The Crown and the Axe: Prince of Sunland, #1

By Darcy Fornier

A careless mistake. A tale from the past. A journey he'll never forget.

Seventeen-year-old Dierk Lichtensitz, Crown Prince of Sunland, excels in both his physical and educational training. Not that his father is impressed, but Dierk quit trying to please him years ago.

King Phillip Lichtensitz holds high standards for his children—with good reason. So when selfish neglect on Dierk's part leaves another squire injured, Phillip delivers strict punishment. Dierk must travel the country as a woodcutter's son.

Resentful of his father's decision, Dierk resolves to endure his punishment unmoved—until the tales of a long-dead witch's power force him to reckon with himself and his God.

As the journey leads him into more danger than his father could have ever foreseen, how much will Dierk have to surrender to become the man he needs—and desperately wants—to be?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stones of Elah Press
• Release date: Sep 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781734002515

Darcy Fornier

Darcy Fornier (pronounced forn-yay) believes the best stories provide clean, compelling entertainment while also provoking the reader to think about life in a new way. She’s been spinning stories ever since she learned how to play “pretend,” and she has seriously pursued writing since 2013. When she isn’t writing, editing, or dreaming up a story, you might find her washing dishes, “dissolved” in a book, playing the piano, hiking in the woods, singing at the top of her lungs, or talking up a storm with her sisters. At six years old, she gave her heart to Jesus, and she lives to know Him more. She makes her home with her parents and two younger sisters, wherever that happens to be.

Book preview

The Crown and the Axe

Copyright © 2019 by Darcy R. Southern

Published by Stones of Elah Press

Spring Hill, TN 37174

darcyfornier.com/stones-of-elah-press/

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019913013

ISBN: 9781734002515

Scripture quotations taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Molly Southern Photography.

Cover photos © Molly Southern. Used by permission.

Crown graphic from Dreamstime.com; free photo 2012301 © Madartists.

Dedicated with much love ...

To Jesus. Always to Jesus.

And to my crazy, wonderful family: Daddy, Mama, Lizzy, and Sunnygirl. I love us!

Thank you for your unfailing support. Without you, there would have been no Sunland.

Then He said to them all, "If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me.

-Luke 9:23

1 · Quintain

Dierk wasn’t neglecting his duty, merely postponing it. Meadow grass swished around his knees as he crested a hill. Shouts rose from the large pond below, where his fellow squires had the water churning.

He looked over his shoulder. Duke Ebner’s magnificent castle shone in the harsh sunlight. Dierk was supposed to be inside those walls, helping two other squires in the saddle room—inspecting the saddles and bridles, oiling stiff leather, polishing metal fasteners. But the other two would be sure to leave Dierk’s portion for him to finish later. He was seventeen, old enough to make a few decisions of his own.

Ho! Your Highness!

Only one person called him by that title. Dierk turned back to the pond. From the water, his friend Bastian waved his arm high. Dierk waved back and headed down the hill.

He dropped his clothes in a pile on the bank beside several others and dove into the pond. Like a living thing, the cool water pushed against him, flowing over him. Now this was the way to spend a sunny afternoon.

When his lungs started burning, he shot upward into the warm air, scented with sun-baked grass.

Hey, watch it. A splash hit the back of Dierk’s head.

Dierk spun around. Grinning, he shoved water at his friend. Is that a challenge, Leonhard?

Not yet. Leonhard plunged underwater.

Dierk leaned back and kicked his legs to propel himself. His fellow squires knew not to challenge him unless they wanted all-out war. He could outshoot any of them in a water fight. In other sports too.

Several yards away, a dozen pages and squires played a rowdy game of tackle-ball in the water. One of them jumped an opponent, shoving him under with a terrific splash. Waves rolled toward Dierk, and he swam out of their path. He’d join the next game.

Bastian popped up beside him, shaking his head like a wet hound. Wish we had time to swim every day in summer, don’t you?

