The Scarecrow King: A Romantic Retelling of the King Thrushbeard Fairy Tale (25 page)

A flash of yellow moved past the carriage window and I straightened, awaking from my reverie and staring out the window. There it was – a woman leaning against a building, her beggar’s bowl set out in front of her, a thick, dingy yellow cloak on her shoulders.

“Stop the carriage,” I called, pushing the door open. The carriage screeched to a halt, but I had already leaped from the step onto the cobblestones, my long-skirt knotted in my fist. Soldiers fell in behind me, but I ignored them, my gaze focused on that fluttering yellow cloak.

The cloaked woman saw my approach, paled, and snatched her bowl up, running down an alley. I followed close behind her, cursing my ridiculously flimsy silk shoes as they splashed through dingy puddles. The wearer turned a corner and I followed close behind. “Wait,” I called. “Stop!”

The yellow cloak paused and turned, the hood lowering. A young girl my age stood before me, her hair and face dirty, her cloak ragged. She gasped at the sight of me in my finery and dropped to her knee in the muddy alley, bowing before me. Her beggar-bowl clattered to the ground. “Your Majesty.”

I studied her clothing. Under the filthy yellow cloak, she wore my favorite pink gown, the one that had been crusted in seed pearls throughout the skirts. I saw now that the pearls had been torn from the silk stitching, ruining the delicate brocade underneath. That was all right, though. I would have done the same thing in her place. The pearls on the hem alone would probably feed her family for a year. I stared at her bowed head, brown like my own.

What did I say to her? We had nothing in common save a shared dress. Still, I felt a connection with her. Her life had been irrevocably changed that day that Alek walked through Threshold, except hers was for the better. Mine was just all sadness and betrayal.

“Stand up, please,” I told the girl, and waited for her to regain her full height. When she could look me in the eye again, I smiled. She looked like me, in a fashion. Her eyes were brown, her hair the same golden brown as my own, thick and straight. My face was rounder than hers, my skin finer, my pose more arrogant. But other than her rolled shoulders and hesitant demeanor, we could have been cousins. My mother’s common roots were evident. For some reason, that made me smile.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t mind looking like this girl. Like a commoner.

“You have a family?”

She blushed, clearly ill at ease. “I do.”

I nodded and bent to pick up her bowl. She only had a coin or two in it, and it was near midday. It was a hard life for a beggar, I realized, and my own problems suddenly seemed petty and small. I reached into my pocket and pricked my finger on my needle. I rubbed a bit of the blood on the bottom of the bowl and felt the magic tickle through me and onto it. Then I handed it back. “Just be careful to leave that on there,” I said with a shy smile. “I promise it will bring you good luck.”

Her eyes widened and she dropped to a curtsy again, hugging the bowl to her chest as she realized what I had done. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Thank you!” Her voice was thick with emotion. “You are very kind to me. Everyone speaks of your graciousness, Queen Rinda. I feel lucky to have your blessing.”

She knew what my magic was – everyone in the kingdom did – and she thought it amazing. Perhaps I was not the useless princess after all. Still, this was getting a little embarrassing. I gave her an awkward smile, murmured a few things, and returned to my carriage, thoughtful. Perhaps if I stayed in Balinore, I could change things for the better, starting with the yellow cloaks. I was no longer Princess Rinda the useless.

Now I was Queen Rinda, and I was determined to be a better woman.

~~ * ~~

My entourage moved through the heart of the city through to the palace. As we moved, people began to trail around the soldiers, excited. Cheering. For me. It was a heady feeling, and I waved at them and tossed coins into the streets, which made the crowd even larger. It seemed that I’d left Balinore a humiliation and returned as a hero. Strange. By the time we got to the palace gates and I emerged from the carriage, I was blushing from the cheers that arose at the sight of me. Surely a little money tossed in their direction wasn’t enough to make me such a beloved figure? It was puzzling. Cries of “Good Queen Rinda” went up in the crowd, which startled me. News traveled fast. I’d scarcely left Balinore a month ago and emerged as queen of Lioncourt only a few days after that, yet somehow they had heard the news.

