The Scarecrow King: A Romantic Retelling of the King Thrushbeard Fairy Tale (8 page)

To my surprise, Aleksandr did not respond.

“Well?” I said, turning and craning my neck to see his response. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

“Do you know,” he began slowly, his words thoughtful. “I think you’re so very unpleasant because you’re afraid of letting people get to know the real you. I think you’re afraid of letting people see what a gentle,
sweet
girl you are. It’s a wonder that your father had to marry you off to a stranger at all. Bridegrooms should have been knocking on your door for miles around.”

“I hate you!”

Chapter Seven

“We’ll stop here for the evening.”

Lost in a depressed reverie, I stared into the thickening twilight. We’d left behind Threshold some time ago and now traveled along a narrow path through the woods. I’d never once gone further than the city itself, so all this green and lack of people was a bit disturbing. The fact that it was dark and no one seemed to be around but myself and my new husband? Even more so.

But…stopping seemed like a good idea. My thighs and posterior ached from sitting on the horse for so long, and Aleksandr's arms had slid around my waist at some point, no matter how many times I slapped them away.

Still. I peered at the dark trees as Aleksandr slid off the side of the horse and began to lead it into the woods. “And why are we stopping here?”

“Well, not exactly here,” he replied, seemingly full of energy despite spending hours on horseback. “We’re going to go off the path a little and set up our tent. With luck, we’ll have a nice fire and maybe a stream to bathe in.”

‘Our’ tent? Bathing? I stiffened, remaining atop the horse. “Why don’t we keep riding until the next town?”

Aleksandr tilted his face up to me, but it was too dark to see his expression. “The next city is on the other side of the mountains.”

“Are those very far?” The peaks could be seen from my bedroom window, but I scarcely paid attention to them. “Maybe we should just wait to cross those.”

Aleksandr remained very quiet. After a long pause, he asked in an odd voice, “Tell me, Rinda, have you ever actually left the castle prior to coming with me?”

“Of course,” I scoffed. “I go into Threshold all the time.”

“Anywhere besides Threshold?”

I grew silent, still sitting stiffly atop the horse. “What does that have to do with anything?”

A soft sigh echoed in the gloom. “I see. Perhaps this was a poor idea.” His hand reached up and touched mine before I could slap it away. “Here, I’ll help you down off the horse and we’ll set up camp.”

I allowed him to help me down off the horse, and gave a thoroughly unladylike groan of distress when pain shot up my legs.

“You all right?”

“I’m not all right. I can barely walk,” I gritted, pushing his hands away as soon as my feet touched the ground. “Quit touching me.”

I expected him to make some lascivious comment about my stiffness – any flirtatious courtier would jump on it, offer to massage me. Men propositioned my sister all the time, who laughingly flirted back. But to my surprise, he did not say a thing about it.

“Follow me and we’ll pick out a nice spot.” He said, taking the horse by the bridle and leading it into the forest.

I trailed behind him, watching his shoulders as he moved into the tall trees. The sun would be down shortly, so I made sure to keep pace behind him. Ferns and small shrubs and thick grasses littered the forest floor, some of them covered in flowers. It was all very…woodsy. And horrid.

“This looks like a good spot,” Aleksandr said, and tethered the horse to a low hanging tree branch. “Just stay here and I’ll set up camp.”

This was the spot? For what?

I stood next to the horse, idly petting its neck as Aleksandr moved around the spot he’d chosen as ‘camp.’ First he gathered some wood, and returned with a small pile that he arranged after clearing a rocky section near the roots of a large tree. He unhooked the pack from his back and began to pull out a variety of items. I watched with curious interest as he clanged flint against his knife, sparking against tinder to make a flame. Once the fire was going, he began to set up a tent, whistling as he did so.

When he was finished, I eyed the tent. It was so…small. Barely more than a square of ugly fabric held off the ground by two sticks. Aleksandr took the blanket off of the horse’s back and shook it out, then laid it on the ground in the tent, then smiled at me. “Your bed, milady.”

I wanted to cry at the sight of it. “That’s where we’re sleeping?”

I could have sworn Aleksandr blushed. “Well, not both of us,” he said. “I’ll stay awake and manage the fire. You can sleep.” He shrugged off his cloak and handed it to me.

