Royal Chronicles of Denmark, Books 1 & 2 Read online

  I really did it this time. I killed the king’s son, Prince Norvack’s eldest brother. He was more than just a childhood comrade, he was his kin, his blood! But how was it possible? Illegitimacy?

  Of course! One of the king’s many mistresses must have given birth before his first and only wife, Eliza, presented him with Prince Norvack. And since the queen had never bore anymore children before or after that birth, a mistress during their first year of marriage was the only explanation for it all. The only explanation for the six month age difference and extreme closeness shared between Willem and Norvack as children, and the fierce rivalry that grew as they aged. He might have stopped speaking to his brother for whatever reasons he had, but I was certain Prince Norvack never stopped loving Willem for one second. How could he? Blood is blood after all, and I had his brother’s blood on my hands the night before. Or more appropriately my sword. My sword with Norvack’s initials carved into the golden handle. I scratched my head and wondered how the hell I was going to get myself out of this. There was no way I could have confessed to the crime I committed, for it was my guaranteed death!

  One knew never to cross King Belarus or his son, though I had always been willing to take my chances with that dastardly Norvack. But this was entirely different. I had not only killed a key member of the royal family, but had now opened a royal can of worms that was bound to spread throughout the entire country of Denmark like the Black Death centuries before. The king would no longer be deemed a hero to most but a liar and cheat amongst many who had always held him to a much higher standard than other kings in other countries. Faithful. Loyal. Honest. Aside from the obvious, I imagined the family kept quiet about this startling information because of Willem’s overall embarrassment to them and the humiliation of Eliza.

  I was quite certain the false reports had already began trickling in, considering the time of day. I took a deep breath and was not too worried about my name being tossed into the fire pits of hell until something hit me like Willem’s hand across my face, and I remembered someone else in the forest. Someone who refused to stop a crazed Willem as we scampered past tall trees and through wet grass. Someone who refused to make themselves known to me! I never saw a face, but only feet as I raced past them. So many questions began forming inside my head. Who was this person? Why were they following us? Did they see Willem strike me? Why didn’t they call for help? Why didn’t they help? Was it because they saw me take care of myself? Witnessed me kill Willem with Norvack’s sword? Would they come forward with the truth? Had they already?

  Panic set in quick and my heart sank even lower to the pit in my stomach. I was on the brink of hyperventilation but calmed down quickly for fear of appearing too crazy before those who were already staring at me and whispering to one another, possibly about my strange behavior. I took a few more deep breaths and shut them all out. And I thought for a moment. There was only one solution to such an unfortunate problem I had created for myself. This nameless, faceless person, who possibly saw me kill the king’s first born son, now had my life in their hands. And for that, they needed to be silenced, immediately.

  The Hunt

  I ripped the paper from the wooden post and clutched it tight between my fingers. Everyone stood back looking at me in shock, as if I had publicly committed treason, as if the king were standing there before us. I rushed back through them all once more, ignoring their hateful threats and shouts as I shoved past flabby arms and sunburned shoulders. I raced back to my solitude, to the only place where I felt remotely safe. Home. I shoved the door open and slammed it shut, leaning back to catch my breath and gulping as I looked at the now wrinkled paper in my shaky hands. My mouth was dry -- I wished for water. I rattled my head and wondered what the hell I had done.

  When I heard people traipsing back and forth outside my door, grumbling about the king and this previously unknown first born son, I whirled around and peeked through the tiny hole in my door, keeping an eye out for any strange and unfamiliar faces in the neighborhood, while still searching for those most familiar to me. For all I knew, this nameless, faceless person who saw me in the woods was anyone passing by. Could it have been a person I shoved? Someone I had stolen from or mistreated in the past? Someone I despised? Someone who despised me? I didn’t know. I didn’t know and that is what frightened me the most. I exhaled and looked to my hands as the paper slipped between my fingers. My legs collapsed beneath me and I landed beside that paper on the floor, rotating my body to lay back on the door once again. I crossed my legs one over the other and looked about the room, and I wept uncontrollably.

