Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 4) Read online

  “Tomorrow?” Gemma said, choking on disbelief.

  “Yes. Tomorrow, Verglas will have a new queen,” King Torgen smirked.

  “Yes, Farther,” Prince Toril said, his voice a whisper. He motioned to the soldiers holding Gemma to follow him before he turned and walked back to the refuge of the palace.

  Toril and the soldiers were silent as they marched through the palace, moving up hallways and crossing corridors.

  Toril glanced over his shoulder, his eyes lingering on Gemma’s hurt hand. “You were injured?” he asked.

  Gemma shrugged. “I was hurt before I was found.”

  “I see,” Toril said before addressing the soldiers. “Take her to the queen’s chambers. I will have a squadron of palace guards replace you.”

  “My Lord?” one of the soldiers said as the prince abruptly turned and walked in the opposite direction.

  “I have other things to attend to,” Toril called over his shoulder.

  The soldiers walked on, escorting Gemma to a beautiful, luxurious room.

  The bedroom was bathed in soft shades of cream and yellow. The ceiling was vaulted, painted with a mural of blue skies and snowflakes. The furniture was simple but elegant in taste, painted white and smooth to the touch.

  It wasn’t like a typical Verglas luxurious bedroom. It was brighter, happier, and perfectly preserved.

  “These are the queen’s rooms?” Gemma said, confused.

  “King Torgen had the room decorated for the previous queen,” a soldier said.

  Gemma looked around the room as the soldiers unlatched her shackles. “Did he love her?” she asked. She could barely remember the queen. She died in childbirth, the unborn baby dying with her, when Gemma was still a toddler.

  The soldier removing her shackles briefly stilled. “Yah,” he said. “She tamed him.” The silence stretched on as the second soldier checked that the two windows were locked and secured.

  The soldiers bowed to Gemma and moved to leave the room. The soldier who answered Gemma’s question lingered in the doorway. “Whatever our queen saw in him that she loved is gone now,” he said before closing the door.

  Gemma heard the familiar clank as the door was locked from the outside. She was left alone in the room that seemed to whisper with ghosts of the past. She sat down on a stool and leaned against the wall, shutting her eyes.

  Gemma had no memories of King Torgen and his queen together, but the care and love that went into the decorating of the room was unmistakable. However, Gemma knew the soldier was right. Whatever part of King Torgen that cared about this room was gone, killed off long ago by the onslaught of bitterness and unquenchable hatred.

  When the door clanked and was thrown open an hour later, Gemma tumbled off her stool in surprise.

  “Gemma—you look terrible! But that is to be expected, I suppose. I am a healer, I am here to heal. That’s what healers do. Hah-hah.”

  Gemma’s jaw dropped as she looked up at the cloaked figure. Even though she was veiled, Gemma would recognize the owner of that voice anywhere.

  “You strapping guards should leave the healing to those who know what how to heal: healers. When I’m ready to come out, I will knock,” the cloaked figure said, patting the basket that swung from her arm.

  “Yes, ma’am,” a guard at the door said—Gemma recognized it was Foss. The guard winked at her before shutting the door.

  “That is an excessively bad disguise, My Lady,” Gemma said.

  Lady Linnea waddled forward, wearing robes that drowned her body and a mismatched veil that covered her face. “I know, but how else was I supposed to get in here? Besides, the guards aren’t going to tell anyone,” Lady Linnea. “I hope you know what to do with this stuff,” she added, setting a heavy basket on the floor. “I’ve got bandages, but I don’t know what any of these balms are. By the Snow Queen, do they ever reek.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m visiting you, of course. Hello, Gemma. I missed you—though I am sorry you didn’t successfully escape,” Lady Linnea said, wrapping her arms around Gemma in a warm hug.

  “Thank you,” Gemma said, her voice strong but lined with relief. “What am I to do, My Lady? I don’t think I will be able to escape him a second time.”

  Lady Linnea nodded. “Could you kill him?”

  “I don’t know,” Gemma admitted.

  “He will make you hate him enough that you will want to,” Lady Linnea said.

  “Yes, but I don’t want to become a person capable of murder.”

