The King's Honour Read online

  The King's Honour

  By JL Merrow

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2019 JL Merrow

  ISBN 9781646561117

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  The King's Honour

  By JL Merrow

  One bright, clear morning in early summer, a fair young man walked through a forest that lay before a castle. He was dressed as a soldier, and a fine figure of a man he was: his back was straight, his countenance handsome, and his weapons shone like the sun. It so happened he came upon another young man chopping wood in a clearing, his slender, bare back glistening with the sweat of his honest labours.

  Feeling a sudden desire to rest his feet a while, the soldier laid down his arms and seated himself with his back against a tree. He watched the young woodcutter at his work, admiring the play of muscles under tanned skin and the easy strength of his motions.

  The woodcutter began presently to feel a prickling sensation upon the back of his neck, as so often happens when one is observed. He placed his axe upon the ground and turned with a ready smile. “Good day to you, sir,” the woodcutter said, mopping his brow with one well-shaped forearm.

  “And to you too,” the soldier replied. “Can you tell me if I am on the right path for the king’s castle?”

  The woodcutter regarded him thoughtfully. “Aye, that you are. But what would you be seeking there? We are not at war, so the king has no need of an army.”

  The soldier smiled. “I have a mind to try my luck at the mystery surrounding the king’s daughters.”

  The woodcutter nodded his dark head at the soldier. For indeed, a great mystery surrounded the royal princesses, and the story was known throughout the land.

  The king of that land had twelve beautiful daughters, each of them fairer than the flowers in spring or the trees in autumn. And although his people thought him blessed for this, the king himself thought it a curse, for his daughters loved nothing more than to dance. They would dance, if they could, every night from dusk to dawn. The king, who did not approve of such licentious behaviour, grew stern. He berated the princesses for their lack of regard for their family’s honour, and gave orders that each night they should be locked up in their room.

  At first the princesses wailed and cried, but soon enough they grew placid and agreeable, and the king began to think his family’s honour was saved. But then the servants began to whisper amongst themselves, and at last word reached the ear of the king himself: somehow, the princesses were going out dancing every night. For each night, the twelve princesses retired to their room wearing twelve pairs of soft new shoes, and each morning, the maid found the shoes lying carelessly upon the floor, their soles worn right through from dancing.

  The king’s rage and despair upon hearing this was both terrifying and pitiable. He called each of his daughters to him in turn; each protested her innocence and professed herself unable to account for the state of the shoes.

  In desperation, the king issued a proclamation: Whosoever might discover the secret of where the princesses went to dance would receive a marvellous reward: he would gain the hand in marriage of the princess of his choice, and live in the castle, and be king hereafter. But any who tried in vain would be put to death, for his attempt would of necessity involve spending the night with the princesses, and if he were not to marry one of them, the king’s honour would not allow him to live.

  There were many young men in the kingdom, it seemed, who desired to marry a beautiful princess, and live in the castle, and be king hereafter. But none of them succeeded in the task, and they were all of them put to death.

  And the princesses continued to dance merrily until the dawn, every night.

  * * * *

  The woodcutter’s handsome face was solemn as he recalled the tale. “So you’ve a yen to marry a princess?” He raised one dark eyebrow.

  The soldier took a moment to admire the young man’s figure as he stood there, his hands on his hips, sweat running down his finely-sculpted chest, before answering the woodcutter’s question. “No, I’ve no desire for a princess. But I find I’m strangely inclined to live in a castle, and be king hereafter.”

  “Ah, there’s many a man has had such a wish, and all of them lie buried at the foot of the tallest tower. I’m thinking ‘twould be a shame to see you there too, that handsome head cut from your shoulders.”

  “I thank you for your concern, but you’ll not dissuade me from my task.” The soldier shook his head regretfully.

  “Then can I tempt you to tarry here a while?” the woodcutter asked. “I’ve to finish my work here and take the wood to my grandmother, and then my time’s my own. I can offer you a bed for the night and a bite to eat, and tomorrow, some company upon your way. For I’m thinking it’s high time I had a sight of the king’s castle, living so near as I do. My name is Corin, by the way.”

  “A pleasure to meet you. I am Reuben,” said the soldier. “And I’ll gladly tarry a while with you.” He sat there against the tree, admiring the view while the woodcutter finished chopping the wood, then helped him carry it to his grandmother’s house.

  The old woman thanked them kindly after they had stacked the cut logs high beneath the eaves of her cottage, and brought them a dish of tea that they might refresh themselves after their labours. When Corin told her of the journey they were to make upon the morrow, she gazed at Reuben with eyes that seemed to see more than his straight back and handsome features. She beckoned him closer and bade him tell her of the feat he intended, and when he had finished, extracted a promise from him that they would call upon her once more on their way to the castle.

