The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(5)
A silver stag ink stain marked the back of the paper.
“What’s the meaning of this?” she asked, stunned.
“It’s the royal crest.” Meera sighed. “The royal family has publically approved MAM lobbying for the open position.”
Chapter Two
Gerard paused his horse at the edge of the forest and looked out over the abandoned field. Perfect. A tangle of green vines with wide, flat leaves paraded along the edge of the forest floor.
“Drop them here, Edward.” He dismounted and brought his horse to a nearby apple tree. “Keep yourself out of trouble.” He rubbed the star-shaped furrow between the mare’s eyes. The horse snickered and bit a piece of fruit off of a tree.
“Here, sir?” Edward stood at the back of a loaded wagon, hand resting on the latch.
Gerard surveyed the area. Land stretched for miles. He checked the sky again, the sun whispering low on the horizon. Soon he’d be able to see the half moon breach the horizon.
“This spot is perfect.” He trudged through muddy ground to Edward’s side.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Edward gave a bow and released the latch.
“Edward, we’ve talked about this. Just because my mother wants to refer to me by my title does not mean you should. In fact, do it again and I may contemplate firing you.” He looked his valet square in the face. “You regarded me as your friend and equal in our time abroad. Don’t be an ass.”
Edward pondered his words. “Fine, Gerard.”
The meaty man, more of a prizefighter than a valet, rolled the heavy logs from the wagon and onto the mud.
“Should we have brought more help?” Gerard stacked the wood on the wet ground as well.
“For what? Lifting?” Edward raised a brow at Gerard’s frame and chuckled. “You’d put your own men to shame. Best do this ourselves.”
Gerard flexed his shoulders and smiled. He’d left Galacia six years ago as a scrawny twenty-year-old. Dependent on servants for everything, not confident in his own opinions or actions, he had been afraid of leaving home for so long.
But traveling abroad had done wonders for his self-esteem, and frame.
Early into their adventures, Gerard realized he didn’t want to visit the other kingdoms as a prince. Being a prince in a foreign land meant never seeing the landscape, only staring at paintings of it. He wanted to be with the people, eat food like a commoner, explore ruins, and self-educate.
He and Edward had shipped their worldly goods back home and blended in with townsfolk.
Not recognized as a prince, Gerard had walked effortlessly amongst commoners and peasants. He’d made friends with people who valued his ideas and talents. He and Edward took up jobs to support their lowbrow traveling expenses since bartering with gold coins would highlight his noble status. They’d serviced themselves out with hard labor.
Gerard lifted a massive log over one shoulder and jogged to the forest’s edge. He dropped the wood to the ground with a thundering crash, rolling it into place.
“Let’s build here.”
“I thought you liked the observation tower in the castle. Isn’t it enough?” Edward lugged a log behind him, sweating.
Gerard clapped him on the shoulder. “Have you seen the dimensions of that ancient telescope? I need a much larger device and observatory to conduct my research.”
“I wish we’d never run into that old astronomer.” Edward sighed and lumbered back to the cart for more timber. Gerard followed suit and dragged two pieces the width of his thighs behind him.
“Why? That old man was a genius. He found a correlation between magic levels and the phases of the moon. This kingdom is useless when it comes to magic, it’s nothing but illusion and an excuse to show off wealth.”
“Why do you care?” Edward tugged the last log into place. He dropped the bag of tools in the pile with a metallic clatter.
“I’m to be king one day, Edward. I’d like to have a firm hand in helping my people through this next century. Channeling the moon’s power will help us find a practical use for our magic—instead of all this froufrou illusion nonsense.”
Edward grinned, a simple lift of one side of his mouth. “Couldn’t agree more, sir.”
Magic in this kingdom was a joke. People fought over it. Created political campaigns around it. And the worst part? The old magic was helpful; it flourished crops and clothed people. Nobles hated it because people from all social classes had access to conduits of old magic; it was passed on through bloodlines and ancestral objects. The new stuff? Just an excuse for rich people to show off their wealth, instead of helping citizens.
He’d heard a fable, traveling abroad, that explained the difference between new and old magic. It was called “The Two Tomatoes.”
An old beggar wandered into a village and asked a merchant for a bite of food. The young man handed over a squishy, pockmarked tomato the color of a faded pumpkin.
“What’s this?” the old beggar asked.
“A tomato,” the merchant replied.
“It doesn’t look like a tomato.” The old man sniffed it. “It doesn’t smell like a tomato.”
The merchant shrugged and waved a hand over the fruit. Instantly, the skin turned cherry red and the flesh tightened in the beggar’s hold. “There, satisfied?”