The Beautiful Pretender (A Medieval Fairy Tale #2)
Melanie Dickerson
1
The year 1363, Thornbeck Forest, The Holy Roman Empire
REINHART STOLTEN, MARGRAVE of Thornbeck, spotted the pack of wolves devouring their fresh kill at the bottom of the ravine. He nudged his horse in their direction as he let go of the reins and readied his bow and arrow. He was still too far away for a good shot, but he urged him closer, until his horse brought him into range of the bloodthirsty killers.
Reinhart took aim and let the arrow fly, striking one of the wolves in the neck. It let out a shriek, causing the other animals to look up. Two of them kept their teeth in their meal even as they snarled and searched for the source of the danger.
Reinhart quickly nocked another arrow and shot, striking another wolf in the shoulder instead of the intended kill shot to the head.
The wolves had spotted him and started to run. Only one of them was more interested in his food than in the danger pursuing him. He kept hold of the carcass as he ran away with the others. Reinhart aimed and shot at the one lagging behind, dragging the dead animal, but the arrow missed him.
The wolf let go of his kill and ran harder.
Reinhart urged his horse after them. The wolf with the arrow in his shoulder ran along with the other six wolves.
Reinhart and his horse chased them up the ravine, through the heavily wooded hills of Thornbeck Forest, and eventually the injured wolf grew tired and fell behind. Reinhart was able to finish it off, but there was no use going after the others. They were too far ahead now.
He put his longbow away and turned his horse back in the direction of Thornbeck Castle. The sun was just coming up, sending a glow through the trees as he neared the castle mount.
His castle mount. He was in charge of Thornbeck—the town, the region, and the castle. He was responsible for all of it, and he did not want this pack of wolves roaming the forest, which would lead to tragedy when they ended up attacking and killing someone.
He arrived in front of the stable and dismounted, holding on to the saddle with one hand while he waited for the stable boy to retrieve his walking stick.
Where was that boy? Reinhart growled at having to wait, at the humiliation of needing a cane to walk.
Finally, the boy came around the horse with his cane. Reinhart took it and limped toward the castle.
He had been a powerful knight who could sword fight, joust, and anything any other soldier could do, and better. Now he had to depend on a cane, walking with a limp, with even the servants staring at him in pity.
He held on to the railing with one hand and his cane with the other as he very slowly made his way up the steps to the castle door. The pain in his ankle and lower leg was as bad as ever, and his scowl became a growl.
No one could pity him if he was growling at them.
“Lord Thornbeck.” Jorgen Hartman, his young chancellor, met him at the door.
“What is it, Jorgen?”
“My lord, a letter from the king has just arrived. His courier awaits your reply.”
“Well, where is this letter?”
“It’s in your library, my lord.”
Reinhart made it to the top of the steps and stumped down the long passageway that led to several rooms on the lowest floor of the castle.
“My lord,” Jorgen said, walking beside him, “were you out hunting wolves this morning? Alone?”
“I was.”
“Should you not take someone with you? A pack of wolves can pull a grown man off his horse.”
“Are you suggesting that because I’m now a cripple, I am unable to hunt alone?”
“No, my lord.” Jorgen did not look intimidated by Reinhart’s angry tone and scowl. “Any man would be in danger against a wolf pack. I also mention it because I think Odette—who you know is an excellent shot with a bow—misses hunting, and she and I could help you kill twice as many.”
Reinhart frowned at him. “I am surprised you are so quick to allude to your new wife’s lawbreaking activities.”
“She would not be breaking any laws by accompanying you on your wolf hunts, my lord.”
Reinhart grunted.
Finally, with his slow, halting limp, they arrived at his desk in the library. There lay the missive from the king, wax seal, ribbon, and all.
Reinhart broke it open and read it. He threw it down on his desk and walked a few steps. He leaned his shoulder against the wall, staring out the window.
“What does it say, my lord, if I may ask?”
“Read it for yourself.”
There was a rustle of parchment behind him, then Jorgen said, “My lord, the king is asking you to marry.”
Reinhart’s new role as margrave certainly came with a price.
“Do you know any of these ladies he’s suggesting you marry?”
“No.”
“Do you have one in mind you would like to ask?”
When he was the captain of the guard for the Duke of Pomerania, he could take all the time he wanted to choose a wife. But everything was different now.
“I do not believe I shall choose anyone . . . for now.”
“But, my lord.” Jorgen came to stand beside him and held out his hand to him, palm up. “You cannot ignore a command from the king.”
“I would not call it a command. It’s more of a . . . suggestion.”