Sleep? On the ground? That did it. Frustration and anger welled up inside me, to the point that I wanted to scream. “No! This–this is ridiculous!” I threw down the cloak he’d offered. “Are you insane?”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

I gestured at the meager campsite. “This! This ridiculousness! I had a fortune’s worth of clothing! You gave it away! Why did you give it away?”

“Did you see all the poor people in Threshold?”

I really didn’t see what difference it made. “Of course I saw them. It’s impossible not to see them everywhere.”

Aleksandr picked up the cloak I had tossed away and brushed it off with his fingers. “They needed your wealth far more than we do. You could see the desperation in their eyes – some of them didn’t know where their next meal was coming from. I wanted to help them.”

I didn’t know where
our
next meal was coming from. “That’s ridiculous. Why not help us instead? You would rather live as thieves in the wilderness?”

He gave me a sunny smile and leaned in, as if sharing a secret. “We’re not thieves…we’re minstrels. I have a flute for you in my pack.”

“I’m going to ram that flute down your throat,” I yelled, fists clenched.

Aleksandr did not lose his calm. He simply put another log onto the fire and ignored me.

“How can you sit there in the middle of the woods like this and expect me to sleep here? There’s no roof! There’s no bed!” I gestured at the tent. “I wouldn’t let the lowest servant sleep on that poor excuse for a camp, and you expect me to? I am a–”

“Princess. Yes, I know,” he said, a hint of weariness in his voice. He poked the fire once more and stood. “And I regret that you are so very unhappy, dear lady, but it is beyond my control. If we were near an inn, I would take you to one. If we were near my home, we’d ride straight through. But as we are near neither, we have no choice but to sleep here, unless you’d like to get back on the horse and ride through the night.”

I stared at him, then glanced over at the horse. Then back at him again. His words, eminently sensible, had deflated the argument out of my body. I flopped to the ground in a mess of wrinkled skirts and crushed petticoats. “So, then what? I’m tired, cold, and hungry.”

“If you’re tired, go to sleep in the tent. If you’re cold, I’ll stoke up the fire a little. If you’re hungry, I’m sure I can catch something around here.” He squinted into the darkness. “Well, maybe not. But I do have some dried meat and cheese leftover from before.” He reached into his pack and offered me a little of both, then held out his waterskin.

I took the offered meal and ate a few bites. I was starving, but the entire thing was dry and coarse. As I ate, Aleksandr busied himself around the camp, rubbing down the horse and collecting more wood. Now I was only tired, instead of cold, hungry and tired. Still miserable, though. I cast a furtive look at Aleksandr, who was whistling under his breath as he gathered firewood and dumped it nearby. Why was he so happy all the time? We were stuck in the middle of the woods. We were poor as beggars – no,
poorer
than the beggars who now had my clothes – and we were married. I wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. Instead, I bit my tongue and glared at the fire.

A flower appeared in the corner of my vision, and I stared up at Aleksandr in surprise, dread trudging in my stomach. Was this a preliminary to…a wedding night? Here? With him?

My expression must have been telling. Aleksandr blushed and sat down next to me, shaking his head when I scooted away. “I should explain,” he stammered, sticking the flower so close to my face that it nearly tickled my nose. “This…it’s a tradition where I come from.”

“Shoving a flower into a woman’s nose?” I retorted, pushing the flower aside.

He raked his free hand through his hair, causing it to stick up. “No, I…not exactly.” Aleksandr pulled back and gave the flower a frustrated look. “You see, where I come from, marriages have strict traditions for the first month. Courting happens after the marriage.”

“After?” I sneered at him, hugging my knees close to my body and staring at the fire. “Doesn’t that seem rather pointless to you? The woman can’t escape once the vows are made.”

“That’s not true,” he protested, and offered the flower to me again. “We have tradition. The vows are said, and every night for thirty nights, the husband gives his wife a flower. If she accepts the gift, she can take him into her bed that night. If she declines, he sleeps alone.”

Well, that was easy enough. I reached over and crushed the flower in my hand, then tossed it aside. “There’s your answer.”

Aleksandr grinned, showing white, even teeth in his tanned face. “I thought you might say something like that. But don’t worry! Twenty nine more nights before I can convince you otherwise.”