  What had I done?

  I wept for all the things I could not say. All the things I wished I could have changed about my life and myself and the situation at hand. I wept so hard that my eyes swelled, as did my face. I assumed the day would get worse, but never believed it would have been as bad as it got. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hands and used the inside of my jumper to dry my eyes. I felt numb. Or perhaps, I felt nothing. No pain, nor guilt, or fear, nothing. It was as if my body was a hollow shell. Empty. And my cottage, a place I once called home, had become nothing more than a place to hide. A place where I would do nothing but eat, sleep, and keep watch each day and night in order to stay alive. Whoever saw me possibly knew where I lived. If they showed the king my place of residency, I was dead before sunset. And then…

  I remembered the young woman with the two young girls! The one who’s home I had jumped into. I dropped my face in my hands and wept again. How could I have been so stupid to have forgotten about that young woman? It was possible the Sheriff would speak with every resident within the village and beyond, which meant they would undoubtedly question her, the children as well. And I knew they would all remember me. Who could forget the mud faced girl with the bloodstained sword who leapt through their kitchen window like a secret warrior on a mission to kill? What if she told him about that sword? The mud and grass on my face and clothes? What if she relayed my exact physical description? No one else within the village had eyes, skin, or even hair like mine, and the Sheriff would most likely believe whatever she said about me because he wished to.

  I bit what little was left of my dirty fingernails and pondered. What was I going to do? How could I possibly save myself? Sitting on the floor was going to get me nowhere, but if I left again… If I left my cottage again, I was taking another chance with my life. I could not lie to the Sheriff about it. I had lied plenty in the past, so I had no real issue with doing so, but I had never been too good at it and that was where the true problem lied. If I perjured myself, said I did not kill Willem, he would know almost immediately that I had. I knew the only way to keep from exposing myself was to hope he never asked the question outright. If he were to simply imply, it was easy to find my way around it. But to ask outright with a straight face if I had killed Willem in the forest was to ask for the rope to hang myself.

  The harsh sound of a Bang! Bang! Bang! awoke me from a long and unexpected nap at the foot of my door. I wiped my mouth of saliva, opened my eyes, and looked out the window above the sink. The sun shifted, which meant it was around five in the evening. I removed the WANTED paper from the side of my face, my barrier from the splintery floor, and took time standing, stretching my stiffened neck and back. When I looked through the tiny hole in my door, I saw the Sheriff and two of the men he was with the previous night standing on either side of him. I took a few steps back and swallowed hard. My heart raced and my palms began to sweat. The time has come, I thought. My life, over before I was ever truly happy, alone or with anyone else.

  Bang! Bang! Bang! went the Sheriff’s fist again. I shook my hair out and folded the WANTED paper six times before placing it inside my trousers and reaching for the door. I rubbed my eyes, feigning confusion as the Sheriff and his men barged past, ignoring what I was trying so desperately to convey. Ignorance. They looked around the room, visually searching for anything unusual or out of place. But since I had nothing, their eyes turn
ed back to me as soon as I shut the door.

  “What can I help you with today, gentlemen?” I crossed my arms and moved to the other side of the room near my table, trying my best to appear as calm as possible, though my sweaty palms made my sleeves wet. “I haven’t stolen anything today, therefore you cannot be here to arrest me for theft.”

  “The day is still young, yet,” said the Sheriff. The two men chuckled, but he was not amused. He cleared his throat and stepped forward. “I assume you have learned of Prince Willem’s tragic death, my lady?”

  “Prince Willem?” I said, still feigning ignorance.

