Enchanting the King (The Beauty's Beast Fantasy Series) by E.D. Walker

felt his mouth twist. “Your husband has most generously gifted us with whatever supplies we need to be on our way.”
    “Most of your men are injured. You are still injured, no matter how you go charging about the camp. Forgive me, but this does not seem wise.”
    His chest ached with bittersweet warmth, as if a bird were unfolding its wings over his ribcage. “You speak true, my lady.” Truer than she knew. “Yet for all that, we must go.”
    “But—” Her eyes widened, and her gaze flicked back to the way he had come, toward Prince Philippe’s tent. She caught her breath on a scandalized gasp. “I think I understand now.”
    Thomas made a small gesture of negation. “’Tis well enough.”
    Her already ivory face had paled now almost to the color of snow. “Philippe is a jealous fool.” She spat the words out, yet tears glittered in her eyes, and her lip trembled.
    “Princess Aliénor, what is wrong?” Thomas knelt beside her and took her hand before he could think better of it.
    Her graceful fingers gripped his for one brief moment before she jerked her hand back and looked about as if someone might be watching.
    They probably are . He shifted further away from her.
    She sent him a quick, despairing glance, and pulled her knees up to her chest like a castle lifting its drawbridge. Truly, she seemed besieged in that moment. Caught, trapped, utterly alone.
    “Princess, is there any assistance I can render you? Anything I can do?”
    One small tear broke free to slide down the fullness of her cheek. She turned her face away, and wiped the betraying wetness against her skirt over her knee. “No one can help me while I abide in Philippe’s camp.”
    Come away with me . Thomas bit the words back, just barely. His hands were curled into tight fists as he fought every urge within himself that cried to draw his sword and pledge it to this sweet lady’s defense.
    Come away with me . He could still taste the words, heavy and sweet on his tongue as some rich wine. And just as foolishly intoxicating. For surely the quickest way to start the next war between Jerdun and Lyond would be to steal away the Jerdic princess.
    As if sensing his inner battle, Aliénor looked at him, her face sad. “I think you are right and you must go. Kind Fate walk with you and keep your steps safe from harm.” She rose as she said it and offered him her hand in parting.
    Thomas stood with her and caught her fingers. He bowed low and pressed a small, tender kiss against the skin of her hand. When he would have released her, her palm turned against his, and he felt the feather touch of her fingertips against his cheek. It was the barest touch—he might have imagined it. Yet the princess’s face was wistful, her eyes brimming with tears again when he glanced at her.
    His chest ached, as if a split were starting, a crack like a jagged fissure in the heart of a glass window. “Good-bye, Princess Aliénor.”
    “Good-bye, King Thomas.” She wheeled away from him, folding her arms over her chest.
    He forced himself to turn, to take one step and another away from her until he could not even see her anymore when he looked behind.

Chapter Eight
    The army moved out the next morning a little later than usual, almost limping along after the disaster by the riverside. Aliénor watched the ragged line straggle up the road behind her, men limping, dirty, empty-eyed, and she couldn’t help but think they looked more like a mob than an army.
    Philippe seemed to notice nothing. He was still as neat as ever in a parti-colored surcoat of now-faded purple and white with his chain mail beneath. He wore the uniform of a common soldier, but it was cleaner and well-mended. His cheekbones had no hollows beneath them from lack of food or sleep—although his eyes were pinched today, and his mouth set in an unhappy line.
    The clop of their horses’ feet and the men’s on the road was dull, but the jangle of all their harnesses, the creak of leather and