  Corin gave Reuben a bed for the night and a bite to eat, and as they sat by the fire in his humble dwelling, they spoke of many things. Reuben told Corin of the village in which he had grown up, nestled at the foot of the mountains which loomed majestically over the plains; mountains no less beautiful for all their harshness. Corin, in his turn, spoke of the forest, and of his grandmother who had raised him, and of her many wise ways.

  And as the firelight began to flicker, and the daylight faded fully, Corin asked a question that had been burning in his mind all day long. “Will you tell me, Reuben, why you’re so against marrying a princess? For the king’s daughters are said to be the fairest maidens in all the land.”

  Reuben smiled. “I think, Corin, you know the answer to that question. No woman, be she the fairest in all the land, will ever win my heart. I’ve known that all my life, though ‘twas only today I met the man who might win it, if he chooses.”

  Cor
in, his heart swelling in surprise and joy, leaned over and pressed his lips to Reuben’s.

  His kiss was warm and honest, and tasted of the ale they’d shared with their supper. The hands upon Reuben’s face were work-roughened but gentle, and Reuben returned his caresses with delight and an urgency he had not expected to feel. For this morning he had viewed the prospect of death, should he fail in his task, with equanimity; but now he found he had something he wished to live for.

  Calloused fingers fumbled with clothing, and stubbled chins rasped upon flesh as the fever gripped them both, to love this night as though it might be their last. As the candles guttered and the fire went out, moonlight shone through the tiny windows of the cottage and illuminated them both: one tall, broad-shouldered, and fair, the other slighter and dark, but no less strong.

  As Reuben embraced his slender lover, the trembling in his fingers was answered by the quiver of Corin’s flesh beneath his touch. Reuben pulled him close so each might steady the other, and kissed him passionately upon his lips, and throat, and breast.

  Corin’s skin tasted both salty and sweet, and the music of his cries was more beautiful even than the song of the nightingale that flitted around the cottage calling for his mate. The heavy aroma of wood smoke lingered in the air, but far more intoxicating was the scent of Corin’s body, its earthy musk mingling with the fragrance of the pine trees among which he lived and worked.

  Reuben yearned to know every inch of his lover, to claim him with a fierceness that was its own surrender. And Corin gave eagerly of himself, his skin soft, his limbs pliant, and his body opening like the flowers in springtime to Reuben’s wondering touch. As Reuben slid inside his lover, he knew his heart had been stolen from him never to return. But he rejoiced, for Corin had given his own heart in exchange. No words were shared as they moved together, bodies slick with their mingled sweat, for what words could compare to the tale told by hands and limbs and hearts?

  And when they reached their peak, although that moment of shared ecstasy was almost too much to bear, nevertheless both of them wished it would never end. But end it did, as all things must, and they lay together, exhausted, panting, and content, watching as the clouds cleared from the moon and its soft light fell upon them once more.

  * * * *

  In the morning they awoke entwined, and after they had once more sated their newfound passion for each other, they set out towards the castle.

  As they had promised, they stopped in first at Corin’s grandmother’s cottage. She invited them in and bade them sit a moment whilst she made her slow and halting way to an old chest in the darkest corner of the cottage. She brought forth a cloak that shimmered like spiders’ webs, and an ancient tarnished necklace from which hung a twisted-looking charm fashioned of bone or ivory.

  “Mind, my pretty young man, keep this on you always.” She placed the necklace over Reuben’s head, while he bent almost double to allow her to reach. “For those princesses will be up to all manner of tricks and spells, you may be sure of it, and this will warn you of them. When you wish to follow them, put on this cloak, and they’ll see no more of you than a shadow.”

  Reuben took the things she gave him gratefully, and promised to bring them back safely once he had accomplished his task. The old woman cackled with delight. “Mind you come back with your head upon your shoulders, my lovely!” she called after him, as they set off through the forest to the castle.

  * * * *

  When Reuben and Corin reached the castle, they were received with sorrow by the servants, but the king rejoiced to see such a fine young man as Reuben come to help him with his wayward daughters. For indeed, the princesses’ behaviour gravely troubled the king, for a reason known to none but him.

  The king, when first he came to the throne, had had a sister. She was much younger than he and more beautiful than a summer’s day, or the snows in winter. And although his mother had died bearing her—or perhaps, indeed, because of this, for he sorely needed someone to love—the king had doted upon her and indulged her every whim. What this sister loved best of all was to dance. She danced every night, and the people of the kingdom loved her for it, for she would dance with everyone: rich or poor, noble or peasant.

  But one day she came to her brother the king and confessed she had done more than dance, and was with child. The king flew into a terrible rage, and ordered she be taken to the farthest reaches of the kingdom, up into the dark and treeless mountains that glowered over the plains, there to be walled up alive in a cave.

