For the King Read online

  A Medieval Tale

  Book Six

  For the King

  By Lina J. Potter

  Translated by LitHunters

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  A Medieval Tale: For the King

  The story of Countess Lilian Earton takes on a new twist. A strong and smart woman who has conquered the hearts and minds of kings and noblemen alike, as well as readers around the world, continues to bring her modern know-how and wisdom to a medieval world.

  Wellster, Virma, and Ativerna are caught up in turmoil. The tentative peace between the countries turned out to be a calm before a storm. A dark plot against the king threatens Lily, her family, and everything she holds dear. Yet Lilian Earton is not the one to wait for divine intervention. Once again, she rolls up her sleeves and gets to work on saving her husband from being accused of an assassination attempt and rescuing her friends in Virma from a death sentence, all the while carving out a place for herself in the harsh reality of medieval society.

  A long journey is going to start soon…

  For the King is the 6th book in a bestselling Amazon A Medieval Tale series by Lina J. Potter. A #1 Amazon bestseller series in multiple categories continues now. One of the top 10 Amazon authors with a huge fanbase all over the world, Lina J. Potter decided to continue Lilian’s story and is now working on a long-awaited continuation. Tune in for a few more books!

  A Medieval Tale: For the King

  Contents:

  A Medieval Tale: For the King

  Contents:

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  The Trial of Gods and the Will of Men

  From the Author

  Book Recommendations:

  About Lina J. Potter

  Always, unfettered man, you will cherish the sea!

  The sea your mirror, you look into your mind

  In its eternal billows surging without end

  And its gulfs are bitter, so must your spirit be.

  You plunge with joy into this image of your own:

  You hug it with your eyes and arms; your heart

  Forgets for a time its noisy beat, becomes a part

  Of a greater, more savage and less tameable moan.

  “Man and the Sea” by Charles Baudelaire

  Prologue

  Wellster. Cardin, the royal palace.

  “You really let me down, Harnie.”

  The royal study was the perfect residence for His Majesty Gardwig, known since his youth as the Lion of Wellster.

  It had a lion’s hide, of course, or, rather, several: on the wall, on the couch, on the floor before an enormous fireplace—Wellster had only one lion, and no one would dare to skin the king himself, which is why the hides had been imported from as far as Khanganat. The walls were lined with gold-streaked brown fabric and draped with heavy curtains, and ebony furniture covered hardwood floors. Atop all that dark splendor sat Gardwig, resplendent and intimidating in his shining gold clothes.

  His Majesty knew how to make the most dramatic impression. No surprises here: if stage actors used those tricks to great effect, why couldn’t a king borrow some of them? Just a little bit...

  But at that moment, His Majesty had no intention to crush or intimidate anyone. The king’s voice was full of sorrow, and he felt hurt and upset. Not because of the sickness—that cunning snake had retreated for the time being, amassing its poison and giving a respite to the weary body. But who would banish the demons eating at the soul?

  Gardwig sat in a chair next to the fireplace and looked at the flames.

  He was an old, tired lion who didn’t care about lionesses anymore, or a pride, or a furious dash across the desert, as long as he had warmth, a slab of meat, and a kind hand willing to brush his mane. In the end, even the most dreadful of predators grew old.

  Altres knew that and deeply sympathized with the king, yet tried not to show it, not with a sigh or a glance. There were things for which Gard wouldn’t forgive even his brother.

  Unlike his king, the jester was wearing blatantly plain clothing: leather pants, a brown vest, boots of the same color, and a white shirt with a cravat. He wasn’t working...or rather, he was working at his other job.

  At that moment, Altres didn’t need to grimace and act; the people in the room weren’t the king and his jester, but the king and the head of his secret service.

  “Is Edward demanding my head?”

  No need for formalities; the king and his brother were always frank with each other, as frank as people of their status could allow themselves to be.

  Lort sometimes kept certain information to himself, while Gardwig could occasionally disregard something. After all, there were things better left untouched, or the stench could never be washed away. Not at that moment, though.

  “No. We were lucky.”

  Altres caught his breath, discreet as always.

  In truth, he loved his brother more than life itself and would have given his own head in exchange for Gardwig’s without any hesitation. Still, he couldn’t help but wish for a reprieve. For fifteen years, maybe? Hell, at least ten!

  Not because Lort was afraid of death, no, but because he was afraid that Wellster would collapse after their deaths.

  What was the biggest mistake of most politicians? Fear of nurturing a successor, of course. After all, who knows what could happen—people might start shouting “long live the king” while the old ruler was still alive. History knew of such cases. And he had no desire to die. He would prefer to finish his rule in peace and retire. Yet even in nature, a young lion would kill the old one. In some concerns, humans copied animals, but sometimes, they could teach them a lesson in being savage, even the worst of the predators.

