The Scarecrow King: A Romantic Retelling of the King Thrushbeard Fairy Tale (2 page)

I glanced back at the lake. The visiting baron was struggling to get to his feet, his rich velvet cloak and fancy brocade clothing soaked from the water. A lily pad hung from his forehead. “He’s in the water, father,” I said helpfully.

“Rinda, you are an embarrassment to this throne,” my father hissed at me.

I ignored him. My father always said I was unmanageable, but I think that was because he did not like me very much. I did not like Father very much either, if the truth were to be told.

Behind him, Imogen shook her head sadly at me, as if I’d disappointed her greatly. I didn’t care – Imogen was always disappointed in what I was doing. Father adored Imogen the way a father should, but to me he was cold and overly-critical.

When I was younger, his iciness had hurt me. Now I simply took it as a challenge instead, to see how completely unmanageable and unlikable I could truly be. After all, I was a princess and my father was king. Wasn’t I expected to be a spoiled brat?

“The maids tell me that you stole all the pearls from the treasury.”

I examined my fingernails. Drat, I’d gotten a bit of blood under them. I fixed my concentration there, picking them clean as I thought about how to answer my father. The truth would irritate him the most, so I went with the truth. “I fed them to the fish. They make the most amusing expression when they realize they’ve caught a pearl and not a fly. Quite hilarious.”

His fists clenched, and his mouth tightened as his gaze rested on my face. “The rest of you, leave.
Now
.”

When the guardsmen paused, Father slammed his fist down on his leg and roared, his face turning even more purple with rage. “I said, leave
now
!”

The men could not leave fast enough now. They scrambled down the path, eager to get away. Even Baron Thorpe, fool that he was, trotted after them dripping lake water and lily pads. I gathered my pearl-seeded skirts, pretending to leave, though I knew he was talking to me.

“Not you, Rinda! You stay there!”

Instructing me like a dog. Typical. Father glanced over at my sister Imogen and placed his hand on her shoulder in an almost tender gesture. “You may stay too, my dear.”

Imogen beamed at him. I wanted to gouge my sister's eyes out with my needle, the little brown-nose. As much as I loved Imogen for her sweetness, I wished for once that she'd try and take my side. Perhaps chide Father when he was rude to me instead of looking up at him adoringly.

Forcing my blandest courtier smile on my face, I yawned widely, assuming a bored expression on my face as if to say Father's temper was very dull indeed.

Imogen tossed her pretty blonde hair and gave a slight shake of her head at me as I continued to yawn loudly, knowing full well what I was doing. Imogen was the good princess, the dutiful daughter, and she strove to stay out of trouble at all times.

My father glared at me.

I ignored it – and Imogen - and patted my mouth, finishing my drawn-out yawn. “Will this take long, Father? I was just heading to get some rubies.”

“You will get nothing, Rinda!” My father was so angry that spittle frothed at the corners of his mouth.

Even though I dreaded Father’s rages, I would not let him see that it bothered me. So I kept the bored look pinned to my face even as he raised a hand as if he would slap me. It was only Imogen’s hand placed on his sleeve, that saved me from a hard slap across the face.

At her touch, Father recovered slightly, though I could tell the fury was still there. “Rinda, you are a most vexing girl,” my father said, the tone of his voice dark.

“Thank you, Father,” I replied, keeping my voice cheerful. “I do try.”

He stared down at me with disgust, and I knew what he was thinking.
Common
, just like her mother.
Disgraceful. Not worthy to be part of the royal family.
I’d heard it over and over again throughout my sixteen years. Though I'd heard that Father had cared deeply for my mother, he couldn’t stand the sight of me.

Probably because my birth had caused her death.

Ever the peacemaker, Imogen glanced between the two of us and lifted her chin, smiling. “This is just Rinda being high-spirited, Father,” she said, her voice the right mixture between curiosity and affection. “She was merely being naughty as she always is.” Her pointed gaze slid in my direction before she turned her eyes back to Father.

“I have had enough of her naughtiness and childish games,” my father said in strained tones. “You are good to cover for her, Imogen, but it is time that both of you grow up. It is time that the two of you married,” my father the king said. “Sixteen and eighteen-year-old princesses are old enough to marry.”

My stomach dropped at his words. Imogen gasped in delight.