Puzzled by this, I let the guards lead the way as I returned to the palace. This time, no one would stop me. Disgraced Princess Rinda married to a beggar had been kept out, but no one would dare prevent the Queen of Lioncourt from entering.

No one was there to greet me as I entered the wide double-doors of my family’s home. This did not surprise me, since my father was no doubt livid over my return. But Imogen’s lack of concern still hurt. I guessed that my family would be in the throne room, and I headed in that direction.

My sister was seated upon my father’s throne. Her expression was regal and serene, and she said nothing as my party approached the throne. I gave her a quick curtsy of introduction, and was pleased to see the smile spread across her face. “Sister,” Imogen greeted, her smile warming. “It is so good to see you again.”

“And you,” I said, glancing around the throne room. It was empty of the nobility that normally loitered at court, and I wondered if this was deliberate. Instead, only servants and guardsmen clung to the walls. Also missing? My father.

But that was forgotten as my sister moved off of the throne and swept forward in a flash of muted skirts, her hands extended out to me. “Come, let us talk, Rinda.” While her words were warm, the look in her eyes was concerned. “Father could not be here to greet you. He is vacationing at the shore with some of the nobility. When I heard that you were returning to us for a visit, I stayed behind so someone could greet you.”

“I don’t care if Father’s here,” I told her, and realized that it was the truth. I could care less what my father thought of me anymore. I no longer thought of him at all. So I tucked my hand in hers and let my sister sweep me forward toward the dais. “I’m sorry to keep you from your trip, Imogen.”

She waved a hand and gave me a wide eyed look of surprise. “Of course I will be here to greet you,” she said, emphasizing the words. “You are my sister who has been brought low–”

For some reason, it irritated me that she would bring that up. Imogen always meant well, but I hated that she automatically thought less of me. I was not a charity case. “Actually, I am queen of Lioncourt now.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and then a smile spread across her face. “Of course! How silly of me to forget.” She glanced at the servants and waved them forward. “We shall celebrate my sister’s return! Wine for all!”

We chatted as refreshments were brought, and one of the servants pulled my sister’s smaller throne next to my father’s so I could sit at Imogen’s side. My sister talked of various things – of the crops she’d helped save, of the laws she was helping bring about, of her upcoming wedding. All of it was done while squeezing my hand and speaking animatedly. A servant handed her wine and she gave him a thankful look, though I saw her eyes narrow when the servant turned to me and offered me the same.

Realization splashed over me like a cold breeze. Of course. Imogen didn’t know what to think of my return. My sister loved me, but my sister also loved attention, and her affection for me was warring with her need for adoration. That was why her voice was a little too cheerful and happy, and why she had stayed behind. Imogen liked being the good daughter, the right daughter. The perfect daughter.

I supposed that it had been easy to love me when I was the one that was constantly getting in trouble – she had loved me because she wanted everyone to love her. And now my strange appearance and the excitement that the commoners had shown at my arrival was bizarre to her, and Imogen did not know how to act toward me. My heart clenched a little at that. My sister had always loved me, but she had loved Balinore more, and she wanted – no, needed – its love in return. My sister was the long suffering princess of the people because that was what she enjoyed.

For some reason, it made me sad for her. So I squeezed her hand and declined the wine offered. “Tell me more about how things have been at court,” I said to her, judging it a safe topic.

She sipped her wine and then put it aside, giving me a faint smile. “It has been strange. We have received odd reports from Lioncourt, and of course, everyone talks of nothing but you and your deeds.”

My mouth went dry. “My deeds?”

“Yes,” she said, clearly surprised that others viewed me in high esteem. “It seems that the jongleurs have all been quick to share tales of the magic princess who saved her husband from a cave full of rampaging spiders and brought down the monarchy of Lioncourt to give her husband the throne.”

I blushed to hear it. “That’s not exactly how it happened, or what happened at all.”

“No? I’m surprised. There are many tales of your bravery and your love for your husband, and your fierce, bold magic.” My sister looked openly puzzled. “Were those stories really about you?”

“Well, there was only one large spider and a lot of small ones. And my husband was already the king, but someone was trying to take his throne. And my magic’s the same as it’s always been. I’ve just found more uses for it.” Though my words were modest, I admit that I smiled with pride, thinking of it all. “It was quite a journey…unfortunately with a bad ending.”