Aye. Dierk swept his hand underwater, letting the coolness gush between his fingers. But then Sir Wilhelm wouldn’t have as many hours to shout at us for sloppy handling of our weapons.

"He never has to shout at you for that. Bastian grimaced. I almost crushed my own foot with the mace yesterday."

Dierk chuckled. Their training master must’ve thundered over that. You’ll master it. I could show you a few things to help.

Bastian winked. Thanks.

Just come find me Monday.

Though a year younger than Dierk, Bastian had offered genuine friendship from the day Dierk came to Duke Ebner’s—when the other squires still weren’t sure how to treat a prince in their midst. Dierk had been teaching Bastian things ever since, helping him overcome his natural clumsiness.

Hey, I can still do the trick you showed me last week. Bastian plunged underwater, balled up, and flipped twice before his head surfaced. I taught it to a couple of pages before you got here—without half-drowning myself.

Dierk grinned. Small wonder Bastian was the best-liked lad among the squires.

Bastian slung his dark blond hair out of his eyes. Where’s Anton?

Finishing his assignment, I guess. He had the armory today.

Ah. Glad we finished early.

Mmm. Dierk rolled to his stomach. With powerful strokes, he swam for the pond’s far side before Bastian could ask about his assignment. Dierk wouldn’t lie outright, and he didn’t want Bastian to know he’d taken his leisure before completing his duties.

Duties. As if Dierk Lichtensitz, Crown Prince of Sunland, needed to practice caring for saddles. Kings had other things to occupy their time. Of course, a squire must follow orders, but he’d have time later. Might as well take his swim during the hottest hours with his friends.

But Bastian, with his straightforward ways, wouldn’t understand those reasons.

Leonhard surfaced beside him, spewing water. Ready for that water fight? Gernot said he and I could take you.

Ha! Dierk shoved with his feet and stroked for the deepest end of the pond, overhung by willows. I’ll show you both who’s champion.

DOWN, INGO. DIERK thrust his palm toward the sleek black-spotted hound jumping around his legs. Ingo settled down and trotted in front of Dierk, almost tripping him twice. Dierk shook his head, a smile tugging at his mouth.

Weaving through the busy courtyard, Dierk caught up with Bastian at the squires’ quarters, a long wooden building with small windows just under the eaves. The aroma of roasting meat drifted from the nearby kitchen, and Dierk’s mouth watered.

Ahead of Dierk, Bastian paused. He stepped to the side of the doorway and bowed low. Your Highness’s chamber awaits. Unfortunately, it has been overrun by an unseemly mob of youths.

As usual. Dierk rolled his eyes and grinned. He stepped into the large room lined with beds on one side, and a pillow smacked his face.

Ha-ha! We caught Prince Dierk!

He snatched up the pillow and hurled it at the smirking lad, who ducked out of the way. Dierk elbowed Bastian. Next time you can walk in first.

I will gladly take any blow for Your Highness. Bastian swept him another bow, his face full of suppressed laughter. Except a thrown pillow.

My thanks. Dierk cuffed Bastian’s shoulder and jostled through the noisy crowd of lads toward his bed.

Anyone seen my shoes? Gernot called from a few beds away.

If you wore ’em more than once a week, you mightn’t lose ’em so often, someone yelled back.

Dierk laughed. Maybe one of the hounds mistook them for a choice supper.

The way his feet smell? quipped the lad who shared Gernot’s bed.

Laughter erupted, filling the large room. Gernot slugged his friend’s shoulder and bent to peer under the bed again. Still chuckling, Dierk knelt and reached under his bed for his clothing box. He wanted a dry tunic before he went to work in the dusty stable.

Ingo’s tongue slathered Dierk’s ear.

All right, all right. Dierk caught the hound’s neck between his hands and rubbed his thumbs in the hollows behind Ingo’s ears. He grinned as the long pink tongue stretched toward his face. Oh, no you don’t. Silly hound.

Ingo wriggled with pleasure. Dierk gave the dog a last pat before dragging his clothing box out. He’d had his fun. He ought to get those stupid saddles in order before dinner.

