A Princess Who Defied Kings Read online

  A Princess Who Defied Kings

  By J. Kirsch

  Copyright 2014 J. Kirsch

  Smashwords Edition

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  Praise for A Princess Who Defied Kings

  One part heroic fantasy, one part snarky heroine with a mouth on her, one part adventure, one part romance. Add danger, a threat of mayhem and barely-escaped death, stir together and enjoy. -K. G. McAbee, honorable mention author for Writers of the Future

  ALSO AVAILABLE BY J. KIRSCH

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  Crysalis: Beginnings

  Tales from Omega Station: Abduction

  Tales from Omega Station: Betrayal

  A Princess Who Tamed Demons*

  *Coming Soon

  Author's Note

  Chapter 1

  "Princess Najika of the White Kingdom, do you have anything to say for yourself?"

  There was plenty I wanted to say. Not that it would do me any good. What did a girl say after killing her husband on their wedding night? Nothing I pointed out would justify what I'd done in the minds of the Law…Or those who carried it out.

  "No, your Lordship. The condemned would only beg for the mercy of the Conclave." I bowed my head in modesty, though I felt anything but. My blood boiled and my mind seethed.

  There were many Kingdoms, but they shared one Conclave, one Knight from each color who inherited artifacts of power and would pass them down to their sons, who would one day pass them to their sons, and so on until the eons yawned.

  I remembered doing a lot of yawning when my father's lore keeper made me memorize the history of Arkor. Each Kingdom was named after a color, and my father was the White Knight, arguably the most powerful ruler of them all.

  But as I looked across the echoing chamber of the court, I saw no pity in those eyes. Not even mercy. Father's distant gaze told me that I might as well have been a thief from the borderlands instead of his only daughter.

  Kovinus the White, Kovinus the Fair. That's what others called the man I called Father. He'd always told me—Naji, I love you very much, but remember that for my Kingdom to prosper I must always value justice over mercy, and yes, even love. Never forget that. When I discipline you, it is for the good of all.

  We'd come a long way from that day when I was eight years old and stealing apples from the royal orchards. I wondered what he was feeling right now—not that it mattered. His sense of duty was sacrosanct. It wouldn't affect his decision. Not about me, not about anyone.

  The Knights of all the other colors except for two sat in judgment of me, and in front of the high dais and all those ornately carved thrones stood a man who wore a shimmering cloak colored a cream that could blind eyes like the sun. He was a truthmaker, one of the men who prosecuted crimes at the Knights' court. He was the one who'd asked for my final remarks in his heavy, formal tone. I hated him for it, for how he drained my impending execution of any human element with his stiff-sounding words.

  "May it please the Conclave, before you render judgment, I respectfully invoke the privilege of Recommendation against execution."

  There was an uproar in the chamber. Murmurs erupted like squabbling geese, and my eyes snapped up to look at the man who had so far done everything in his power to paint my wretched guilt before everyone.

  Jethred had one of those ageless faces carved in stone, and so I couldn't tell what the truthmaker had in mind, but I didn't think it could be good for me.

  "Princess Najika has claimed extenuating circumstances…"

  "Circumstances which we have only the word of a girl to corroborate," one of the Knights spat. My father stood up with a pained look.

  "Truthmaker, what games do you play? We all know that a princess's words do not outrank an elder member of a Knight's family." He turned to face my mother-in-law who briefly was, the mother of the Red Knight. Her faded cheeks gathered with the heat of anger, and her hatred for me seemed to leap across the space, making my breath catch.

  "The Lady Agwen has every right to wish justice for her son," my father continued, and though his eyes were filled with torment, they grew firmer by the moment. "This is what must be DONE," he thundered. "Who are you to invoke Recommendation in a case this heinous!?"

  But Jethred didn't seem to bat an eye at Father's outburst. He calmly walked across the colorful mosaics on the tiles and stood toe to toe with him.

