The Tower Princess Read online

  THE TOWER PRINCESS

  SHONNA SLAYTON

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  CONTENTS

  Also by Shonna Slayton

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Download a Free Fairy Tale

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Shonna Slayton

  Cinderella’s Dress (Prologue)

  ALSO BY SHONNA SLAYTON

  FAIRY TALES

  Cinderella’s Dress

  Cinderella’s Shoes

  Spindle

  Snow White’s Mirror (coming soon)

  HISTORICAL

  Liz and Nellie

  PROLOGUE

  I n a land, far, far away where the winters are bitter and the springs are wet, there is a kingdom called Morlaix. Once a famous land where merchants traveled to trade for salve and balsams made from the fabled rowan trees, the land is almost forgotten today.

  Morlaix Kingdom was once strong and united. In that lush, green land, two boys grew up together as best friends. Did I say grew up? I meant, competed. After all, one was Anglo-Saxon. The other, Viking.

  “Bet I can climb the castle wall without getting caught by the constable.”

  “Bet I can shoot my arrow through the cook’s hat and pin it to that post.”

  Problem was, they both wanted the same thing when they grew up: the crown.

  “When I’m king, I’ll expand my territory in all directions—as far as I can ride. I’ll let you till my fields.”

  “When I’m king, I’ll build the grandest castle around and let you serve my bread.”

  “You’ll never be king; your head is too fat.”

  “You’ll never be king; you can’t shoot straight.”

  Boys grow into pages. Pages into squires. Squires into knights. One knight was tall with chiseled chin and quick reflexes. One knight was short with cunning mind and piercing eyes.

  Finally, all their betting and arguing came down to one final war. The knights fought valiantly, side by side, to defend the ailing Morlaix king—their king who was desperately ill and dying without an heir.

  The battle was won but the strongest two knights, well, they were not done.

  “Who’s got the fat head, now?”

  “Look how straight my shot was, eh?”

  All through town the knights did battle, ignoring the townspeople they did seek to govern, smashing the very town they did wish to own. About to destroy the life-giving center of the Isle of Morlaix.

  “You will relinquish to me.”

  “You will hand over your sword and muck out my stables.”

  They knocked each other off their horses and continued fighting fist to fist for both the upper hand and for the kingdom.

  “You will lose in hand combat. My reflexes are quicker.”

  “My mind is fast. Hand combat is my best skill.”

  Finally, the fight came to a standstill underneath the Tree of Morlaix. My tree. And that is how I got involved. The tree must not be hurt no matter the ego of the knight.

  “STOP YOUR BICKERING.

  YOUR BITING.

  YOUR BELLY WAGGING.”

  Swinging nimbly out of the tree, I planted my two small feet between the growling, frothing knights.

  They stopped and stared. Likely surprised to see me. I am the stuff of legends and tales and bedtime stories in this land.

  “Who are you?”

  “What are you?”

  Maintaining a menacing stare to make up for my small stature, I proclaimed, “King of the Woodlings.” I expected them to bow. Most do.

  Blank looks.

  Bawk! In their ignorance, they were the same. I uttered a deep growl that began as distant thunder and quickly multiplied to an earthquake. The shaking earth caught their attention and brought them to their knees.

  “WOODLINGS ARE THE MAGICAL CREATURES WHO PLAY

  UNDERNEATH THE FORESTS ON THE ISLANDS OF MORLAIX.”

  With eyebrows raised, the two knights, still on their knees, awkwardly bowed.

  I have a little bit of magic, not a lot. Enough to make people wonder about me. And take a rest from fighting to listen to my poems.

  “I SEE YOU TWO MEN, FULL OF SASS,

  HAVE FOUND YOURSELVES AT QUITE AN IMPASSE.

  BOTH OF YOU WANT TO BE KING,

  RISING WHEN KING RORICK SINGS HIS FINAL SING.

  YET, YOUR SKILLS ARE EQUAL IN EVERY WAY.

  YOUR FIGHT WILL GO ON AND ON, FOREVER BEYOND A DAY.

  PERCHANCE WHEN ONLY ONE OF YOU REMAIN,

  T’WON’T MATTER ANYWAY—THERE’LL BE NOTHING LEFT TO GAIN.”

  At the end of this speech I made the two knights turn around and witness their selfish battle through the village.