Attention, lads. The chief squire stood just inside the door, his hands raised for quiet. Sir Wilhelm has ordered quintain practice. Don your attire and report to the armory to retrieve your lances.

Groans rose from some of the younger lads. Dierk sighed. Not that he minded quintain, but this extra lesson meant he’d have to scrape some time together Monday to tend the saddlery. Or skip it altogether.

Silence! Sir Wilhelm’s roar shattered the complaints as he stalked into the dormitory. How many times have I told you, lads? A knight must be prepared for any emergency. Here you are, dawdling, when you ought to leap up to fight at a moment’s notice. Make haste! Bastian, Leonhard, saddle the mounts. All of you, to the armory, then to the tiltyard. I want you all ready before the horses.

Mad scrambling for shoes and tunics ensued. Dierk changed into a dry tunic, snatched up his padded vest, and dashed for the door with the others.

THE ASH-WOOD LANCE was smooth in Dierk’s hand as he awaited his turn at the quintain—a wooden knight holding a shield in one hand. Since Bastian saddled the horse, he got to charge first. Come on, Bastian. You’ll conquer him.

Bastian mounted then grinned at Dierk. Careful. I’ll beat you at it one of these times.

Dierk smirked as Bastian turned the horse to face the quintain. If Bastian’s lance struck in the perfect spot, the shield would clatter down. If not, the wooden knight would pivot and smack him with the sandbag in his other hand. With Bastian, that was the usual outcome.

His lance cradled in his right arm, Bastian kicked the charger into a full gallop.

Bas-tian. Bas-tian. Dierk led the chant, and the others joined.

On the other side of the yard, the second quintain’s shield crashed to the ground. Leonhard raised his lance in triumph, and his team whooped.

Bastian’s steed pounded toward the wooden foe. At the last moment, Bastian lowered his lance. It struck with a terrific crash. But the lance missed its precise target, and the wooden knight swung to whack Bastian.

Except Bastian wasn’t there. He was falling off the near side of the great warhorse, his lance waving in the air. The sandbag caught the lance, and the horse veered, fighting the rein.

Dierk’s stomach plummeted. But squires took blows all the time. Bastian would be fine. Surely.

Bastian fell free of the tangle, crumpled in a heap on the dirt. The horse stamped and snorted, its saddle hanging awry. The wooden knight revolved, creaking, into its normal position. Bastian squirmed, but didn’t rise.

Bastian! Sir Wilhelm yelled.

No answer.

Dierk dropped his lance and dashed forward, his fellow squires on his heels. He skidded to a stop beside his prostrate friend. Down on one knee, Sir Wilhelm rolled Bastian onto his back.

Bastian gasped, his ashen face convulsing.

What’s wrong, lad? Sir Wilhelm’s gruff tone betrayed unwonted concern.

My arm. The strangled words gave way to another gasp. Nothing bad, I guess.

The liar. No healthy arm bent between wrist and elbow. Dierk gave his own arm a shake to dispel the cringe.

Gernot, fetch the physician, Sir Wilhelm barked. Try his shop first. Don’t return without him.

Gernot whirled and ran from the tiltyard.

Sweat glistened on Bastian’s forehead, and his right heel scraped the ground, back and forth. But no sound escaped his lips.

Dierk turned away. How had this happened? Jaw tight, he surveyed the horse with its drooping saddle. He eased forward, hand outstretched, and caught the bridle. The poor beast whinnied. Easy, boy. Dierk slipped around the gray nose to the horse’s off side.

The cause of the fall glared back at him. Torn stitches left a gaping seam in the saddle’s right front quarter. One of the straps had ripped apart.

Someone slipped up beside him, and Dierk glanced over his shoulder.

Anton gazed at the damage. How’d it happen?

Stitches must have been unsound. No way a normal round of quintain could break it otherwise. Dierk’s gut clenched. How had the other lads assigned to the saddlery missed this? Or ... was this one he should have checked?

