An Ordinary Knight: A Fairy Cursed Fable, #1

By H. L. Burke

Stuck in a humiliating position as the Royal Kennel Guard, Sir Percy sees little hope for anything other than an obscure fate. After all, in the Kingdom of Ithelia, you need a fairy to guide you to greatness, and fairies just don't bother with knights like him. 
However, when Percy catches the eyes of the sheltered Princess Matilda, his world expands in new and frightening ways. 
A victim of an ill-planned Christening, Matty has spent her life in a locked tower, hiding from pixie attacks. Now she'll do anything to escape. And if that means dragging Percy along for a cross country search for Prince Charming, so be it. 
But not all Prince Charmings are what they seem, and as Matty's plight grows more desperate, Percy finds himself losing his heart. Does a lowly knight have what it takes to uncurse a princess?

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. L. Burke
• Release date: Nov 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781517559168

Book preview

Prologue

ONCE UPON A TIME in the Kingdom of Ithelia, there was a knight named Sir Percival. Sir Percival was insignificant from birth. In a kingdom where fairies ran rampant, he somehow managed to get through his christening without being blessed or cursed.

His father had invited all the fairies in the realm to the christening, of course, as was the common practice. However, though all nine-hundred-ninety-nine fairies of the realm were invited, not one showed and only two bothered responding with an I’m sorry, but I have a previous engagement.

So Percival grew up devoid of magic. There was nothing remarkable about him. He was intelligent, though not a genius. He had black hair and brown eyes and was tall, but thin and not particularly handsome. He could not lift boulders or see through walls. Nothing about him evoked comment.

His father was a lesser knight, but he had great ambitions for his only son and sent him to train with the sons of nobler knights. Young Percy worked hard, followed instructions, and passed all knightly trials with flying colors, yet he lacked the one thing a knight truly needed to succeed within Ithelia: luck.

Other knights in his class, all of whom had managed at least one fairy at their christening, seemed to have fortune either so completely on their side that nothing could go ill for them, or so utterly against them that nothing could turn out right. Sir Edward went through training and was married to a princess by harvest time, simply on the good fortune of coming across the right dragon to slay. Sir Chester, on the other hand, was found two days after his knighting, transformed into a slimy, green tree frog.

Percival, however, found no such excitement. Though he often accepted missions that allowed him to roam the countryside, looking for good deeds to do (for completing at least one good deed was a requirement for graduation), he met with neither monsters nor princesses and no one seemed to desire him dead or enchanted. It was as if he did not exist where the forces of magic were concerned. Eventually his instructor assigned him a good deed of protecting a mundane farmer's sheep from ordinary wolves. Not flashy, but useful.

Well, Sir Percival, his instructor said, when the youth returned no better nor worse, not all of us have what it takes to succeed. I will recommend you for guard duty at King Harold’s palace. It is uneventful work and should suit one of your fate.

Sir Percival said nothing, but deep inside he felt that, fate or no fate, he deserved a more exciting life than that of a palace guard. His father, however, simply sighed when he heard the news.

I suppose not everyone can be a hero or a villain, he said. Some folk in life must be innocent bystanders. It has been so with our family for generations, son. I was foolish to think you could break the mold. To be great in this land takes fairy work, and the fairies will not bother with us.

At least guard work is useful, Percy said, trying to make the best of a disappointing appointment. Even if I am not fairy blessed, the royal family is well known for their run-ins with the pixie blighters. Guarding them should be the second best thing.

In theory, this was quite sound. The royal family of Ithelia was more than well known: they were downright infamous for their ill-luck with the winged inhabitants. The current king had once been a stablehand to the family, but he had been fairy-blessed and had saved the princess (who, like most of her predecessors, was fairy-cursed) when a magic wardrobe changed her into a mannequin. The royal family had been grateful to the stablehand for his disenchanting kiss. He married the princess, and upon the old king’s death, gained the throne.

The palace was full of opportunity for a hard-working knight. Hopeful, Percy reported to the head guard the next day.

The head guard looked him up and down, snorted once, and rolled his eyes. Just like the knight instructor, he said, sending me his rejects to deal with. I have had enough of you knights. You take the best food and flirt with the prettiest maids. I have seventy-three knights under my care in a castle with only thirty-five doors. Where am I supposed to put you? I have guards watching the treasury, the throne room, the ballroom, and kitchen. Guards for the stables and the gardens and the duck pond. What’s next? Guards to guard guards?

Percy opened his mouth to protest that the guard appointment hadn’t been his idea, but the head guard cut him off.

Report to Sir Ivan at the royal kennels, he said. You take your post there.

Percy’s face went red, but orders were orders.

And so Percy became the guard dogs’ guard. The smell of wet dog permeated his day to day existence. Sir Ivan, the chief kennel guard, was a thin man with sunken cheeks and a reputation as an underachiever. When Percy reported for duty, Ivan was cleaning out a kennel cage. Ivan gleefully handed over the shovel.

He then leaned up against the wall and grumbled while Percy worked. The head guard finally sends me a subordinate. I've been begging for months. No, he says, your posting is too easy, he says. Like he knows anything about guarding dogs: the barking, the nipping.