  “You are right. I wish to shield you from that as well. I don’t think you could handle it. We’re very different, you know,” Lady Linnea said. “You are like the ice and snow that you love so much. Dazzling, without blemish, and a cover that makes all things beautiful.”

  Gemma cracked a smile. “That’s romanticizing me quite a bit.”

  Lady Linnea shook her head. “You bring out the good in people, and those who scorn you, you freeze with your eyes and words. So, it’s a good thing I am your friend and companion.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I am a sword, dangerous and deadly. And Gemma, I will not hesitate to kill the king to save you,” Lady Linnea said, her voice hard. “It will not be tomorrow, or perhaps even this year, but I will free you. I promise.”

  As Gemma studied Lady Linnea, she saw that the noble woman was serious. Lady Linnea was a soldier at heart: dedicated, loyal, and willing to shed blood to make a difference and to fight for what was right. This was a real vow. Gemma could see it in the coldness of her eyes and the set of her chin. Lady Linnea would kill for her, and Gemma thought it likely she would succeed. “I don’t want to force that burden on you,” Gemma said.

  Lady Linnea smiled. “You aren’t. And it’s not like anyone will truly care. Tor—some people will mourn what was. But the prince will make a better king.”

  Gemma pushed an eyebrow up. “Oh? Not long ago you were telling me he was far more stupid than you originally estimated.”

  A pink blush heated Lady Linnea’s cheeks. “That was before I knew him. He’s different from his father. He is willing—someone just needs to teach him about love.”

  “Will you be the one to do that, My Lady?”

  “Goodness, no!” Lady Linnea snorted. “I still want to see the world. I want to observe Commanding General Severin and set eyes on the famed military of Erlauf. I want to meet a female captain of Farset and perhaps even speak to an assassin from our very own assassins’ guild.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Toril can’t love someone like me, Gemma,” Lady Linnea said. “I’m too brash and bloodthirsty. He likes the sweet, delicate girls. Like Princess Elise.” Gemma thought she could discern the same note of longing in Lady Linnea’s voice that the young woman used when she spoke of visiting other countries, but judging by the pain in the last admission, it was unlikely the lady wanted to address her affection for the Verglas prince.

  “Is that so,” Gemma said.

  “But enough of that. Your hand does look horrible. Do you think you can guess which of these wretched-smelling ointments are best for…what, is that, a burn?” Lady Linnea said, digging through her basket.

  “Yes.”

  Lady Linnea hissed through her teeth. “It looks nasty. How did you manage to get it? Moreover, how did you manage to escape?”

  “The mage,” Gemma said, opening a pot and grimacing at the smell.

  “Uh-huh,” Lady Linnea said, unconvinced. “Oh, this is it! I remember—the real healer told me this one is good for burns. It has a very distinctive smell—like horse droppings.”

  “That was not the best way to endorse its use,” Gemma said.

  “If it kills the pain and heals the skin, does it matter what ingredients are used?” Lady Linnea asked, passing the little container over. “Besides, I think the healer said the main ingredients were vinegar, honey, and potato peelings.”

  Gemma wiped the smelly balm on her hand, wincing wh
en her fingers traced the tender skin. Although the smell was noxious, the ointment began to soften the pain almost immediately.

  “Here, I can at least bandage your arm,” Lady Linnea said, waving a roll of bandages.

  “How did you learn?”

  “I read the Erlauf army makes sure all of their soldiers know how to wrap wounds, so I found a book in Papa’s library,” Lady Linnea said, starting to clean and wrap Gemma’s hand and arm. “Toril told me what you can expect: King Torgen is indeed holding the wedding tomorrow. Tonight, a wedding dress will be delivered to your rooms, and the ceremony is to commence before the noon hour tomorrow. It seems that a squadron will be posted out your door all night and in the courtyard below. Unless you want to see all those men killed, I do not think you can escape.”

  “No,” Gemma agreed. “We will see what my security measures are like after the wedding,” she said, stifling the desire to flinch.

  “Yes,” Lady Linnea said, her reply heavy with unspoken words. “Is there no possibility that your sweetheart will try to rescue you tomorrow?”