But this accident was not his fault. The stableman who put the equipment away should’ve seen the damage. For that matter, Bastian ought to have noticed himself.

Sir Wilhelm strode around the horse. Dierk edged over to give him a clear view of the saddle. The scent of sweat and onions reached Dierk as Sir Wilhelm fingered the frayed seam. Who checked the saddles today?

As if he didn’t know. It was my turn, sir, along with Hans and Erhard.

How did you miss the flaw in this equipment?

He could blame it on the others. But they’d be quick to report Dierk’s absence. Besides, lying was for children, not knights. I’ve had no time yet to tend the saddlery, sir.

Had no time! Sir Wilhelm roared, his face turning scarlet. With your hair still wet from the swimming hole, you have the gall to tell me you had no time? He seized Dierk’s arm with a hand like iron and dragged him back to where Bastian lay.

Hans, Erhard! Sir Wilhelm waited until each boy stepped forward. Did you not inspect Bastian’s saddle today?

The two looked at one another. Hans shuffled his feet. I think ... He looked toward the saddle, glanced at Dierk, then bent his head and kicked at the rock-hard dirt. That’s one of our plain training saddles. We left those for Dierk to polish.

"And Prince Dierk declares he had no time for his duties. Sir Wilhelm’s grip tightened on Dierk’s arm. But he had time to swim. And his neglect brought about this. He jabbed a finger toward Bastian. Injured his own comrade, he bellowed. Will he not make a noble knight, lads?"

Waves of white-hot fury seethed through Dierk until the scene in front of him wavered. It took every dram of willpower he possessed not to strike his superior. The man had no right to shame him thus, no right to cast aspersions on his rank, no right to treat him like a child. He twisted free of Sir Wilhelm’s grasp, breathing as if he’d run a furlong in record time.

But he kept his chin level. He was Crown Prince. Perhaps he had made a mistake, but others were equally culpable. He had intended no harm, and he would accept no shame. Nor would he deign to argue.

Return to the dormitory until I summon you. Sir Wilhelm jerked his chin in that direction. Duke Ebner will hear of this.

Teeth clenched, Dierk strode past his silent comrades. Duke Ebner would be angry, of course. As sure as Orion fled the summer sky, Duke Ebner would report to Father.

Father. Nothing Dierk did was ever enough to satisfy him. There was always something more Dierk needed to do, somewhere he needed to improve. When he’d come to Duke Ebner’s castle, he ceased striving for Father’s standards and made his own. And he’d managed to stay foremost among his peers. Until today.

As he stomped through the large, noisy courtyard, Dierk ignored everyone he passed. No predicting how Father would respond to this news. But it wouldn’t be pleasant.

2 · Fall of the Axe

King Phillip Lichtensitz braced his palms on the cold stone windowsill, staring into the ladies’ garden below. Dierk’s difficulty is ... he is too much like me, Zorena.

Perhaps not quite so bad. His wife’s voice held more than usual gentleness.

Perhaps. Phillip’s youthful rebellion had almost killed him. And Dierk now leaned that way. I do not know where I went wrong. We gave all our children a sound knowledge of the Scripture. We prayed, daily, with them and for them.

Phillip stalked across the room and scowled at a tapestry on the wall. Zorena, I did everything I could to show them that their royal birth placed them above no person and no task. I even sent Dierk to another castle for his knight training, in hopes he would learn humility better than I did. Apparently, he did not.

What will you do about it? We have prayed hard for him, but there must be more we can do.

Aye, but what it is I am not sure. He expelled a breath of mirthless laughter. Now I understand how my father felt, praying and doubting himself all the time. He faced his wife and offered a half-smile. Maybe a peasant’s life is the only proper way to raise royalty, after all.

Zorena’s lips curved, but she didn’t truly smile.

A knock on the large wooden door interrupted them. Enter, Phillip called.

The door creaked open, and Phillip’s Chief of Palace Guard saluted. You summoned me, Your Majesty?

