Free The Scarecrow King: A Romantic Retelling of the King Thrushbeard Fairy Tale by Jill Myles Page B

agreed, almost cheerful despite my exhaustion. I yawned and stood up, gathering my skirts with me. “And now that the little courting ritual is over for the night, I am going to sleep in the tent.” I paused and gave him a suspicious look. “Alone.”
    “You’re quite safe with me, dear lady,” Aleksandr said, feeding another log onto the fire. “I’ll stay up and watch over the camp while you sleep. Make sure no vagabonds stroll through and try to carry you off.” He winked.
    Vagabonds carry me off? It was a little too close to how my day had already been. I ignored his comments and crawled into the tent, yawning. The ‘bed’ was hard and smelled like horse, but I was too tired to care. I tucked my arm under my head and curled up, to sleep. Something dripped onto my face, and I squinted up at the canvas walls of the tent. I supposed it was too much to hope that it was water proof. With a sigh of irritation, I pulled out my needle and pricked my finger, then rubbed the bit of blood on the tent wall. No more drips. Outside, I could hear the light patter of rain, but Aleksandr didn’t ask to join me in the tent.
    Just as well. Between myself and my petticoats, there was no room for him. Relaxing, I closed my eyes and began to drift. I was nearly asleep when a thought occurred to me. “Aleksandr,” I asked sleepily. “Where did you say you were from again?”
    He chuckled, the sound as low and warm as I imagined the fire might be. “I didn’t say. But since you asked, I should tell you that I am from Lioncourt.”
    My eyes flew open, and a plan began to form in my mind.
    ~~ * ~~
     
    The next morning, I awoke to a tickle on my cheek.
    I batted at the tickle, yawning. Something moved in my hair, and I bolted upright, clawing at my skin. A bug the size of my small finger scuttled over my makeshift blankets and disappeared under my skirts. I screamed in horror and jumped to my feet, the tent crashing down around me as I frantically shook my skirts.
    “Wide awake, are we?” called Aleksandr cheerfully from outside the tent. “You’re just in time, as I’ve just caught breakfast.”
    Oh, I did not like the sound of ‘caught breakfast’.
    I stumbled out of the tent, pushing my loose braid off of my shoulder. Most of it had come undone overnight, and I had no idea how to re-braid it. My maids had always done such things for me. My dress was wrinkled around me, and slightly damp and altogether uncomfortable. And my skin felt dirty – a new and wholly uncomfortable feeling for me. At home, someone was always there to prepare a scented bath for me. As I stared at the trees of our campsite, I came to the sinking realization that I’d never experience that again. My husband was a poor commoner, and I was trapped in the marriage with him.
    Trapped for only twenty-nine more days, I amended. After that, I’d be free to return home, or go where I pleased…even to the palace of the king of Lioncourt.
    After all, a king was a king, and I could shave the man and dress him in better clothes. And I already hated being poor. After one day, I was quite done with it. If I had to marry a hairy, dirty king to ensure that I kept my life of luxury, then that was what I’d do.
    Just as soon as I rid myself of the problem of my current husband. The man, who, as I emerged from the tent, gave me a sunny, cheerful smile.
    “Good morning, dear lady. Did you sleep well?”
    “I did not,” I replied tersely. “And yourself?”
    “I did not sleep,” he said, nudging a small log onto the fire. Sure enough, there were dark circles under his eyes, but he seemed cheerful. “Someone had to watch the camp, and you were in no condition to take a watch shift.”
    Watch shift? I didn’t even know what that meant. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and yawned. “You said you had breakfast?”
    In response, he turned and reached into the grasses, then held something fuzzy and brown aloft by the tail.
    I rubbed my eyes again. “Is that a