Beguiled (The Fairest Maidens #2) - Jody Hedlund Page 0,1
Scania to the island, Gregor and I had discussed strategy and decided the only way the outcasts would allow someone like me, without limitations, onto the island was if Gregor posed as a noble lord and I accompanied him as his servant.
So far, our ruse had worked. While many questioned why Gregor needed to bring a manservant, no one realized I was Prince Mikkel of Scania, the firstborn son of King Christian of the Holberg lineage. I’d played my role well, treating Gregor as my lord, having to compensate at times for my scribe’s difficulty in ordering me around.
Whenever Gregor protested, I assured him this was all part of my Testing, that the small deception was necessary in order to gain access to living amongst the outcasts. They accepted him as one of their own, and in doing so, tolerated my presence. At the very least, they’d ceased shunning me completely, as they’d done for weeks after we first arrived.
Gregor shifted on his bench, staring into the fog, rigid with readiness, obviously sensing the same peril I did.
“See you something, my lord?” I asked.
“Yes,” he whispered tersely. “Someone is there.”
Fowler stopped laboring. “If you sense danger, my lord, then we need be heading back.”
I’d learned that Fowler and the others sought Gregor’s approval because of his title. I found it both odd and enlightening to be disregarded as a servant when I was accustomed to people catering to my every word. I’d once believed my subjects deferred to me for my merit, but now I suspected it was largely because of my position as a prince.
The observation was one amongst many I’d made as I strove to fulfill the purpose of my Testing to look on the heart.
With a curt hand motion, Fowler indicated that we release our catch of fish and head to shore. Carefully, I lowered the stone sinkers, trying to prevent them from splashing against the calm water. As we emptied the net, Gregor dipped the oars in deeply, letting the motion of the waves aid his effort.
Look on the heart. My thoughts flitted back to the day in the spring when my two brothers and I had received our commissioning for the Royal Testing that would determine which of us was worthy to become the next king of Scania. Birth order was no guarantee of kingship. Instead, a group of wise advisors called the Lagting sent each prince to a different place to prove himself by facing and enduring hardships for six months.
As an outsider trying to ingratiate myself among outcasts, my Testing had proven to be challenging, likely more so than Vilmar’s. Sentenced to be a slave, all Vilmar had needed to do was show up at the Gemstone Mountains in Warwick and work. Excavating jewels would be difficult, and he’d face hunger and deprivations. But he was no doubt enjoying his friendships and charming his way out of any difficulties.
Vilmar had also probably charmed his scribe into writing pages upon pages of accolades to take back to the king and Lagting. Even without his scribe’s glowing review of his Testing, the Lagting had always favored Vilmar, the outgoing and friendly prince. And ’twas no secret many of them wanted him to be the next king.
I drew my brows together in a scowl. My brother was an honest man full of integrity. I had no doubt he’d make an excellent king if God willed it, but I wasn’t ready to concede now any more than I’d ever been. It took much more to lead a nation than popularity and friendliness.
As I dragged the net back inside the boat and dropped it into the hull, I reached for the other pair of oars. Fowler hopped up onto the front bench, standing at the ready, his hunting knife drawn.
Another boat containing half a dozen men emerged from the mist and scraped our hull. With tightening muscles, I dropped the oars and lunged for my spear, but with the net thrown in haphazardly, my fingers fumbled to find the handle. Shouts erupted around us, and new footfalls thumped into our boat, rocking it and weighing it down.
Abandoning my efforts at wielding my spear, I jumped to my feet with my knife in hand. Though I was most proficient with a spear, I was skilled with any weapon. My father’s weapons master had made sure of that. Before my attacker could swing, I ducked, pivoted, and grabbed him in a headlock, pressing my blade against his chest.