Of course. Phillip frowned. Dispense with the formality, Fredrik.

Fredrik swung the door shut. The page was still listening, Phil. He made a deep bow to Zorena. My lady.

She extended a graceful hand.  ’Tis a pleasure to see you, Fredrik.

Fredrik kissed her hand. And you. He looked toward Phillip. But what is so urgent it requires a meeting in the Queen’s parlor? I confess I feel out of place.

Phillip waved his hand. Well, don’t. I suppose you have heard about Dierk?

All humor fled Fredrik’s face. I heard he was summoned home unexpectedly.

Phillip paced the length of the thick blue floor rug and back. Dierk had beaten the news home, but the story would soon spread all over the castle. Not that it mattered who knew. The problem lay in the reality of the disgrace.

Phillip turned, met Fredrik’s gaze, and relayed the story in the fewest possible words. This young man now has a broken arm, he finished, and the fault lies with my son, the Crown Prince. What a blot of shame upon the family.

I see. Fredrik tugged the end of his mustache.  ’Tis a grievous mischance.

No mischance about it. Disobedience caused this. Phillip marched to Zorena’s chair and propped his hands on its back. She slipped her hand up and grasped his arm in a warm caress. He covered her fingers with his own. Fredrik, I must do something. I cannot let him get to the point I did. I would not have him suffer correction as terrible as mine.

Fredrik’s eyes reflected Phillip’s concern. Fredrik had endured the correction too. He understood.

Do you have a plan, Phil?

Phillip glanced down at Zorena’s golden hair. Not a good one. Dierk has heard the stories of his parents all his life, but perhaps if he could hear them from others, from a fresh perspective, he could better receive their instruction. And thus avoid my path.

Fredrik’s brows furrowed. Have you an idea how this might be accomplished?

Yes. Phillip rested his hand on his wife’s shoulder. He hoped she would approve his plan. He had nothing better to suggest. Fredrik, I want you to escort Dierk on a tour of the country. I want him to meet someone who saw the curse lifted from Zorena. I want him to see the place where she grew up with the Sisters. To see the town destroyed by Lady Melankardja.

Phillip paused. His next request would demand much of Fredrik. He might refuse the commission, and Phillip would not condemn him in the least. And I want Dierk to experience the darkness of the place where I met Christ.

Fredrik’s broad shoulders grew rigid. Lady Melankardja’s stronghold?

Even after all these years, Phillip’s stomach knotted at the thought of the dungeon. Yes. I want him to walk into it and understand what he risks by refusing to curb his rebellious spirit.

Your Majesty. Fredrik licked his lips. You wish me to escort him into that place?

 ’Tis much to ask, I know. But I want him to see what comes of the folly I indulged, and which he now exhibits. I want him to know, Fredrik, so he might learn to hate every hint of darkness. He wanted it so much his chest ached.

Why don’t you take him yourself, Phil? You could tell your story better than I could.

Phillip sighed. I think he needs to hear it from someone other than his parents.

Fredrik nodded, but said nothing.

Zorena’s soft voice broke the silence. Perhaps if Fredrik started the tour on his own, Phillip, you could meet him at the fortress. She tilted her head back and caught Phillip’s gaze. You could show Dierk that place together.

He smiled into her blue eyes, the tightness in his chest relaxing. I had not thought of that. Perhaps I could.

Fredrik exhaled a long breath. If you would, I’d be grateful. I never wished to see that den of darkness again, but if you go with me, ’twill be easier.

Then ’tis settled. Phillip straightened. You will assume your usual woodcutter’s identity with Dierk as your son. His customary entourage would ruin the tour. He must learn to be a man among working men, not a prince amongst future subjects.

Fredrik smiled. Woodcutting again, eh? I may be unable to resist a little actual work.

A broad smile stretched Phillip’s face. By all means, do it. ’Twill be good for Dierk.

Provided he doesn’t drop an axe on his foot. Zorena arched her brows. He has no experience with the tool, Phillip.