That would never happen. “And what happens after thirty days and I still refuse you?”

His face grew sober. “Then we dissolve the marriage. It’s over.”

A laugh bubbled from my throat. “No, truly, what happens?”

Aleksandr didn’t smile back. “If we cannot get along within a month, why should we stay married?”

Why indeed? Hope spiraled through me, and I could hardly breathe with the relief of it all. So I wouldn’t have to be married to him forever? If I held out for a month – a mere month! – I could return home. Had my father not realized Aleksandr's strange wedding customs when he’d married us? Or had he simply not cared?

The world was suddenly full of promise again, and I smiled.

Aleksandr was studying the crushed flower with a bemused expression on his face. “You certainly don’t mince words, do you?”

“Not often,” I agreed, almost cheerful despite my exhaustion. I yawned and stood up, gathering my skirts with me. “And now that the little courting ritual is over for the night, I am going to sleep in the tent.” I paused and gave him a suspicious look. “Alone.”

“You’re quite safe with me, dear lady,” Aleksandr said, feeding another log onto the fire. “I’ll stay up and watch over the camp while you sleep. Make sure no vagabonds stroll through and try to carry you off.” He winked.

Vagabonds carry me off? It was a little too close to how my day had already been. I ignored his comments and crawled into the tent, yawning. The ‘bed’ was hard and smelled like horse, but I was too tired to care. I tucked my arm under my head and curled up, to sleep. Something dripped onto my face, and I squinted up at the canvas walls of the tent. I supposed it was too much to hope that it was water proof. With a sigh of irritation, I pulled out my needle and pricked my finger, then rubbed the bit of blood on the tent wall. No more drips. Outside, I could hear the light patter of rain, but Aleksandr didn’t ask to join me in the tent.

Just as well. Between myself and my petticoats, there was no room for him. Relaxing, I closed my eyes and began to drift. I was nearly asleep when a thought occurred to me. “Aleksandr,” I asked sleepily. “Where did you say you were from again?”

He chuckled, the sound as low and warm as I imagined the fire might be. “I didn’t say. But since you asked, I should tell you that I am from Lioncourt.”

My eyes flew open, and a plan began to form in my mind.

~~ * ~~

The next morning, I awoke to a tickle on my cheek.

I batted at the tickle, yawning. Something moved in my hair, and I bolted upright, clawing at my skin. A bug the size of my small finger scuttled over my makeshift blankets and disappeared under my skirts. I screamed in horror and jumped to my feet, the tent crashing down around me as I frantically shook my skirts.

“Wide awake, are we?” called Aleksandr cheerfully from outside the tent. “You’re just in time, as I’ve just caught breakfast.”

Oh, I did not like the sound of ‘caught breakfast’.

I stumbled out of the tent, pushing my loose braid off of my shoulder. Most of it had come undone overnight, and I had no idea how to re-braid it. My maids had always done such things for me. My dress was wrinkled around me, and slightly damp and altogether uncomfortable. And my skin felt dirty – a new and wholly uncomfortable feeling for me. At home, someone was always there to prepare a scented bath for me. As I stared at the trees of our campsite, I came to the sinking realization that I’d never experience that again. My husband was a poor commoner, and I was trapped in the marriage with him.

Trapped for only twenty-nine more days, I amended. After that, I’d be free to return home, or go where I pleased…even to the palace of the king of Lioncourt.

After all, a king was a king, and I could shave the man and dress him in better clothes. And I already hated being poor. After one day, I was quite done with it. If I had to marry a hairy, dirty king to ensure that I kept my life of luxury, then that was what I’d do.

Just as soon as I rid myself of the problem of my current husband. The man, who, as I emerged from the tent, gave me a sunny, cheerful smile.

“Good morning, dear lady. Did you sleep well?”

“I did not,” I replied tersely. “And yourself?”

“I did not sleep,” he said, nudging a small log onto the fire. Sure enough, there were dark circles under his eyes, but he seemed cheerful. “Someone had to watch the camp, and you were in no condition to take a watch shift.”

Watch shift? I didn’t even know what that meant. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and yawned. “You said you had breakfast?”