“It is past the time you found a husband,” Father said, his voice gentler as he looked over at Imogen's shining face. “Remember that your mother was not much older than you when she and I wed.”

“And that turned out so well,” I interjected pleasantly.

His face purpled and he glared at me. Good. Father did not like being reminded of our mother.

Father continued on, not bothering to look in my direction as he discussed the details of our royal weddings as he would taxes, or a crop harvest. “The invitations have gone out. I've invited all the outlying nobility in Balinore. All earls, dukes, and counts that are reasonably young and unattached and have some fortune are invited. I've even invited the Lioncourt king, though I don't expect him to show. I'd never send dear Imogen so far away, and Rinda is far too common to interest him. Her Birthright is known to be weak, and he can do better.”

A reminder of my poor magic and a verbal slap to boot? Father was in rare form today. I rolled my eyes. “How nice for the King.”

Imogen smiled at Father as if he'd bestowed a rare gift. “I should not want to leave you either, Father. The people need me here.”

“Of course not, my poppet. That is why you will marry no higher than an earl. You can remain here as my successor.” He reached over and patted her hand and she stared at him with an adoring expression.

I wanted to vomit all over the lakeshore path.

“This makes me so happy, Father,” Imogen said. “You are so thoughtful—”

“And me?” I said loudly, interrupting the affectionate conversation. “Am I going to marry some lapdog and stay in Balinore as well?”

My father glanced at me again, as if remembering a pesky gnat. “Alliances with neighboring nations are equally important, Rinda,” he said in a warning tone.

I felt ill, my stomach heaving as I realized that was my answer. I would be sent away, a royal offering to some foreign dignitary who would never realize how much my father despised the sight of me. Princess Rinda offered as a token gesture of friendship to some outlying dukedom, where I'd be too far to return to court and would spend my days raising children with a tenuous thread to the Balinore throne…provided they did not inherit my 'common' brown hair.

Gone from court, forever. From everything that was familiar. I licked the bruised pad of my thumb, sore from where I’d pricked it too often. It tasted like ashes in my mouth.

Imogen had come to the same conclusion about my fate, and cast me a distressed look. “Rinda cannot stay here with us?”

“She can visit whenever she likes, of course,” Father said in a mild voice, and tucked her hand into his arm again.

I bit down on my thumb to keep my frustration at bay. Of course precious, pretty Imogen and her water Birthright were needed here. Lousy Princess Rinda with the brown hair was useless. Marry her off and send her far, far away.

I couldn't hate Imogen for it, though. I loved her just as much as I despised my father. She would make a good queen when he was dead – she cared deeply about Balinore and our people.

Father smiled down at Imogen, as if she were one of the valuable pearls that I’d been feeding to the fish. “The ball will be in a fortnight and you can pick your groom there.” He paused, expecting us to thank him for such generosity, and looked pointedly in my direction.

When my gratitude wasn't forthcoming, he frowned at me. “I can only afford a small dowry, so we'll have to hope for an alliance on the promise of ties to the throne and that face of yours. Luckily for you, it's not half as unappealing as your hair.”

“The throne?” I asked sweetly.

“Your face,” he said in a sharp voice. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Every charming bit of it, Father. Shall I summarize for you? We shall have a ball in two weeks,” I said, ticking off the points on my fingers. “Imogen will have her true pick of royal grooms. Meanwhile, all the fat noblemen with lined pockets will be trotted before me like prize pigs at the fair. I will smile and laugh and pretend that I have some sort of choice in the matter. The one that can stand to be married to one with such a poor Birthright as me will win the prize. And then I will be driven from the castle and out of your hair. Did I forget anything?”

“You do not have any objections?”

As if I could object. He was the king – one did not object, even when one's life was being destroyed. “Just a question, Father,” I said in a bright voice. “Am I invited to the festivities or should I even bother?”

Imogen gasped, her eyes wide at my impudence.

Father swallowed, his brows settling low on his face with anger. “Don't be pert, Rinda. That sharp tongue of yours will do you little good in two weeks. You should practice being sweeter to please your future husband, else you might not find yourself with one.”

“My, that would be terrible, wouldn't it?” I drawled, though the thought did indeed make me ill.

