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

felt his temper spike. “That foolish, arrogant little ass .”
    “Yes.”
    “He’s leading them through the mountain passes.”
    Llewellyn dropped his gaze, and his shoulders hunched over. His voice was quiet, almost soundless as he said, “Yes.”
    “We warned him. He saw our wounded, our dead. Why would he do that?”
    “Perhaps to prove he is the better man, the better general. Perhaps he feels he cannot support his army through a long trek around the mountain passes. Perhaps he simply has a horrible sense of direction.” Llewellyn lifted one shoulder in a shrug, but his face was pinched and unhappy as his gaze wandered toward the trailing column of dust.
    Thomas had a violent urge to wheel his horse about and ride straight back into the Jerdic column. Gallop through until he found Aliénor, toss her over his saddle, and ride off with her to safety. Foolishness, of course. Even if he were to attempt such a ridiculous rescue, the odds that he could find one fair lady among a rabble of thousands of soldiers on the march were slim.
    Still, he stared at that column of dust steadily marching toward doom, and he wished he’d had the audacity to ask her to run with him when he’d had the chance.
    With a firm hand, he turned his horse back onto the river path. “Come on. We don’t have enough supplies to dawdle.”
    Llewellyn urged his horse alongside Thomas’s and kept his voice low. “Perhaps they will fare better than we did in the mountains. Perhaps the Tiochene won’t attack. Perhaps Philippe is a better leader than we give him credit for, and he will fight them off.”
    “Yes.” Thomas stopped himself from looking back again. Instead he turned his eye toward the roaring of the river. The waters were still dark and heavy with storm runoff, bracken, and tree limbs swirling in the wild torrents. He could almost imagine he saw that brave, small figure dressed in pale blue fighting her way through the wild rush of the river again. Fight hard, Princess Aliénor. I cannot help you this time.

Chapter Nine
    The army passed more bodies with practically every step they took up the treacherous road into the mountains, but Aliénor knew better than to look. The soldiers, though, marching on foot as they were, could not help but notice—notice and fear. A ripple of alarm and dismay passed through the column, starting at the front and passing backward in a low, muttering wave. Men were tense now, watchful.
    Aliénor kept an iron grip on her own reins, and the leather straps were slick in her sweaty palms. Her shoulders were stiff and aching from tension, and she seemed to have passed her jitters on to her horse as the damned nervy beast kept twitching and sidling sideways under her hands.
    Philippe seemed no better. He’d caught his lower lip with his teeth and worried at it absently. She wasn’t sure he realized he was doing it. His eyes scanned the tops of the hills above them, and Aliénor found her own gaze following his even though she wasn’t sure what he feared.
    Constant alertness, constant worry. These made the army cautious, slow, scared to take every step forward. A strong leader might have been able to hurry them forward, to reassure. Philippe just sat atop his horse and grew paler and paler as the day passed, deep lines etching themselves into his face. Some turn in the path appeared ahead and Philippe, atop his horse, wheeled toward Aliénor. “Wife, take yourself to the women’s wagon. You look overtired.”
    She opened her mouth to protest, but Philippe’s gaze warned her that his mood was dark. Feeling an itch behind her shoulder blades that might have been the blood witch’s stare, Aliénor dropped her head. She nodded, hating herself and him. “Of course, husband.” Her obedience tasted heavy and bitter on her tongue.
    “My princess.” Philippe lifted her hand to his lips for a careless kiss and dropped it just as quickly, his gaze returning to the cliffs above.
    Aliénor motioned for her