Part 6
1125 Words
SIX
"Your Majesties, may I present to you, the renowned knight from far off lands, the hero of countless battles, the mighty Sir Chase!" the herald bellowed.
Glad his helmet hid his grin at such flowery exaggeration, Chase strode into the hall. His stupid armour turned his usually smooth stride into more of a stiff march, but no one seemed to notice his discomfort. Instead, all they seemed to want to stare, wide-eyed, as though they'd never seen a man in armour before.
The king – Erik, Chase reminded himself – rose and announced, "On the morrow, we shall hold a tourney so that you may all test your skills against such a legendary hero – "
Whatever else he said was drowned out by cheers and toasts to the king's health as the hall erupted on either side of Chase.
When Chase finally reached the dais where the king sat, instinct told him to kneel, but he could not – his benighted armour wouldn't let him.
"Fool," the queen muttered, as if reading his thoughts.
Chase whipped off his helm.
A gasp drew his eye from the queen to a girl – a princess, perhaps? – further along the high table. She blushed. Definitely a princess, ripe for marriage to some rival kingdom. Before some handsome knight stole her heart and her virtue, too.
But seducing princesses would have to wait until his place here was assured. Chase bowed from the waist, praying his armour would not slice him in two.
"Your Majesty King Erik," he said. "I am honoured by your hospitality. I wish only to serve."
He knew he should reach for his sword and lay it at the king's feet as he knelt, but even if he could reach his sword, kneeling was beyond him. He thought quickly.
"I eagerly await tomorrow's tourney, for what better way to show a man's fighting prowess? Yet there is more to a knight than his sword," he continued.
The princess blushed redder than ever. Perhaps she knew more of such things than a maiden should.
Then the queen laughed.
And he could think of nothing but her. A hush fell over the hall, as it seemed every man there shared his thoughts.
Her mocking smile made him wonder once more if the queen could indeed read minds. "Pray continue, Sir Knight."
"As you wish, most beautiful queen." He wet his lips. Abraham had been the one with a way with words, especially when it came to women. He racked his brain for something that would impress the queen. "A true hero must keep his wits as sharp as his blade. His honour must shine as bright as his armour, and never be allowed to tarnish." Chase glimpsed a fly out of the corner of his eye, flicked away by the princess's impatient hand, and inspiration struck. He continued with more confidence: "So that if his liege or his lady is plagued by the most enormous monster or the tiniest gnat, he can dispatch it forthwith."
He turned to face the princess.
"Allow me, Your Majesty," he said.
He reached behind him for his bow, notched an arrow to the string and let it fly. His arrow lodged in one of the tapestries high above the princess's head, missing the fly completely. Not that anyone would know for sure without climbing the wall to examine his arrow.
Stupid armour.
He had the princess's attention for certain now. But he needed the queen to be equally impressed.
A fly circled the queen's head.
Chase drew another arrow. He'd only have one shot at this, and his aim had to be perfect. He breathed out and loosed.
His arrow arced up over the queen's head before embedding itself in the wax encrusting a lit candelabra at the back of the dais. The candles wobbled for a moment, but thankfully did not fall.
The fly, still unharmed, flew toward the princess, whose eyes met his. If the queen was a mindreader, so was her daughter. And the daughter knew he'd missed the fly twice.
He winked at her and said, "Fear not, young maiden. A knight's duty is to save every lady, not just the queen."
Chase reached for a third arrow.
The fly buzzed back toward the queen.
Chase released the arrow, just as the queen flicked her fingers to shoo the fly away.
His heart leaped into his throat. By all that was holy, please, no.
Queen Margareta leaped to her feet. "Guards!"
A thin line of blood trickled down the queen's fingers to where the arrow had lodged in the table before her. As if taunting him for his poorly timed shot, a shimmery wing was all that remained of the fly, now squashed under the weight of his arrow.
Chase didn't feel the guards seizing his arms – his armour was too thick for that – until the men started to drag him back, out of the hall.
No. This was all wrong. He was supposed to impress the queen, not shoot her.
"Your Majesty, I meant...I meant to rid you of a pest, not..." He was mortified to hear the weakness in his voice. Begging.
"Silence!" Queen Margareta thundered.
Chase had never been more relieved to obey a woman's command.
At her side, King Erik rose. "Anyone who seeks to harm my queen commits treason. Such a heinous crime is punishable by death."
No. He hadn't. He'd wanted to impress her, help her, not harm her. He'd never harm a woman. Never. Why, when his own sister lay dying, begging him to leave her to find her husband, to bring him home, Chase had not been able to release her hand. He'd learned archery so he could defend her. Like he wanted to serve this queen. Not...
"He's telling the truth!" The high, clear voice could only belong to the young princess. She stood eye to eye with the queen over the head of the woman who sat between them. Her nurse, Chase presumed, for the woman was trying to make the princess sit down, but the girl was having none of it. "He shot a fly. Look!" The princess pointed.
A silent battle raged between mother and daughter.
Chase's own life rested on the outcome, he knew, but he couldn't think through his fascination at these two compelling women. The queen was formidable, but the princess did not fear her.
Whoever the girl married...he'd better not rule a rival kingdom, for that would mean war.
Somehow, the queen's eyes had moved back to Chase. Her voice was quiet but deadly. "Get out. This once, you may leave with your life. Set foot in this kingdom again and you will not be so lucky."
The princess had won, but he did not dare risk a glance of thanks in her direction, lest the queen change her mind.
He bowed, then fled, leaving his hopes in tatters on the flagstone floor.
- Writer
