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Damsels of Distress:
THE PRINCE AND THE PICKPOCKET
By
Michelle L. Levigne
© copyright February 2007, Michelle L. Levigne
Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright February 2007
ISBN 1-58608-
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
ONE
Roderick first saw the palace where his ancestors had ruled on a dusty summer morning, five days before solstice. He wasn't impressed.
So what if it could house nearly one thousand people in comfort? He didn't like crowds. He disdained people who turned their lives over to someone else. If he hated others telling him how to think and what to do with his life, why would he want to do it to someone else?
King Hafbaek could have the palace, the job, the power and the headaches. Rod's multi-great grandfather had lost the kingdom nearly three centuries ago. Rod was grateful. The traveling life of a spy-for-hire/swordsman suited him perfectly.
So why had he let the ghosts of his ancestors pressure him into this stupid errand?
So why, when he looked at the dozens of peaked towers with flags flying, golden stone walls and acres of gardens spread around it, did something catch at his heart?
Rod shook his head, slapped his hulking gray warhorse and edged back into the stream of wagons, horses and peasants on foot, all heading for Hafbaek's palace. If he wanted to get a decent night's sleep any time soon, he had to shut up the ghosts. To do that, he had to retrieve the other half of the talisman to heal the kingdom on a full moon solstice.
Unfortunately, that rare event chose to happen in his lifetime.
Rod shook off that depressing thought. He had to concentrate on getting into the palace. Everyone and his brother, mistress and cousin wanted to be there for the solstice festival. Wandering mercenaries weren't on the guest list.
Young lovers wanting the king's blessing on their marriage, however, were always welcome. Hafbaek fancied himself a poet and had made himself the champion of romance. Especially if it dealt with two young lovers defying their families. More fodder for more poems the king foisted on his slavish followers.
Rod needed a lady to pose as his sweetheart. He loathed noble ladies with their delicate ways and constant demands. The women he usually encountered wouldn't even try to pretend to be delicate and noble - and they wanted marriage. He needed a temporary partner who was glad to stay temporary.
Rod pulled the coin-sized talisman from the slit pocket of his leather vest and pressed it against his bare flesh, over his heart. It stung for a moment, like fairies in a bad humor biting his fingertips. He had plenty of experience with that. The fairies in the southern part of the kingdom wanted him to take back the palace and throne as fiercely as the ghosts did.
"Show me the one," he whispered, and envisioned a maiden he could stand being with.
Sleek. He appreciated a round bottom and soft breasts to fill his hands, just like any other healthy man, but Rod knew there could be too much of a good thing. At sixteen he'd nearly been smothered by a woman who belonged in the dairy business.
Nobly born, but impoverished. No servants to get in his way. He wanted something pretty to hang on his arm and make those arrogant bluebloods jealous. And quiet. No chatter when he needed to think. And -
There she was. Rod felt his heart jolt when his gaze skimmed the crowd and landed on a party of three. Wheat-colored hair. Eyes so big he could see their leaf green tint from a bowshot away. She wore a simple, loose dress that hinted at small, round breasts to fill his hands. Clear skin, lips the color of raspberries, no cosmetics, and her hair hung in two simple braids that fell out of her scarf. At last, a woman who didn't spend hours in front of the mirror.
Rod nudged his horse a little faster as he wove through the crowd to ride up alongside her. He gathered his will and focused on the talisman to weave the spell for his bidding. It grew warm against his bare flesh, then a chord like a harp sounded in his ears. Satisfied, he returned the talisman to the slit pocket. When he touched her bare hand, the spell would release, encompassing her and her two servants on their ancient ponies.
Yes, this one would do nicely.
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