  They had dueled through the very heart of the marketplace. And, being autumn, and the harvest fully in, the marketplace was rather packed. They had smashed through piles of pumpkins, leaving trails of stringy orange innards strewn about the stalls. Exploded hay bales littered the ground. Columns of dark smoke smudged the sunset in the distance and marked the knights’ path of destruction through the metalworking corridor. As they stood observing, a decorative gourd that had been flung onto a rooftop rolled down and shattered, breaking the silence.

  The sound seemed to release an angry craftsman—a plump fellow with a pumpkin smashed on his head. He took a step forward, shouting impolite things while jabbing his finger at the knights. After speaking his mind, he flung pumpkin guts on each one, dulling the shine on their shining armor.

  “ALL THIS DISASTER CREATED WITHOUT AN ENEMY IN SIGHT.

  WOULDN’T YOU SAY—FOR THESE VILLAGERS—IT WAS AN UNFAIR FIGHT?”

  The two knights managed to hang their heads and look ashamed, even though they were not. Their brains were already whirling, trying to come up with new ways to gain the crown.

  Thus, I negotiated a peace treaty between Jorvik the Large and Simon of the House of Waterton. They each took half the kingdom. Exactly half.

  “Half? But that is not whole.”

  “Half? That is only part of what I want.”

  “THERE IS ONLY ONE WAY TO SOLVE THIS FINE RIDDLE.

  TH
E TOWN MUST BE FIRMLY SPLIT DOWN THE MIDDLE.

  HALF TO EACH OTHER, AND WITH A DIVIDING WALL

  THAT IS MY DECISION. THIS IS MY CALL.”

  We built a wall right then, splitting the town into North Morlaix and South Morlaix (for the reigning king did, after all, sing his last sing.) The wall traveled from where the water laps the base of the sea rocks, to where the thick forests choke the shore, through the fields and villages, across the moat, until it split the very center of the castle. Half for Jorvik and half for Simon. The stables, the drawbridge, the moat. Dividing everything into North and South Morlaix. Eighteen feet high, six feet across, the Dividing Wall separated the land for two new rulers, friends no longer.

  North Morlaix was mainly Viking and South Morlaix mostly Anglo Saxon.

  As for the peace treaty, it was to last as long as each knight held the throne. They could never again attack each other, or outside forces would take over and neither would win. But if they would allow, love could conquer all.

  THE KINGS’ CONTESTS

  After the wall went up, King Jorvik and King Simon set about to build their families and their armies. They decided if they could not attack one another, surely, their children could. They each took a bride. Jorvik from among the strongest damsels. Simon from the wise.

  BY PROCLAMATION OF THE KING OF NORTH MORLAIX: A CONTEST. TO FIND THE DAMSEL OF GREATEST STRENGTH. IN FIVE DAYS’ TIME. A TOURNAMENT.

  The winning damsel was built like a fighting horse. She could carry the knight’s charger five paces. She could throw a boulder from the top of the castle keep and hit the ocean. Her name was Ingrid, which means “hero’s daughter.” She was exactly what Jorvik was looking for in a wife.

  Not to be outdone, Simon also held a contest.

  BY PROCLAMATION OF THE KING OF SOUTH MORLAIX: A CONTEST.

  TO FIND THE DAMSEL OF GREATEST INTELLIGENCE. IN FIVE DAYS’ TIME. A TEST.

  Simon’s bride would come from amongst the most scholarly. He devised a series of puzzles and riddles to be solved. The damsel who could solve them all would become his wife. The winning damsel not only solved all the riddles, but also made up her own that Simon himself could not solve. Her name was Margaret, which means “pearl.” She was truly precious to Simon.

  Jorvik wanted to produce a strong heir, Simon, a cunning one.

  Jorvik’s wife was fertile and bore him seven sons shoulder to shoulder. Delighted in his growing army, he directed their training exercises next to the Dividing Wall in the castle courtyard. He had them growl and grunt and throw heavy objects to make sure their strength could be heard.

  Simon’s wife was barren. She used all her cunning to study herbs and balsams to help her bear a son. As the ivy climbed its way up the wall, time slipped by and Simon had no heir. He suffered through years of hearing the army train next door. With no children of his own, Simon poured all his energies into training his own knights from the populace of South Morlaix. He knew as soon as his old friend Jorvik stepped down from the throne, the sons of North Morlaix would scale the wall to attack. He must be ready.