  When those whom he had charged with this awful task returned and reported ‘twas done, the king had them put to death so none might live to spread word of his family’s disgrace. He had it put about that the princess had died of a fever, and there was mourning throughout the land, for she had been greatly loved. But although the king grieved too, yet he was easy in his mind, for the honour of his family was safe.

  And so he continued until the day he learned of his daughters’ night-time activities and began to fear they must share his sister’s terrible fate. He longed to be rid of his anxieties and greeted with joy anyone who might help him.

  The king put a royal robe upon Reuben’s back, and made him and Corin—whom he took to be Reuben’s servant—welcome. There was feasting and merriment, but Reuben made sure to drink no wine so he might keep his wits about him, and he kept the old woman’s necklace hidden within his shirt, and the cloak secure in a bag that never left his side.

  When night fell, servants conducted Reuben to the chamber next the princesses’ room, and here Corin was to leave him. But Corin would not go.

  “If this is to be the last night you spend upon this Earth, I would not leave you alone,” he told the man who had captured his heart.

  Reuben smiled, and stroked the face which had quickly become so dear to him. “But you cannot stay. Your grandmother’s cloak will cover only one man. Corin, my heart, I would take you with me if I could, but it is not to be.”

  “Only one man, you say?” Corin questioned with a grin and a quirk of his eyebrow. “Then if I am not a man, I may stay. You were not the only one to whom my grandmother gave a gift.”

  And as Reuben watched in amazement, Corin took a medal from his pocket and popped it into his mouth. At once, his beloved form began to shrink, and Reuben started forward in alarm. He could only watch as Corin grew smaller and smaller, his dear features changing, until at last there stood at Reuben’s feet a little mouse twitching his whiskers in amusement at his lover’s surprise.

  Recovering himself, Reuben smiled, and scooped the little mouse up tenderly. He placed him carefully into a pocket, and sat upon the bed to await what might pass.

  * * * *

  It was not long before there came a gentle knock upon the door, and the king’s eldest daughter entered, her long, fair hair piled up upon her head and dressed with diamonds. She held in her dainty fingers a golden pomander upon a silver thread.

  “Good sir.” She smiled sweetly. “Let me give you this, to fragrance your room and bring you sweet dreams.”

  Reuben thanked her kindly, and she withdrew. But the charm around his neck began to burn, and he knew at once the pomander had some evil spell upon it, and so he cast it out of the window to the left of his room, all the while holding his breath to evade its seductive, treacherous fumes.

  (The pomander was found in the courtyard next morning by the children of the castle servants, who played football with it until overcome by a strange lassitude, and their mothers were greatly astonished to see them fast asleep on the ground.)

  Once more, Reuben sat down to wait.

  After a short while, there came a second knock upon the door, and the king’s second daughter entered, her dark hair loose and dressed with rubies. She carried a fur coverlet in her slender arms. “Good sir,” she told him, “let me give you this, to warm your bed and bring you sweet dreams.”

  Again, he thanked her and as she left, the necklace burned once more, so he cast the coverlet out
of the window to the right of his bed.

  (It was later found by a young vixen, who dragged it back to her den to warm her cubs, and they were all greatly astonished when they next awoke to find they had slept away half the summer.)

  Reuben sat down to wait once more.

  Then came a third knock upon the door, and the king’s third daughter entered, her auburn hair in ringlets and dressed with emeralds, bearing a golden cup of richly spiced wine in her soft, white hands. She smiled. “Good sir, let me give you this, to relax your mind and bring you sweet dreams.”

  Reuben scarcely waited to feel the necklace burn before he poured the wine into the chamber pot under his bed.

  (It was found next morning by the chambermaid, who ran to the housekeeper crying, “See, the soldier must be of royal blood! For his water is pure wine!” The housekeeper boxed her ears soundly for her foolishness.)

  Reuben sat down to wait once more, fearful he might have nine more visits to suffer through this night; but no further knock came upon his door. Thus satisfied he had evaded the princesses’ tricks, he lay down upon the bed and pretended to sleep.

  * * * *

  A long time seemed to pass. All was silent, and Reuben uttered a gentle snore or two to aid the illusion that he slept. When he finally heard the door creak slowly open, he made sure to keep his eyes tight shut.

  “He’s away with the fairies, dear sisters, just like all the rest!” came the voice of the eldest princess. There was a soft, rippling sound, as of a stream that trickled merrily down the mountain to bring freshness and life to the plains below, and Reuben knew it must be laughter. He wondered at how these princesses, outwardly so gentle, could be so hard-hearted as to condemn him and many others to death for the sake of a night’s jollity.

  But one dissenting voice was heard, and from the wistful, childish sound of it, Reuben guessed that it was the king’s youngest daughter who spoke. “But he is such a fine young man! Truly, it seems a shame he should die for our pleasure.”