Captured: A White Road Tale novella #1

Chapter 11 - The Gala

The wild pigs roasted in an earthen pit, filling the air with the smell of hickory and smoke. Tarek tried to keep his mind on chopping the wood for the fire, but his gaze was continually drawn toward the castle where the festivities were now in progress. Violin music, accompanied by flutes and pipes, floated out across the courtyard.

Had the royal family made their appearance yet? Would Princess get through the first dance without mishap? His spine tingled with nervous jitters. Or would soldiers come and drag him into the castle to face a furious king? He rubbed his neck, knowing his head could so easily be hanging from the city gates by time the sun rose.

He slammed the ax down on the pine slab, slicing it in half. If only he could serve inside again tonight. Maybe it was better that he didn't watch. He bet she looked beautiful, though. She'd talked about wearing her hair down this time. At least when she wore it up, he wasn't fighting the compulsion to twirl her red-tinted curls around his fingers.

Stop it!

He shook his head to dislodge his traitorous fantasies. Besides, after tonight, he'd probably never see her again. She wouldn't need his services anymore. If they made it through this evening without mishap, he'd better take advantage of the second chance and keep away from her.

"Why so serious, boy?" one of the hunters called out. The older men grouped together around the pit, sharing their fourth bottle of ale they'd swiped from the wine cellar.

Olden came over, clapped him on the back, then leaned in and said in a harsh whisper, "Stop being so snobbish, Son. Get over here and be a man for a change." Ale sloshed over the rim of his cup.

Tarek sank the ax into the chopping stump and snatched the drink from Pop's hand. He started to drink the whole thing down, but stopped himself. The bitter liquid might help dull his worries, but it wouldn't stop whatever was going to happen tonight.

He shoved the mug back into Pop's hands. "Don't know how you can stand that stuff. It tastes as bad as dirty feet smell."

Olden's eyes narrowed. With a loud snort, he turned to his friends. "Give me another, Max."

Max obliged.

Tarek took in a deep breath and rolled the imaginary weight off his shoulders. Stop thinking of what might happen, man! Hadn't he lectured Princess about not giving up on hope? And here he was, shaking in his boots. She had this. He'd seen her confidence grow over the past three weeks.

If only he could see what was going on. He hated being on the outside.

Would she wear the blue dress again? Blue made her golden eyes practically shine. Sometimes, when they danced, he could have sworn she'd glowed when laughing. He was sure it was nothing more than a trick of the light.

From behind him came a voice that sent his insides turning into quivering gelatin. "You better not be giving that boy drink, Olden."

Tarek quickly smelled his breath, figured he might need to keep a safe distance from Brie. He resumed his chopping, not bothering to face her. Act innocent. Deny, deny, deny.

Ma strode up to the group of men, her arms surrounding a basket of clinking glass bottles. Vesia followed, though she gazed wistfully toward the castle.

"So help me, Olden, I'll take this back and not bring you rotten lot another drop."

Olden's arm went over Tarek's shoulder. "Hush, woman. Time you cut those apron strings. He's a man now, not your baby."

She blinked, but said nothing in response. Tarek took the basket from her. "Don't get Pop started. I'm fine. Really." He winked, drawing a cautious smile from her.