  “Yes, Prince Willem.” He rested his hands behind his back and narrowed his eyes. “It seems he was the product of an affair between the king and an unnamed maiden years ago who has since passed. She once lived here in Hadenville.” Many sheriffs, or any senior official for that matter, would never disclose such private information to a regular citizen, and certainly not a repeat offender. But this was a corrupt man who placed a dead man’s body near a fountain in a small village to keep himself from death, so his informing me of the king’s affair was almost expected.

  “What happened to him? Do you know yet?”

  “Of course we know, girl!” he snapped. “Someone found his body in the village square. He was stabbed in the chest with what appears to be a knife.”

  “Hmm--”

  “Or sword. And it is well known within the village that you are in possession of such a weapon, my lady.” His tone was cutting as he used the words loosely now. “One that many within the village say resembles a bevy of those which belong to Prince Norvack.”

  “Ironic.” I cleared my throat. “Though, many people owns knives, Sheriff. And I know quite a few who own swords as well. Some of which happen to resemble mine. We are all in need of protection within the village.”

  He moved closer to me, standing just a few inches from my face. “And just how many of those same people within this very village, this very village in which you claim to need so much protection, wanted Willem Belarus dead as much as yourself, dear?” He pulled his brows together and arched them. “It is no secret you despised his drunken behavior and callous ways. He assaulted you in the past, did he not?”

  “He assaulted many maidens in the past. And their children. Plenty reside within the village and they despised him as much, if not more than I ever did for that very reason.”

  “Perhaps.” He stroked his heavy mustache and looked to the floor. “Perhaps, though one must wonder….” He squint. “Where were you last night, Cinder?”

  I swallowed hard. “Hunting.”

  “Where?”

  “The woods, here in Hadenville.”

  “Around what time?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. It was quite dark out.”

  “How dark is ‘quite’ dark?”

  “Dark enough to keep from being seen but not enough to keep from seeing the animals as they scattered past my feet. That is quite dark,” I said.

  He stepped back and nodded. “How did you get that mark on the side of your face, Mistress?”

  I shifted and gulped. “I fell.”

  “Oh.” He sighed and looked back to his men before returning his pitiless eyes back to me. “She fell and produced a human handprint on the side of her face, there. One that looks to be the size of a man twice her frail frame.” He stood back, mocking me. “Where is your sword, Cinder?”

  “Underneath the floorboard like always. Not a single drop of blood on it.”

  “Would that be animal or human blood you speak of?”

  I sighed to keep from responding without thinking. If I became angry, I would have been giving him exactly what he wished for, an excuse to toss me in jail, and I couldn’t do that. So I took a deep breath and answered as calmly as possible. “If you wish to check the sword, Sheriff, it is underneath the floorboard in my bedroom. Clean. If not, I would like for you and your dog catching posse to leave, now. I have quite a busy evening ahead.”

  “Does that mean I shall have the pleasure of arresting you outside a certain fish market tonight? Though, I do believe the fish are fresh out and the scraps have already been given to the fat cats behind Davenport’s.” The Sheriff laughed until he cried and wiped his face with a white handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. Then he carelessly tossed it to my floor. “Well, my lady, if you had no part in Willem’s death, then I apologize for the inconvenience. But…” He stepped forward again and looked directly into my eyes. I fell back onto the table and clinched my teeth. “If I find that you have lied to me yet again, and have indeed killed the first born son of the king, so help me, I shall hand deliver you to Belarus myself and request a front row seat to your execution on the scaffold in the village square! Let us go, men.” He removed his hat and bent forward with a grin. “Good night, my lady,” he said.

  As they exited one by one, I exhaled a few times, letting out the air I had been holding in, and latched onto the edge of the table, gripping so tight my fingers bled inside the wood. I wished to cry again but refused to let the tears fall. On the one hand, I was relieved to have fooled them. Relieved I had yet to be exposed by the young woman and those children. But on the other hand, I wondered how long I could continue to do it? Keep up such a ridiculous charade of lies and secrets. How long could I go before I blew my own cover?