  "Nonetheless I do invoke it, as is my right. And this is what I urge the Conclave to do. Take this princess and send her to wed the Black Knight. Offer her as a peace offering that might one day bring the Black Kingdom into the fold with all the other Kingdoms of Arkor."

  The ripples of whispers this time were more hushed. Chills made colonies of goose bumps along my arms and legs. I felt terror seize where my heartbeat should've been.

  Father and the other Knights looked at him in shock. The Green Knight rose up, his gauntleted fingers slowly rubbing the stubble of his chin. He was known as the thoughtful Knight who seldom spoke. But he seemed intrigued by the certain, more cruel death which Jethred now dangled in front of the Conclave as my new fate.

  "You propose giving the princess to the most feared and loathed man in existence. Never mind the fact that I doubt he would welcome a murderess into his marriage bed. Death by poisoning would be a gentler thing, wouldn't it? As the daughter of our brother Knight, she at least deserves that much consideration."

  Since girlhood I had heard of the Black Knight's exploits. He was a sadist who supposedly killed, tormented, and raped purely for the enjoyment of it. No person had entered his realm and returned alive, except diplomats by his permission. In a few ages past one Knight or another had raised an army and tried his mettle by leading an invasion over the Black Kingdom's ragged ring of peaks. Shortly afterward, the son of a missing Knight would always be forced to take up his inheritance.

  Only a few living people had ever even seen the Black Knight. He stood back, aloof from the world. Who knew—maybe he was as soft-hearted as a Kaledornian dwarf giving milk to a baby goat. But I seriously doubted it. I would never forget the one trip to the edge of that Kingdom, and what my Father had shown me—to 'educate' me, he'd said.

  A line of skeletons, impaled skeletons…strung as far as the eye could see.

  "Please, I beg you, don't do this." I was startled to realize that those words were coming out of my mouth.

  "Why? Why this…Recommendation?" my father asked, excruciation returning to his eyes, aging his face right in front of me.

  "What if the girl tells the truth? Consider it, lords," Jethred insisted. "If it is true, and Princess Najika killed the Red Knight with justification…" There were catcalls of outrage, but Jethred spoke over them.

  "If the princess's story has any truth to it, then sending her into the Black Knight's Kingdom will at the very least serve a purpose of showing him our intent. Give him a letter, signed and sealed by the Conclave, informing him of her crime so that he can decide whether the princess is a vile murderess or whether she is redeemable by whatever twisted virtues he believes in."

  He threw up his hands like a preacher haranguing his churchgoers. "We have tried to conquer the Black Knight through war, but no Knight has ever tried to use that other type of persuasion, my lords. The olive branch of peace might lead to trade. If it is worth the attempt, then doesn't offering the flesh and blood princess of one of our own Kingdoms—expendable and tarnished
though she may be—make a powerful statement?"

  Jethred whirled away from my father, now seeming to stare down the rest of the Conclave. Despite the embossed glory of each Knight in his suit of armor, somehow the finery of Jethred's cloak cowed them all. His demeanor subdued their doubtful expressions.

  "And if she has lied about everything that led to the Red Knight's death, then that makes this fate only more appropriate."

  Jethred turned to me, and a bony index finger pointed at me like I was a monster.

  "Look at the fear in her eyes, lords. She has stood by quietly, displaying before us nothing but pride and stubbornness while I have outlined the evidence to her appalling act, the slaying of her own husband. Yet see now, there is fear. Real fear! I think she would gladly go to hang at the gallows…but this? This is another animal for her, my lords. You know it. So now I beg you, act on it. Follow my Recommendation. Let fate have its way with her."

  When I'd looked down at Pordric's blood splattered everywhere—on the bed sheets, on my hands, my legs, my hips—then I'd known a second of fear. But it had subsided afterward because at least I'd known what to expect. But now? Robbed of the swift and merciful execution I'd anticipated, I found myself at a crossroads on the verge of torments I couldn't imagine.