A hound strayed towards the water dish at Ivan's feet. Ivan kicked it away, and it fled, yelping, to hide behind Percy.

Hey! Don't do that! Percy bent down and scratched the poor animal's ears.

Ivan's eyes narrowed. Awful holier than thou for a new recruit, boy. You'll learn your place soon enough. Clean up the rest of the cages.

Ivan turned out to be the harshest of commanders. Percy was given all the work and none of the benefits. At first Percy harbored a frail hope that if he simply did what he was supposed to do to the best of his ability, Ivan would learn to respect him. The harder he worked, however, the more Ivan seemed to resent him.

Percy wrote vague letters home describing life as routine, ashamed to admit to his still-hopeful father that his son had been put in charge of a motley pack of hounds rather than the royal family as he had hoped. 

Sometimes he'd slip off to train, keeping his skill with his sword fresh in case an opportunity for advancement arose, but as months passed, and Ivan issued him spiteful, inaccurate performance reviews, his optimism flagged. 

Percy had one escape: books. The royal library was open to the entire palace, but unused. Percy never ran into anyone else there, just the librarians, two older men with thick glasses and constant scowls. They sat behind their desks and glared at him when he wanted to borrow a book.

It's just like you readers, one said grumpily. The moment we get the books put away in alphabetical order, you come along and start taking them out, and thumbing through them, and putting them back in the wrong places, as if we had nothing better to do than sort books all day.

From the way they just sat there, whispering conversations to each other, it certainly appeared to Percy that they didn’t have anything better to do, but he kept his mouth shut, took his book to an abandoned corner of the library where a window allowed just enough light, and sat down to read. He spent many a pleasant hour in this way, for in his books he found release from the boredom around him. If he could not have a knightly adventure of his own, he could read about those who had come before him. 

Chapter One

PERCY TURNED SEVENTEEN during his fifth month as Dog Keeper and celebrated by playing sick for the first time in his life. As soon as Ivan had sulked off to do Percy’s work, he sneaked out of his quarters and into the library where he picked up a book he had been saving just for the occasion. The title, Exploits of the Great Warriors of Ithelia, sounded promising, and he planned to read it all in one sitting. He sat on the floor with his back against a shelf, two apples he’d purloined from the kitchen at his side, happy to have a day to himself. Even if he got caught, it would be worth it. How could one demote a Dog Keeper? Make him Goldfish Keeper? He laughed as he opened the book. At least goldfish were cleaner than dogs. Let Ivan find him.

Ahhh ... ahh ...

Percy shut his book and looked around. 

Ahhh ... ahh ... The voice came from the shelf before him. Dust rose in the air, floating towards Percy and tickling his nose.

Ahh ... ahchoo!

The sneeze exploded, followed close by another, and another, and another. Percy smiled. It was impossible to think of the sneezer as a threat. He stood up and glanced over the shelf.

Bless you, he said, suppressing a smile.

Th ... ah ... ah ... thank ... ah ... ah ... choo!

The sneezer was an older man, perhaps sixty, only a bit over five feet tall, and covered from head to toe with a thick brown layer of dust. He had clear, impish, blue eyes. He smiled back, breathed deeply, and stepped around the shelf to face Percy.

I can’t abide dust! he said. But one has to deal with it when one is dusting, does one not? Dust seems to be my lot in life. You simply can’t escape fate, even if it is a dusty one.

I suppose you can’t, Percy mumbled. Fate had never been his friend.

Well, fate is often in a name. Mine just happens to be Dustin, Dusty if you would like. And you, my young fellow?

Percival, but I prefer Percy.

I prefer it as well. A fine, friendly name. Yes, indeed, one can trust a nice, honest name like Percy. How old are you, Percy?

Sixteen ... I mean seventeen.

Is it hard for you to remember your age? Dusty laughed.

Well, I was sixteen yesterday and today I am seventeen. Percy shrugged.

Then today is your birthday! Dusty exclaimed. Happy birthday. Seventeen is an illustrious age, an age of action, an age for celebration! No one should spend their birthday sitting in a dusty corner. Come with me, young man! We shall celebrate in a manner befitting this great day.

Percy shifted from one foot to the other. He cleared his throat and searched for an excuse. They really couldn’t because ... because ... He simply couldn’t bring himself to admit to the honest Dusty that he was there under false pretenses.

After a moment, Dusty smiled and patted the youth on the shoulder. I was young once, Sir Percy. We shall go where Sir Ivan shall not spy us. I have a feeling your fine superior has fallen asleep on guard duty and will not awaken until the next shift comes to relieve him. Men like Ivan do not work when they work.

Percy blinked, but drawn by the thought of companionship, he re-shelved his book and followed Dusty from the library out into the courtyard.

Percy’s exploration of the palace grounds had been limited to the stables, kennels, and library. Dusty led him down a side hall away from the servants’ quarters. They came out into an open green space surrounded by tall, ivy-covered walls. Birds twittered inside bushes trimmed to look like unicorns and lions. The fragrances of roses and lavender floated through the air. Everything was tended to perfection, and not a weed poked through the white gravel of the pathways.

Now isn’t this more pleasant than the kennels? Dusty asked.