  The Game

  It had been a month since the Sheriff and his men first showed on my doorstep. During that time, no one ever said a word about my involvement in Willem’s death. Many people claimed to see something occur that night, but there was never enough evidence to make an arrest of anyone. I was still in the clear, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before the person who saw me decided to come forward, given the royal family had upped their reward. More pieces of gold and ruby’s from the queen’s jewelry collection were included, as well as a free night’s stay within the palace. I would relish in spending a night at the palace, even if it meant putting up with Norvack.

  Given that I had not been outside of my dwelling in so long, I had no idea if he had even been to the village square. Before leaving for military school, he would often travel there for baked goods and sweets he couldn’t get within the palace, often times because the queen forbade it as she warned him that too much sugar would rotten his teeth and impair his judgment. The local girls would go into a frenzy at the sight of his arrival each time, and their mother’s would show him the shape and size of their daughter’s feet. Seven! Eight! Six! Five! Narrow, wide, long. I had always heard that Norvack’s future wife needed a foot small enough to fit the glass slippers donned by Eliza on the day she wed King Belarus. It was never truly known if that was exactly true, but that had always been the rumor spread throughout Denmark for as long as I could remember.

  As time went on, I remained walking around on eggshells inside my cottage and was in a constant state of fear and delirium. And since I had barely slept or eaten anything solid since the day I learned the truth about Prince Willem, I had started losing more weight than ever before. My shoes still fit like gloves, but my clothes hanged from my feeble body. To keep from dying of thirst, I often stole a few cups of water from a helpless beggar across the street while he slept at night. Unfortunately, the murky water was never enough to last me for more than a few measly hours each day. I knew I had to get to the square but was too afraid of what would happen. What if the person who saw me in the forest was only biding their time, waiting to point me out in front of everyone? I would have had to run again, but I knew I would not be fast enough to get away the second time. I needed energy to run and I needed food to fuel that energy. Since I had none of the above, I would have been better off standing in place and waiting for them to come and get me. But I couldn’t stay inside anymore. I had to get out of my cottage for my sanity and food alone.

  Once I dressed and stepped outside, I realized it was early morning, though the sun had barely risen. In my current state of confusion, the days and nights seemed to inter
twine. There was dew on the gravel and dirt and few people walking the streets. More tourists passed by but many were local residents. I kept my guard up anyway, eyeing everyone I saw, looking them straight in the face without turning away. Could it be this person? I wondered. This one? That one over there? I thought. How about the bald headed man standing next to the other man in the colorful jester’s garment? Or the young girl standing next to the woman wearing the large headdress? What about the person who bumped my arm and moved along without saying a word? Could it be them? I whipped around in the middle of the street to get a good look at their face, but they had virtually disappeared into thin air. Like a puff of smoke, gone before my very eyes. I believed for awhile that I was going crazy. I could feel myself losing it just a bit more each second. I was more determined than ever to get to the village square. I needed to get food, something to fill my stomach besides water and melted butter.

  Hours later, I arrived at the square. It was much more crowded than usual, with more locals than tourists lining the cobblestone streets. Apparently, something was taking place near the fountain, but I was not tall enough to peek above shoulders to see what was happening. Though, I was small enough to slink past those who were in my way as I got to the bakery across the street. The owner paid me no attention as I sneaked inside and snatched two slices of freshly cut pita bread from a tray. I dashed back across with the pieces in hand and snatched a thick slice of honey glazed ham from the plate of an unknowing woman who was eating outside with a friend. I ripped around the corner in a flash, or what a flash was to me at that point, and leaned against a brick wall. My mouth watered before my tongue even touched the bread and ham combination. I had just made myself a sandwich. The sweet aroma of honey and warm bread mixture filled my nostrils and enlightened my senses. Forced my stomach to rumble like never before. This meal was a delicacy most would have taken for granted. But not me. It was much better than skinned rats and the fried legs of poisonous spiders, that was for certain.