  King Jorvik watched his sons train each morning. He was proud of their strength and skills. The only fly in his mead was that to win the entire kingdom, he would have to abdicate his throne to one of his seven sons. He was not ready to do so. The eldest was eager to step forward as the new king. Daily he stalked back and forth before the Dividing Wall like the caged panther he had once brought home from a trip to Africa.

  The second, third, and remaining sons trained only because they enjoyed the exercise. They knew their older brother would take over the throne.

  “You did not make the bulls-eye. Try again,” commanded the eldest son, Herrick, cracking the small whip he carried with him.

  “I was close enough. If t’were a man he’d be dead already.” The second son threw down his bow. “I’m going fishing.” He stalked off, taking youngest sons numbers six and seven with him. The boys were not yet teens and were much more interested in catching supper than in practicing under Herrick the Panther’s critical eye.

  A BOY AND GIRL ARE BORN

  Then one day there was the unmistakable cry of an infant from the South. The Panther stopped in his tracks, cocking his head. This cry was coming from the castle, not from a village brat.

  Royal trumpets sounded.

  The Panther’s lip curled in a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Finally, my competition has arrived.” He reached back into his quiver, pulled out an arrow, and shot into the Dividing Wall. “Until we meet.”

  IT WAS TRUE. A son was finally born to Simon and Maggie. There was great celebration. With an heir at last, Simon pinned his every hope on the healthy eight-pound creature. He named the baby boy Manny, meaning “powerful warrior.”

  “How long I have waited for you,” whispered King Simon.

  Unfortunately, Queen Maggie, exhausted from the difficult nine months of carrying the child and after a strenuous labor, lived only hours after her bright boy was born. On that final day, her skin turned pallid and the bed sheets became soaked with perspiration. Her fever would not come down and no one knew what to do, least of all King Simon. He paced at her footboard while she held the sprawling infant.

  “Manny, dear,” she said to the baby. “My time with you is short. I must give you a lifetime of love while I can.” She kissed his little baby nose. “You will never remember me. But my prayer for you is to unite the kingdoms the way they once were and bring peace to the land.” She kissed his little baby fingers. With trembling hand, she removed her jeweled cross necklace and laid it on the boy. She looked at Simon with pleading eyes. “Don’t let him forget me,” she whispered. “I want him to know how much I wanted him.” She kissed his little baby toes.

  Then Maggie died holding Manny in her arms, the king holding them both.

  A ruddy nursemaid removed the squawking infant from his mother’s arms and gave him to the king. Choking back his tears, he brought the infant to the window to show the waiting citizens their prince.

  While holding the babe in view of the citizenry, he unfurled the child’s banner. The people whooped and hollered. They knew the stakes of the divided kingdom. Did they not hear the next-door army practicing every day? The prince was their hope as well.

  Then, with a cry of despair, the king unfurled the black banner of death. The cheering and dancing stopped. The people stood and stared. No! Their beloved queen? It could not be. Yet there were the two banners side by side. One signifying life, the other death.

  The king knew he should speak. The people needed his strength and his wisdom. But he had nothing to say. He backed away from the window until the people couldn’t even see his shadow.

  Not knowing what to do, the people sat on the ground and waited. King Simon didn’t know what to do either. For the moment, he did not care that he was king over only half a kingdom. For just a moment he thought only of his family and what he had lost. But then, something inside him shifted. Realigned his thinking. He had to preserve what he had left.

  He knew the Panther stalked at the wall. He felt his enemy’s restlessness grow every day. He knew his son would be in grave danger. The Panther would have no heart for a baby. Could he make a double funeral? Would it be convincing? Then he could send his son into hiding—away from his family to be raised as a commoner.

  Wishing he had his wife’s wise counsel, he collapsed into a chair. He knew now, more than ever, what a pearl he had in Maggie.

  While he was mulling over these thoughts, the nursemaid approached him, wringing her hands.

  “I ‘ave a sister, newly widowed. She bore a babe yestreen and ‘as no way to care for ‘em. Bring ‘er into the castle to raise her son like he wos the prince. A decoy, as it may.”

  The king stared unblinking at the nursemaid. Could he put someone else’s babe at risk? He was shamed for even thinking it.