I'd seen all the nobles in our small kingdom many, many times – every time there was a festival or holiday, they flocked to Balinore's royal castle like vultures nearing a carcass. To a one, they were either fat, stupid, or boorish. Some were lucky enough to be all three.

Imogen had a shy crush on one of the nearby earls, but I'd found no one that interested me.

“What if I refuse?” My voice was losing its lightness, an odd strain showing on the edges that I cleared my throat to remove. I did not want to show weakness in front of my father, after all. “What if I don't want to marry at all?”

“Nonsense. The kingdom is low on money,” he said, his gaze straying out to the pond and his mouth growing hard and angry again, no doubt thinking of the dozens of expensive pearls now swimming about in the stomachs of fish. “I'll either have to raise taxes for the next year or rid myself of unnecessary expense. And I cannot marry you off and not marry Imogen as well.” He took another bite.

I swallowed hard. Unnecessary expense. Lovely. Imogen was special but I was simply an expensive inconvenience. “And what if I don't find anyone that I like at this charming ball, Father?”

“I'm sure you will find someone pleasing,” Imogen began in a soft voice.

Father gave me a cold, hard smile, his neatly trimmed blonde beard stretching in a pleased look I'd rarely seen before. Father was
never
pleased with me. “If you do not select a husband for yourself, then I will pick one for you, Rinda.”

I said nothing, though my arms prickled with fear. I did not even want to consider who my father would pick for me.

~~ * ~~

“Must you antagonize Father?” Imogen swept into my room several hours later, after court had been dismissed for the evening and all courtiers gone to bed. I was propped up on one elbow, reading an old book of legends, and barely glanced up as my sister entered. Around my room, my maidservant Dorcas pulled expensive dress after expensive dress from my wardrobe, shaking out the dust and wrinkles before she packed them.

The fairy globes that lit the room (courtesy of the Birthright of a neighboring countess) cast a lovely silver gleam to Imogen's pale hair, the light making her even more beautiful and ethereal. It simply turned my hair a muddy brown.

My sister moved to the side of my bed and sat on the edge, frowning down at me. “You were deliberately trying to provoke him tonight.”

I rolled my eyes and lay a ribbon between the pages of the book to mark my place, seeing as how I'd get no more reading done tonight. “Of course I was trying to provoke him, Imogen. Did you hear him ordering me about like a dog? Sit, Princess Rinda. Fetch, Princess Rinda.” I looked thoughtfully at my ornate wardrobe. “Maybe I should start wearing a dog collar to official dinners—”

“Rinda!” Imogen bounced on the bed, trying to get my attention so I could see her outrage. “It's not like that! You just go too far. You deliberately provoke Father.”

“My very existence provokes Father, Imogen. You know he hates me.”

“You're his daughter,” she tried to explain in that sweet voice of hers. “Of course he doesn't hate you—”

“He hates me,” I said over her, “He hated mother and everyone says I look like her. Brown hair, small magic, common. All the things he loathed in her, he despises in me.”

Imogen shook her head and reached out to take my hand in her own. “Father is just desperately unhappy, Rinda. You must try and understand him. Things are very difficult for him. Running a kingdom takes a lot of work.”

Oh, of that I had no doubt – but I was also certain that my father was a terrible leader. He cared nothing about the military of Balinore, preferring to let Lioncourt's well-trained troops guard us. As we were sandwiched between the massive kingdom of Lioncourt and the sea, Father's plan had worked so far, but we had acquired the reputation as spoiled, lazy hedonists. And perhaps we were.

Maintaining a rich cultural court here at Balinore was expensive, and the coffers of the kingdom were dangerously low. The harvests were rich, but Balinorans were not known for their thriftiness with money. I pulled my hand from Imogen's and fingered the delicate hand embroidery on my bed coverlets, watching as my maid ran past with another gown, this one of a rust-colored watered silk. It was ghastly expensive, with dark red jewels sewn into the bodice. It was also ugly and made me look like a brown robin. I'd worn it once before banishing it to my closet.

I glanced back at Imogen's worried face and my heart softened a little. Her brows were low with worry, and I hated to see Imogen upset over anything. I reached over and patted her hand, then sat up on the bed. “Don't worry. I'm sure I'll think of some way to get out of this marriage between now and the ball.”