  With Gardwig, it was even worse. He had been married a few times, but only had sons in his last marriage with Milia of Shelt. Still, having children was nowhere near enough. They had to be brought up, tutored, taught to rule, crowned...and he needed to be certain that his son would succeed in keeping the crown, that the country wouldn’t be drowned in fire and blood after his ascension. It was easier for a potter—a failed item can easily be shattered, and nobody would cry over earthenware. But each decision of a king cost lives. If you didn’t succeed as a potter, you could become a carpenter or a baker—but there was no escaping being a king. The only way to resign was dying, and sometimes, that involved your nearest and dearest until the entire country was drenched in blood. This is why Lort was ready to surrender or negotiate for a reprieve. Fortunately, he didn’t have to.

  Gardwig had told him everything, calm and quiet: if Lort had fallen into his hands back in Ativerna, after Anna’s antics, he would have lost his head. But th
at was then. After everything had settled down and returned to normal, there was no need to cross swords anymore. It was time to forge new ones.

  “Your men failed a few times, Harnie. First, when you didn’t kill that teacher.”

  Altres snorted.

  “Nobody was going to kill him, Your Maje—”

  “Harnie!”

  His roar was worthy of a true lion and sounded quite royal.

  “Sorry, Gard.”

  Altres looked apologetic. Yes, he did have to separate his brother from his king, but at that moment, he was with his brother, and that’s who would reprimand him to the point that his neck would sting for days.

  But what was better, a heavy hand upon his neck or an axe? Altres knew what he would choose.

  “Go on, talk.”

  Altres shrugged.

  “I did know that Anna got tangled with that schlump. So what? They weren’t going to kill him. He was more useful alive. I wanted to scare the living daylights out of him and use him later, but fate stepped in.”

  “And what were you going to do with that cur?’

  “Have you seen Her Highness Lydia? She’s a perfect fright,” the jester said, shivering.

  “Even her portrait would do well for scaring their enemies. I held no illusions of whom Richard would choose. And if so, controlling the Queen of Ativerna would come in handy for us, wouldn’t it?”

  Gardwig’s rage ceased as if waves quelled by oil.

  That was true; Altres was taking care of his own country—not anyone else’s—as well as he could. Sooner or later, Anna would have become the Queen of Ativerna, able to influence her husband. What wife could not? And Altres, in turn, would influence Anna, letting their countries move forward hand in hand...one an inch ahead of the other, but who would notice that?

  The queen must be above any suspicion, so Anna would do anything to avoid being unmasked. Knowing her old sins and threatening her that, if anything, her first husband could resurface—making her marriage void—

  would have worked wonders.

  “Fate stepped in.” Lort lifted his hands in dismay.

  “I’m stupid, I grant you that.”

  “Edward doesn’t think so. He’s very angry with you. Very angry.”

  “And?” Lort was alarmed. A royal grudge could very well turn into a beheading, whether officially or through assassination.

  “We got lucky, that’s it. When the girl tried poisoning the king’s nephew, she wasn’t caught, and he didn’t die, either.”

  “Earton?”

  “Yes.”

  “The king’s crazy about him.”

  “If Jerisson died, Edward would have demanded your head, and I would not be able to refuse. But even then...”

  “Do they want my ears?” Lort feigned despair. “Or my nose?”

  “Your tongue,” Gardwig snapped. “Got it?”

  “I’d prefer death.” Altres usually didn't overstep, but being a jester entitled him to certain liberties. In a fit of impotent horror, he sagged in a chair, even jerking his leg once or twice.

  “Exile,” Gardwig said in earnest. “For about a year.”

  Altres immediately stopped playing the clown. “A year?”

  “Yes. Go visit...wherever it is you want.”

  “Home, I guess. The estate,” Lort shrugged. “I haven’t been there for ages.”

  “Right. The estate, the lakes, have a swim, rest, and then return to work.”

  “But what would happen in a year?”

  “Nothing much. Everyone would forget about this story. You’ll return from your exile, and everything will be just as it was.”

  Altres nodded.

  “All right.”

  “I’ll pretend to be mad at you. I wasn’t alone in Ativerna, rumors started flowing, so we’d better steer them in the right direction before it’s too late. Good thing you arrived in secret. Tomorrow, you’re going to do it publicly, and I’ll be screaming at you, threatening to execute you...then I’ll calm down and replace execution with banishment.”

  “To everyone’s utter disappointment.” The jester-turned-spy grinned.

  “They’ll survive. And those who can’t, well, they’ll wind up dead,” Gardwig stressed. “In short, we’re going to act out a play tomorrow, and you’ll leave. You’ll return in a year and get to work with renewed vigor.”

  Altres nodded. “As you command.”