  Gemma started to correct the lady before she gave up and broke off in a sigh. “No. There’s not even a glimmer of hope,” she said.

  Stil was probably still treating his shoulder from the rider’s arrow. And even if he was well enough to move, Pricker Patch could not cover the distance Gemma and the soldiers had covered in such a short amount of time.

  “Then we will have to play the waiting game. When you become queen, I will be able to more easily pay social calls to you,” Lady Linnea said. She finished bandaging Gemma’s hand and slipped the tail end of the bandage under one of the wrapped layers.

  “Your parents will lock you in your room if you do,” Gemma said.

  Lady Linnea gave Gemma a playful grin. “They can try. I will merely have to expand my list of recruits to help me slip out. Sissel has become my newest ally. She is a great help. I am starting to see why you gave your handiwork to those you did. They have come out of the shadows one by one to help me.”

  “I am glad,” Gemma smiled.

  Lady Linnea picked up her basket of smelly concoctions. “Unfortunately, I need to go.”

  “I understand.”

  Lady Linnea stared into Gemma’s grey eyes. She placed her free hand on Gemma’s shoulder and pulled her close for a hug. “Be strong, and have courage. I will not abandon you. You can survive this.”

  “Thank you,” Gemma said.

  “Of course. Take care, until next time,” Lady Linnea winked before adjusting her ill-fitting robe and imperiously knocking on the door.

  The door opened, and Lady Linnea slipped out, leaving Gemma alone with her thoughts.

  Lady Linnea will move too late. Even if she does attempt to kill King Torgen, he will crush me before she gets the chance to finish him off. King Torgen will ruin me before Lady Linnea can rescue me.

  “Lady Linnea is so very valiant…but I don’t think she understands King Torgen’s darkness,” Gemma said, her voice breaking the silence. The thought brought her no comfort, but it stiffened her resolve.

  “It’s just as well. I won’t let him break me,” she vowed, straightening a bit of her bandage.

  A memory of Stil holding her hands to his face swam through her mind.

  “No,” Gemma decided, pushing the thought away. I refuse to become a silly girl who sighs and grows despondent over matters of the heart.

  “Although I do love him, I think,” Gemma admitted, ever practical. What was it Grandmother Guri said? To be open to love? Well, I wasn’t. And it still got me in the end—unreasonable heart!

  Gemma scowled at the thought. “Well, it’s done,” she said. “There’s no use ruminating over it. I may as well focus on something productive: making King Torgen angry.”

  The following morning, the guards opened the door for two lady’s maids, who shrieked when they entered the bedroom.

  The wedding dress—which followed royal styles as opposed to civilian styles and was a giant white, puffball of a dress—was ruined. Over night, Gemma had industriously ripped the eyesore to shreds, so no piece bigger than the size of her palm remained.

  The pieces were scattered around the room, making it look like a snowstorm had swept through over the course of the night.

  Gemma was in the middle of a yawn and was sitting on a padded window seat as opposed to sleeping. “Good morning,” she said with a pleased smile. The lady’s maids said nothing but flounced out of the room in a huff, their skirts billowing behind them.

  Gemma smirked at their retreat and turned to look outside, which looked just as dreary as she felt. Today was the day she was to marry King Torgen.

  “It’s a shame I haven’t any Starfires,” Gemma muttered as she thought of the oddly changed hellhound. “I imagine a prism shoved down his throat would greatly alter King Torgen as well.”

  Chapter 17

  All too soon, the lady’s maids returned, armed with another ill-fitting, terribly styled dress. Gemma argued with the lady’s maids that she could be married in what she was wearing, but judging by their tight motions and squeaky voices, they would face consequences if Gemma did not put on the white monstrosity.

  Gemma eventually complied, and, as Lady Linnea had said, by noon she found herself in the Ostfold Cathedral.

  The church was breathtaking—the entire thing was made with sanded, unstained wood. It was almost triangular in shape, but tiered like a cake. It followed the Verglas tradition of elaborate woodcarvings of reindeer and snowflakes, and the center tower had windows to let in sunlight. The only spot of color—besides the beautiful reds and browns of the wood—was an intricate, circular stained-glass window set above the altar. It was high up the wall so, should the sun happen to shine, it would cast colored light on the church congregation.