A failure of mine. Phillip pressed her hand. Familiarize him with an axe, Fredrik.

Fredrik’s mustache twitched. I will.

Phillip strode to his friend and clasped his forearm. Thank you for doing this for me. You know I share your loathing of the fortress, but I think this may help my son.

Fredrik gave Phillip’s forearm a strong squeeze in return. God grant that it does.

IN HIS BEDCHAMBER AT Sunland Castle, Dierk lay across the bed, scowling at the canopy above him. Confined to his room like a naughty child. He’d practiced his sword exercises this morning, spent a few hours studying alone, and whiled away the rest of the time trying to imagine how Father would punish him for his shockingly delinquent behavior.

All because Bastian hadn’t the wits to notice a torn seam in his gear.

Dierk sighed. Perhaps he would remain at home now, focusing solely on his studies and training, no friends, no activities for the pure enjoyment of them. But Dierk could find pleasure in his work—always had.

Perhaps Father would forbid him any practice in knightly exercise, confining him to mere book study for a time. That would chafe.

Or maybe Father would sentence him to serve a priest of Sunland’s Church for a while, almost like the Roman Catholics and their monks. One of the older squires at Duke Ebner’s had served such a penance when he was much younger, so Dierk had heard.

At any rate, this spoiled his hopes of joining the Royal League early. Father would probably make him wait until his nineteenth birthday like any common applicant. Which shouldn’t disappoint him as sharply as it did. He’d been anticipating it for five years. What were two more?

A tap on the door brought him to his feet. Enter.

A servant entered and bowed. Your Highness, His Majesty requires your presence in the council room.

Here it came at last. The axe would fall, and Dierk would take his punishment without complaint and most certainly without repenting. He had done nothing wrong.

Dierk nodded. I shall come without delay.

The man bowed himself out.

Dierk squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. Ready to hold his temper and his pride, he left the chamber.

A few yards down the hall, he passed the open door to his younger siblings’ playroom, where he’d spent many an hour as a child. He caught the gaze of his five-year-old brother Friedhold but passed on without a word.

Dierk!

He turned. The huge doorway dwarfed his little brother as the boy peered out at him.

Where you going?

Father sent for me.

Will you play with us today?

No. He’d long since forgotten how to play, and he was in no mood to relearn.

But I’ve waited all day.

I’ve been busy, Friedhold. Busy doing nothing because of Father’s restrictions.

The nurse appeared behind Friedhold. Come, lad, don’t detain your brother.

Dierk took the opportunity to continue down the hall.

Tomorrow, then, Dierk?

He pretended he didn’t hear.

DIERK PUSHED OPEN THE council room door. Father stood staring at a banner of Sunland’s Crest which covered the far wall with its bright colors. He turned at the creak of the ancient hinges.

Seat yourself, Dierk.

Dierk shut the door and sat on one of the stools by the cold hearth. He’d expected Mother to be here, with a fresh supply of tears, but the room was empty save for him and Father.

Empty and utterly silent.

Father’s footsteps echoed as he crossed the rush-strewn floor. He dropped onto a stool across from Dierk and propped his elbows on his knees. Looking at the floor, he sighed. I do not think I need to tell you I am disappointed.

Indeed? I would never have guessed. Dierk bit back the sarcasm. You made yourself quite clear last night.

He thought he’d kept his tone even, but Father lifted his head as if in response to a jibe. I am not certain I did. Dierk, have you no concept of the enormous responsibility of royalty?

You have told me time and again, sir. To put it mildly.

"It is our duty to protect our people. To serve them. To always have their interests foremost in our minds. Not our own gain or pleasure."

"I know that. Frustration laced Dierk’s words despite his earlier resolve. He’d heard all this yesterday. But I was not so miserably deficient in my duty. If Bastian had not happened to choose the one damaged saddle in the stable, no one would have ever known or cared that I skipped a chore once."

Which ought to show you the smallest tasks are worth all the attention of the so-called important duties.