  “Everybody will be convinced that the agreement was fulfilled. In the meantime, I’ll send Maria to Laveri, she’ll meet her fiancé... Is everything in order with her, by the way?”

  “With her, yes.”

  “But still, you’d better...oh, screw that...fine. I’ll tell the midwives to check.”

  Altres spread his hands, a knowing smile on his face.

  “Count Dishan will be my replacement. Today, I’ll explain everything to him, and tomorrow, I’ll hand things over.”

  “Do that. And tell him to arrange the midwives. No one will forgive us another whore for a bride, you know that yourself.”

  Lort did. And incidentally...

  “What did Anna use to poison Earton?”

  “Edward said something about lilac slayer.”

  Altres closed his eyes. He was familiar with that poison. Jerisson had had no chance, but the count had managed to survive. How and why? And where can I find a recipe for the antidote?

  “Was that Countess Earton?”

  “Yes. I don’t know the details, but Countess Earton and Tahir Djiaman din Dashar spent a whole night by the patient’s bed, and then din Dashar left the room and said that the count would be all right.”

  “Now, she’s someone I’d love to meet,” said Altres almost dreamily.

  Gardwig threw his brother a look, preparing to lecture him on inappropriate playfulness, but Altres had never been more serious. His Majesty decided to elaborate.

  “I talked to her.”

  “And I corresponded with her,” Altres confessed. “She’s a very smart woman.”

  Gardwig nodded. “That’s true. What do you think of her?”

  “That she’s smart enough to create something new and not smart enough to let men take all the glory,” he replied simply.

  Gardwig snickered. He knew what his brother meant. Women had only a few real options in the world: a daughter, a wife, a mother, a grandmother. A bright and charismatic woman instantly drew attention, sometimes, too much of it, and no butterfly feels comfortable near a torch: chances are, she could burn her wings.

  But what if she were no butterfly?

  “We spoke more than once,” he admitted to Altres. “You’re not entirely right.”

  The jester demonstrated his undivided attention.

  “She may be smart, but that’s not her biggest virtue.”

  Altres raised his eyebrows. What other virtues could a woman have? His brother recognized only one, but surely the countess couldn’t permit her patient, even a crowned one,to do something like that? Or was he mistaken?

  Gardwig shook his head as if he knew what his brother was thinking. His gestures were slow and deliberate.

  “The way she acts...it’s hard to explain. Our world belongs to men, and we know that.”

  “And what about her?” Altres caught the implication.

  “Lilian Earton acts in such a way as if it belonged to her.”

  Chapter 1

  At the Source

  Ativerna, Laveri.

  “Oh, married life,” Count Earton grumbled, extricating himself from under the covers, which quickly turned into a morning acrobatics routine, as the blanket was hard-pressed to the bed with seemingly no way to pull it away.

  Lilian opened her eyes and smiled at her husband.

  “Take it easy.”

  “Grrrr,” the noble count replied, polite, yet expressive enough for Nanook to prick up an ear. Competition? Where did it come from?

  Yep, married life in all its glory.

  The conjugal bed might be sacred, but nobody ha
d told that to dogs, ferrets, and children, and they came there when they pleased.

  It wasn’t so bad with Miranda, who, at least, would visit in the morning, pulling her dearest mommy from beneath a warm blanket and dragging her to her training. Jerisson could live with that, especially since he preferred to start the day earlier anyway and didn’t disregard military exercise.

  But when your finger gets bitten at night—right as you’ve just finished performing your marital duties and then some—and drifted off to sleep while hugging your wife... Hello, ferret! And then you shove the invader away and go wash the wound, only to return and see your spot already taken. Hello, dog!

  Those creatures never seemed to disturb Lilian, however; they were too smart for that. But poor Count Earton had no choice but to push the dog away, grab the ferret by its neck, and return to his pillow. If he got lucky, he even fell asleep in the first twenty minutes, until everything got back to square one.

  Nanook would flop down on his legs, his bulk more than big enough for the count and the countess put together, and lie there for the entire night, protesting when Jerisson tried to turn him around. What are you doing, Master? I’ve just gotten myself comfortable!

  As for ferrets...well, if anybody liked waking with a ferret on their head, they’d come to the right place. If they didn’t, well, tough luck; the ferret would come anyway. The worst thing, however, was how obedient they were with Lilian—sleeping by her side, letting her pet them, almost purring under her fingers. With him, all they did was hiss and put their tails on his head.

  But deep in his heart, Jerisson knew the reason: competition in its purest form. The pesky pack had been snuggling in Countess Earton’s bed long before her wayward husband had returned and wasn’t going to surrender to the insolent invader. Wretches!

  On the other hand... No need to worry or be jealous—his wife would never take a lover. No other man would tolerate such a menagerie.