  One thing kept my spirits from collapsing though. It would be a long journey to the Black Kingdom. What opportunities would crop up on the way? Escape? A lucky encounter? I was not done yet, not by a long shot.

  I had been disowned by Father, by everyone, but not by one important flame that seemed to flicker everlasting inside me. Survive, Naji. Don't give up. You're a turnip that could grow on mountaintops, snow be damned. My brother, were he here right now, would've told me that with a grin that said it was us against the world.

  How I wished he were here now. I think he would have loved and supported me even after everything that had happened. I would do it for him. I would do it for me.

  I would get away. I would be free.

  Chapter 2

  I'd made at least two friends on the endless journey. Three if you counted the dog who followed at a careful distance with curiosity. That was an accomplishment.

  I walked on unsteady feet along with the rest of the banished prisoners. Though I was to be a 'wedding gift' for the Black Knight, the Conclave had decided by popular vote that I shouldn't be treated any differently.

  Bereft of clothes, the other prisoners and I walked on the dirty, dusty road. My naked skin was caked with grime. I think even my eyelids had a fine layer of grit, the female prisoner's version of makeup.

  Only two things made it bearable. There was a girl to my left and an elderly man to my right. We were all hitched to horses by our wrists, forced to stumble ahead at a pace just fast enough to induce the agony of fatigue. The girl was Bronwyn, and I couldn't remember the old man's name. But both could carry a tune, and as we plodded ahead their sparring voices took my mind off of the aches and burns which protested in one muscle after the next.

  Oh, the Giant of Arkor, bearded was he.

  He jumped over the Pearly Mountains and chuckled with glee

  There he found mint cloves, and made he an ale

  That made him so merry, he swam like a whale!

  There were more verses and rhymes, most of them just as chock-full of nonsense, but Bronwyn told me that her brothers and sisters used to sing them in the fields to pass the time.

  We were now ambling along the semi-paved, cough-creating 'road' through the Brown Kingdom. There was a long, flat plain on either side. Almost featureless. Boring. Of course boring could be good because each uphill shift made my legs burn with aches beyond aches.

  I looked over at Bronwyn. She had tanned skin and callouses on her hands so unlike the soft skin along my palms and fingers. My bronze complexion might have fooled someone into thinking I was a hard worker, but the smoothness on my body up and down gave me away.

  My feet were the one exception. They would be bleeding by the end of the day's march.

  I wasn't looking forward to treating my blisters, let alone getting a good look at the ruins of my toes after the setting of the sun.

  "Princess, it's an honor to walk next to you. I've never met royalty before, but now I can die a happy man. Who would've thought I would ever be marching next to a beauty like you?" The old man gave the kind of laugh that only a dirty old man on his last legs can get away with, but despite our mutual nakedness the comment didn't come across as offensive to me. His eyes never left my face, and there was a kindness in them that made me wish I could stare into them for a while instead of watching out for the next loose paving stone that might trip me and leave my arms or knees skinned to the bone.

  Jorvi was the old man's name, that was it. It drifted down like a loose cobweb in my sweat-drenched head.

  My dehydrated brain was by now moving in and out of clarity. My legs seemed to move automatically. The more numb they got, the less I cared what was ahead.

  I vaguely ticked in my head how long we'd been traveling. Had it really been just over a week? What could I remember about the Brown Kingdom? Not much. I tried to stay alert, though. I made a valiant attempt to learn the words to some of the ridiculous songs Bronwyn and Jorvi started singing again.

  That's when it happened. The first luck I could reach out and touch since my wedding night.

  I remembered vaguely that the Brown Kingdom was less stable than the others. The Brown Knight was legendary for his laziness, and he didn't bother to police his realm all that carefully. Outlaws, brigands, highwaymen—let's just call them 'bandits' to make it simple—multiplied in the forests which pockmarked the plains here and there like tufts of fur.

  We had just started down a sudden dip in the road, and we kept going along to where the road must have been paved through the eye of a ravine. Whatever river had scoured out the ravine was long gone, but the trees here had seen it all. They were thicker than the tower outposts along the borders of the White Kingdom, their glistening red bark taunting me to touch them.

