The Subtle Beauty by Hunter Ann

Author:Hunter, Ann [Hunter, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Afterglow Productions
Published: 2014-01-01T20:00:00+00:00

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Balthazaar’s steward grabbed Colin by the collar of his shirt and flung him from the room. The door slammed. Colin stumbled into the hall but caught himself. He paced and ran his shaking hands through his hair. With a roar he hammered his fist against the door and kicked it solidly. His nostrils flared. Colin swore loud enough for the entire castle to hear. He stomped down the hall. He returned to his sack of gold coins which he had hid well in the garden. He opened the sack and ran his hands over their shining faces. His jaw clenched at the sight of Balthazaar’s likeness. Colin pulled hard on the drawstrings and snatched up the bag. He began to think. How could he prove the old king wrong?

It was said amongst the Twelve Kingdoms that “All Rumors Begin in Council’s Realm.” It was the hub of commerce and one of the most densely-populated areas in all of the Twelve Kingdoms. Colin thought if he could make his way there that he could garner information on Glory’s whereabouts. Surely, of all places, Council’s Realm would be abuzz with the juicy gossip of the princess’s betrothal. Especially when it had been originated and signed there. But Council’s Realm was a good three day’s journey on foot by the King’s Road. Colin peeked again at the coins in his sack. He didn’t want to spend the coins, save for his future with Glory, but he needed to find her quickly. It couldn’t hurt to spend a few, right? He could hire a palfrey horse. What would take him three days to walk would only be a few hours on horseback. But good horses did not come cheaply. Well, he didn’t want to buy the horse, he reasoned with himself, only to hire it for a day or two. He could get Glory back in that time… couldn’t he? Colin rose and squared his shoulders. He hoisted his bag of coins and strode toward the livery. He had to do it. It was for Glory!

The cobbled road thumped under his boots. The stones glistened with twilight spring dew. An old draft horse plodded by hauling a cart heaped with vetch that was fragrant with delicate lilac buds. The horse’s breath plumed from his nostrils in cottony puffs. The last of the stars twinkled overhead as a thin line of fuschia eeked over the snowy, jutting peaks of mountains to the north that they called the All Father’s Spine. Winterholme’s blue-roofed white towers clawed the oncoming dawn. Colin saw none of it. His eyes fixated on the livery down the lane. The blacksmith was just beginning to hammer away at his forge. Horses whinnied impatiently as a livery apprentice accidentally spilled part of a sack of grain outside. Chickens scrambled to gobble it up. The livery master cuffed the apprentice for wasting the feed. Colin winced. He saw himself in the lad’s place being beaten by his own father. He shook his head to drive the memory away.

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