was sure to see the inside of a permanent jail cell before dawn.

  I reached out for the bloody collar of his tunic and dragged him across the grass. I grunted and lost my breath with each step I took, pulling his heavy body. “Come on, Ella,” I told myself. “Do not give up now. You mustn’t give up.” Ella. I had always despised my name as much as I despised the bitter taste of fat rats and spider legs cooked over hot coals for dinner. Not because the name once belonged to my mother, which it did from what I was frequently told, but because it had always made me sound much more feminine than I’ve ever thought myself to be. And no one had ever called me by that name alone. To everyone who knew me, and some who did not, I had always been known mostly as Cinder, or “Cinderella”, in part because I once cleaned chimney’s for scrap as a child and the cinders covered my face and clothes. So when anyone ever shouted ‘Cinder! Cinder girl, Cinderella, come forth!’, I always came running, and never stopped.

  I was out of breath when I dropped Willem back to the ground. I fell to my knees in the mud and exhaled a few times before attempting to roll him over the side of the cliff but experienced no luck. My arms were shaky, wobbly, too weak from dragging him. I rested my sword beside me and laid on my back instead, using every available muscle in my body to shove my feet into his chest when finally, he fell. I flipped over on my stomach and crawled to the edge to watch him soar through the air like a wingless bird, down into the crashing waters below. I prayed that whatever was down there would devour his flesh before morning, before someone had the chance to retrieve anything but his worthless bones. When I began slipping too, I pushed back a few feet and stood, using the inside of my jumper to wipe my face of sweat, mud, and grass. What was once completely black in color was now covered in filth, the same as my soft trousers and boots.

  As I snatched my sword from the ground, a flurry of voices came up from behind me. It took only a moment to realize the Sheriff of Denmark and his lowly dog catching posse had come about, shouting to one another in various accents. Flashes of gold shot up past the fiery brush and I knew I had to hide before they could catch me near the waters. But where? Where was there to hide out there? In a tree, so far up that the branches nearly touched the sky? Was I to make one with the marshy grass? No. I couldn’t. The branches were sure to break in two if I had attempted to climb and the dogs would have no doubt found me had I made one with the mud. My only way of escape was to run again. I had no choice but to run for my life for the second time in one night.

  “Out here!” shouted one of the men. “Out here! Once the tree lit up, I saw him going this way!”

  “What was he chasing?” asked another.

  “I am not too sure. But the king said he had been drinking to excess again. He was quite angry with us for losing track of his apprentice -- !”

  “Over here! This way!” Another one cut him off. “I saw him heading off this way!”

  As the voices got closer, I dashed off into the night in search of safety.

  My heart walloped against my ribs like six hands against a padded drum. My lungs burned like the fire from Willem’s defeated torch, as if they had just burst inside me and were scorching my flesh from the inside out. Tiny drops of liquid scolded the hairs on my arms and delusion led me to believe one thing, but I knew the liquid was only the sweat that dripped from my face and body, forcing my dirty clothes to cling to my skin like an adhesive. I wished to stop running. I wished to give up. But I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t. I looked back every few seconds, gauging the distance between the Sheriff’s men and myself as they closed in on me. The smell of their torches and a newly lit cigar filled the air. “He has gone to the left!” said one of the men.

  “No, the right,” said another.

  “No, the left!” said the Sheriff. “Notice the large footprints in the mud followed by much smaller ones. It must be a maiden he is after. No man has a foot that small! Yes, one of the many maidens from Prince Norvack’s welcome home celebration tonight! Proceed.”

  King Belarus’ son, Prince Norvack, had just returned from a prestigious military academy in London (after having gotten a purposeful late start due to more time spent gallivanting about than focused), which explained the crowd of people inside the palace and the loud music I heard when I approached. And why so many maidens within the village were dressed in their best formal wear. But I didn’t care one bit for Prince Norvack’s humble return. I hadn’t seen those selfish jade green eyes of his since the day before he left Denmark on his white stallion years ago. Which meant there was no chance I was going to be perceived as having been one of the many maidens from his welcome home party. Had I been invited, I would not have dared to attend.

  The Sheriff and his foolish men truly had no idea as to where I had gone. They could only speculate, which I knew because I had gone neither left, nor right, but continued following the trail straight ahead, miles from the king’s palace in Copenhagen, and into the tiny village of Hadenville, current population six-hundred fifty-two.

  Because the main roads were all made up of gravel and red dirt, there was no way I could walk upon it without making a sound. I looked ahead to a house made of cement, the house of an unconventional family. It rested at the center of hundreds in the nearly vacant area, consisting of two young children, a small yapping puppy, and an older girl who I had assumed to be their older sister or young mother. She cov
ered her face and hair in a dark shawl and looked to be around nineteen, perhaps even twenty but no older. From what I could tell, there was no father or man of any kind to be seen. I had no idea if they had one at all, but in an instant, I felt a kinship. My father died of pneumonia when I was a baby, the same as my mother had, weeks after I was born. I grew up in the local orphanage, an awful place just miles from my cottage. We were never given food or water when asked and were beaten everyday until our flesh peeled and bled, until our eyes blackened, sometimes blinded. I was deemed a problem child by my caretakers when I was old enough to speak out against them and stand on my own and was beaten much worse than the others. So much so, the scars and bruises only managed to finally heal three years ago, when I was twenty years old.

  Because of that shameful experience, I never learned innocence or civility. Couth or manners. Perhaps if I had, my life would have been much different. Perhaps I would have been worthy, nicer, a much happier person indeed. Anything but an indignant huntress, stranger of the night who feasted upon the animals that lurked deep in the heart of the forest and woods. I was chasing a bushy tailed fox when I came upon Willem near the palace. Denmark may have been relieved to know he was dead, but I had a feeling the newly returned prince would not be the least bit thrilled when he learned someone had slayed his childhood friend, though they were barely on speaking terms when he left. And if he found out that I was the true culprit, well, there would be definite hell to pay.

  Prince Norvack has despised me since the day he caught me sneaking into his chambers one afternoon and found me clutching his sacred crown. I needed something to trade with the village butcher for food since the animals were scarce that week and I had no money to spare. His crown was made from pure gold and diamonds given to him on his sixteenth birthday that year by the king and queen. I had just turned twelve and escaped the orphanage. I knew I would have been set for a month if I got my hands on that crown and so did he. When he found me in his chambers, he tried wrestling it from me, but I shoved him to the floor near his bed and escaped through the window again, leaping from the terrace in which I had climbed. He chased me from the premises and caught up with me in the forest, pinning me to the ground the same as Willem. But Norvack never said one word as he looked into my eyes and eventually let me go. I never knew why, but was sure he would never forget my face, or crime.