  I was just trying to focus back on the road when I heard a twig snap. And then it dawned on me that the 'twig' was actually a large branch swinging out onto the road at hurtling speed. The branch was wide, long, and spiked with vicious wooden stakes. These same stakes now skewered several lightly armored guards at the front of our column. Arrows whispered from the shadows of the trees, driving home into pink flesh. A grizzled old warden in a chainmail shirt cried out as his neck sprouted a red-feathered shaft.

  He toppled over, groaning as I stepped over him, praying for his suffering to be long and agonizing. Vicious? Maybe, but after seeing his butt undulate back and forth in comfort on the horse which forced me to march at a stumbling trot day after day, I'd stoked a good deal of hate for the man.

  I gave in to instinct, and before anyone realized what was happening I had run forward, ignoring the needles in my feet and jumping awkwardly up onto the saddle. With my wrists bound in front of me I couldn't maneuver very well. I hung over the horse like a sack of potatoes for several heart-pounding moments, nearly falling headfirst onto the road before my fingers found a grasp on the stirrup.

  I swung about, carefully shifting my weight and letting my feet settle in. There was a lot of slack rope which connected my bound wrists to the pommel of the saddle, but other than being an annoyance it didn't prevent me from doing what I needed to do next.

  I should've just ridden into the forest and thrown the dice, but I didn't. You're not leaving them, Naji. You're not. I turned and nudged my nervous horse onto a collision course with the armored guard riding the horse in front of Bronwyn. The guard's attention was distracted. He had his shield raised, and four lethal shafts had already embedded themselves in the wood. He was bellowing to some of his brothers in arms when my horse collided into him just hard enough to disorient him. I reached over, grasping the hilt of a knife at his belt. I drew it and plunged it into the unprotected flesh of his thigh.

  That's the thing about lon
g journeys in hot weather—guards don't like to sweat, and they don't always wear armor head to foot. I jerked backward just in time to avoid the wild cut of his blade. His shield arm dipped for just a moment as he howled in pain, and that was all it took for the next shaft to whoosh past his defenses, finding a gap between the breastplate and the arm guard. The armored warden grunted in pain and tried to kick his mount into a gallop to get himself clear of the battle.

  Yes, and if he does that he'll reduce your friend's body to a bloody pulp as she bounces along the ground behind him. Hearing the terror in Bronwyn's cry must've given me equal parts strength and courage because somehow I launched myself at the guard, and the crown of my skull met his chin with a violent crack.

  I felt something in his jaw give way as we both toppled over his horse. He hit the ground and I didn't. The rope from my wrists went taut, and I probably would've broken both hands if Bronwyn hadn't rushed to my side, her hands cradling my shoulders and pushing me back up until I could pivot astride the horse she was still bound to.

  "Let's switch horses," I said. "Follow me." I tried to say it like I knew what I was doing. Bronwyn looked hardier than me, but I could be decisive when I wanted to be, and the hesitation in her eyes told me that she…not so much.

  Jorvi was gone. The scene behind us had deteriorated into a chaos of ragged, unwashed bodies and armored ones, the ring of sword against sword, and horses crying out in pain. I saw one gap-toothed bandit bring down an axe the length of his whole body onto the head of an unsuspecting guard from behind.

  The guard's head…it was like a melon which…My mind tried to blot it from memory, and I turned back to what mattered. Survival.

  Chapter 3

  The outlaws probably didn't have a chance, that much the periphery of my vision could tell me. I had to give them credit for an ambush well executed, but our escort to the Black Kingdom included one of the Knights of the Conclave. The Blue Knight, Sir Gewthur, was not much older than me, but he cut a dashing figure in his sapphire-glossed armor. Like any good artifact of power, the blue armor had special traits. The lore keeper's annoying lessons reminded me that it protected the wearer from heat, cold, not to mention the bite of any axe, blade, or arrow point.