  The church was packed with nobles and villagers alike. Gemma was certain it was mandatory for all of Ostfold to attend, as those who couldn’t fit in the church were waiting in the streets outside. The citizens were as exuberant for their King’s marriage as they were for a funeral.

  Gemma tried to appreciate the beauty of the building, but her stomach heaved when she saw King Torgen staring her down from the far end of the church. She would have turned around and stormed back out of the church, but a team of three guards were escorting her down the church aisle, and Gemma doubted they would let her flee.

  King Torgen sneered, his face twisted in its usual ugly and half-mad expression. Prince Toril stood behind him, looking sorry. He glanced at a pew in the middle of the church and, following his gaze, Gemma discovered he was looking to the Lovland family, specifically Lady Linnea.

  Lady Linnea wore her public expression of refinement and disdain, but Gemma could see the noble lady was unhappy by the way she clenched her jaw.

  Gemma grabbed the heat charm and the magic thimble from where they hung from a white ribbon looped her neck. (It had taken Gemma half an hour to talk the lady’s maids into letting her keep them, but they had insisted Gemma take the charm and thimble off the silver thread and hang them from the ribbon instead.)

  The farther they got down the aisle, the more Gemma’s spirits sunk, and the slower she walked. When she was a few lengths from King Torgen, the soldiers had to nudge her to keep her moving.

  When Gemma climbed the dais to join King Torgen and the priest, Gemma said, “I don’t want to marry this man,” to the priest.

  The priest—an elderly man who was obviously under just as much threat as Gemma—sucked his neck into his shoulders and looked like he wished himself a hundred leagues away.

  “Silence, Gemma Kielland,” King Torgen ordered

  “Or what, you will kill me? I would much prefer that,” Gemma said.

  Guessing by the gasp in the first few pews, her voice was audible to at least some of the attendees.

  King Torgen grabbed Gemma’s chin. Unlike Stil’s tender touch, King Torgen gripped Gemma like a snake hinged on prey. He roughly shook her head.

&nbs
p; “I can make you plenty wretched without killing you,” King Torgen hissed.

  Gemma kicked King Torgen in the shins. He shouted and pushed Gemma backwards. She would have fallen off the dais if the guards hadn’t caught her.

  “Restrain her,” King Torgen growled to the guards, who set Gemma on her feet before holding her in place. “Don’t just stand there, begin!” King Torgen said to the poor priest.

  The priest cast an anxious look between King Torgen and Gemma. He shook his head.

  “You refuse me?” King Torgen said. Gemma couldn’t see his face as he loomed over the priest, but she could hear the promise of death in his voice.

  Gemma sighed. “Go ahead,” she said.

  The priest, who had shrunk a foot, looked to her.

  “I know you cannot help it. Go ahead,” she repeated.

  The priest squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “We are gathered here today for a…glorious event and occasion. The wedding of our monarch and this…lovely girl.”

  The priest warbled on, but Gemma ignored his words—if she took them in, she would start panicking. She turned around so she didn’t even face the priest and King Torgen—who didn’t seem to care—and peered past her guard escort to get a glimpse of the crowd.

  She saw two of the merchants she frequently bought fabric and thread from, Otto—the barkeeper of Sno Hauk—and Mrs. Hagen and her neighbor, Mrs. Nystrom. Besides the Lovlands, there were several other noble families, but no matter how carefully she looked over the crowd, she didn’t find the two faces she was looking for: her parents.

  Gemma raised an eyebrow. That shouldn’t be a surprise. They have never bothered themselves with me before. Why should they start now?

  But what was surprising was the absence of Grandmother Guri, although Gemma suspected it may be because the old woman did not want to see Gemma wed a crazed tyrant.

  “—Do you, Gemma Kielland,” the priest started.

  “No,” Gemma said.

  The priest hesitated, but continued with his speech when King Torgen glared at him.

  Gemma only half listened when he did. Her heart twisted in her chest as she pictured her dark future. Almost against her will, she reached up and clasped the heat charm and thimble. “Stil,” she whispered, the name seeped with longing.