I left it open, in case she wanted to talk, in case she truly cared what had happened to me. We could have a sisterly moment, snuggle up under the covers together like we did as children and confess our secrets. I could tell her about how I had loved – and left – Alek, who was the best, most decent man alive, but had lied to me and made me feel unwanted and stupid.

My sister only patted my hand and gave me a soft smile. “The stories did sound too fantastic to be about you.”

I laughed. Not because she was right, but because she might have been right a few weeks ago. Back when I’d fed pearls to fish and the scope and breadth of my day was determined by how much I could vex my father. I was still outspoken and unafraid, but I was no longer that girl, starved for any sort of attention. I felt centered and more at ease with myself now more than ever.

“Your stay in Lioncourt must have been torturous, then. I cannot imagine how horrible it must have been to be married to a poor man.”

“Actually, Lioncourt was lovely,” I said, thinking fondly of the sunlit city and of the kindnesses shown to me there. Alek's smiling face came to mind and my heart ached. I remembered his warm kisses and the way he’d held my hand when we walked.

I thought of him handing me flowers and blushing when I would reach out and crush the flower in my hand. He’d laughed and taken my sourness as a challenge. He’d never been angry, not like my father always was, or disappointed in me like my sister.

I thought of huddling close to Alek in the spider caves. Of him staying up all night for days on end so I could get some sleep. I thought of holding hands in the darkness.

I thought of him lying with his head in my lap, and me so worried that he was dead that tears streamed forth from my eyes. And the sheer relief and love I’d felt when he awoke and smiled at me. And I remembered the happy evenings we’d had in our small cottage together, when we’d smiled into each other’s eyes and went to bed early.

“It was not horrible being married to Alek,” I said in a husky voice. “Not ever.”

“Yet you are back here?” She said in a curious voice. “How long will you be staying?”

I barely heard her. My mind was full of thoughts of Aleksandr. His warm, open smile. The way he’d held me against him, the way he’d stroked my hair. The look in his eyes when he told me he loved me. The shy look he’d given me when he’d told me that he had wanted to marry me because of my sharp tongue and forthright manner.

He’d never mentioned that it had to do with me being a princess. Only that he’d wanted me. There were princesses in the Southlands with purer bloodlines and richer dowries. He’d given my wealth away to strangers and handed me flowers to make me smile.

And all of that was for
me,
not any other princess.

“Rinda?”

“Not long,” I said, squeezing her hands as I came to a realization. I still loved my husband. I didn’t understand why he’d never told me the truth, but it didn’t matter. Spending every day without him would be miserable. He hadn’t trusted me, true. But every one of his actions and gestures had showed me just how much he loved me. Just how much he cared for me, and how he thought I was smart and clever all along.

I’d been too blinded with pride to see it before now.

I smiled at my sister and squeezed her hand. “Not long,” I repeated. “I just wanted to see you to let you know I was well, and then I’m going back to Lioncourt.” Back to Alek and his warm smiles. My pride could stay here in Balinore – I no longer needed its cold company.

“Well, that’s a shame,” My sister said in a voice that told me she clearly didn’t understand. “But if you think it’s for the best…”

“I do,” I said cheerfully, thinking of Lioncourt and the sunshine and my husband. I wanted to go home.

Imogen brightened. “At least when you return, the minstrels will have something new to sing about. They’re quite terrible.”

I gave her a half-smile, scarcely paying attention. Oh, I’d spent so much time away from Alek. I was such an idiot for leaving his side, simply because I’d been hurt. “The songs?”

“No, the minstrels,” she said, her pretty eyes widening. “One is quite terrible. I’ve never heard anything like it. He can’t carry a tune in the slightest.”

My heart thumped painfully in my chest, and my entire body froze. “He…can’t sing?”

“No,” she said dryly. “And to make matters worse, he is terribly enthusiastic about the whole deal. Sings all kinds of war songs and battle songs, all off key. He keeps trying to enter the castle, too. We’ve had to tell him that no entertainers are allowed while you are visiting.”