Dierk chose not to reply. ’Twas a grievous accident, of course. He took no pleasure in seeing his friend sweating and rigid with pain. But it was an accident caused by a trivial mistake. Not deserving of this disgrace.

Father stood and rested an arm on the mantel. Light from the window glinted off the gold armband on his wrist. The neglected saddles are not the true source of my distress. Nor is Bastian’s broken arm, much as it grieves me. Father glanced at him, then brought his gaze to his fingers, stroking the edge of the mantel. Your pride concerns me.

Ah, now the lecture would truly begin.

Pride will destroy you, my son. You know it almost destroyed me before God saw fit, in His grace, to humble me. You know the Scripture. The Lord abominates pride. Can you not see the need to guard against this sin?

Dierk fought not to roll his eyes. Last night Father had been angry, and he’d scolded with a loud voice and sharp words. Today he’d fallen into his mood of sorrow because my child disappointed me. And he tended to start preaching when that mood hit him.

Not that Dierk had anything against God. He had no desire to go around indulging in sin. And he was not sinfully proud. The Crown Prince must maintain a certain amount of dignity.

Crisp knocks interrupted the heavy silence. Enter, Father called.

Fredrik stepped in, carrying a couple axes in one hand. Not battle-axes. The blades were heavy but straighter. Fine tools, these. Shall I leave them with you?

No, stay. I was on the point of explaining the plan to Dierk.

The plan. That meant the punishment.

Fredrik shut the door and leaned against it.

Father dropped into his seat. Son, your title carries with it a weighty responsibility, requiring strong character. Therefore, I have decided to send you on a journey in the hopes that your character might gain strength.

Dierk took care to keep his expression blank. A journey. Rather soft punishment. Must be a stone in the pie somewhere.

Fredrik will accompany you. He will take his usual secret identity, a woodcutter called Henrik Holtzer. You will be his son Kik. No one must ever suspect you are anything other than a woodcutter’s son.

Take the identity of a woodcutter? A peasant? Disgrace enough to boil a man’s blood. Dierk set his jaw. He wouldn’t let his father see how the punishment stung. How long is this journey to last?

Until Fredrik deems you ready to return to your normal duties.

Alarmingly vague answer. Dierk looked at the man he’d called Uncle Fredrik as a child. Dierk hadn’t seen much of him since moving to Duke Ebner’s.

Fredrik took an axe in his right hand and tossed it upward. It tumbled end-over-end back down, where Fredrik caught the handle. He let the shaft slide through his hand until the head rested on his fist. Then he extended the handle to Dierk. This one is yours, lad.

Dierk had to stop himself from yanking the tool out of Fredrik’s grasp. The wooden handle was smooth in his hand, the weight cumbersome. The steel caught the window light, winking sparks from its sword-sharp edge. When do we depart?

Friday, Father answered.

Two more days at home. Anything else? To add to the humiliation.

Three rules. Father caught Dierk’s gaze and held it. Obey Fredrik. Whatever he tells you, obey.

Of course. Be a good little woodcutter’s son.

Take nothing without paying. As Crown Prince, you have a right to commandeer things. As Kik, you must pay your way, even with small things.

As if he needed to be told that.

"And, whatever happens, you must not betray your identity, through anything you say or do, or even the way you speak or act. For the duration of this journey, you are Kik, not Dierk. Do not forget."

I shall remember.

Father laced his fingers, lowered his gaze to Dierk’s boots, then looked up. I do not expect you to fail in any of these rules. But if you do, you will receive three lashes.

What? Dierk jumped to his feet, unable to contain his indignation. "You would lash a member of the royal family?"

I want you to know how serious this is.

"So if some peasant with a wild imagination accuses me of being nobility, I receive a lashing?"

Father stood. It brought him barely higher than eye-to-eye with Dierk. See that you give them no cause for such accusations.

Dierk gritted his teeth lest he lose his temper completely. Tension tightened inside him, like a longbow drawn for a