The Hunchback's Reluctant Bride

By Lyna Forge

Hunchbacks don't get love. They get ridicule and scorn. That suits Wyrn just fine. As the son of a warlord, he resolves to die earning his father's respect in a tournament instead. The plan backfires and he's forced to marry a princess against his will.

She's 18, beautiful, and suspicious. There is no way a king would give away his ONLY child to a random man much less a hunchback. Something must be wrong with her. And so, Wyrn decides to give her back.

The only problem? She won't let him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lyna Forge
• Release date: Mar 6, 2022

Lyna Forge

Lyna Forge has called many countries home but favors the ones in fiction the most. When she's not reading obscure fantasy novels of others, she's writing obscure fantasy novels of her own.

Book preview

1 | One Truth

Wyrn knew one truth . It was the only truth his father’d ever tell him. Most nights, he bustled around the long wooden table, as his father’s ale-reeking tall stature came stomping in from a hunt. The old man scanned his seven sons with pride until his eyes settled on Wyrn. And most nights, his father dropped the pelts on the floor but did not look as his wife hurried to snatch them up. Instead, he’d allow his gaze to linger on Wyrn for a long minute before speaking.

He never mentioned Wyrn’s uneven top lip, born looking as if it was cut clean through and healed that way. He never talked about Wyrn’s deep blue eyes, arguably, his only charming feature He never even mentioned Wyrn’s small size. He was five to five though his brothers all towered over most men—well above six.

No. By the fading sunlight at his back, he’d say but one thing—the one truth.

Hmp. If you’re to get a wife—you’d have to steal one.

A hush fell over their small house. When he entered, no one spoke unless spoken to. No one but Wyrn who did not speak even then.

Wearing his hair long was Wyrn’s only revenge. As his father had hardly a strand above his ears, despite the remnants of his once strong red mane now clinging to the sides and back. Wyrn’s brown hair hid most of his unpleasant features. With its length, it even hid his mouth at times. It did not, however, hide his size.

Those meals were a long ways off now as Wyrn, riding his small cart, watched the head of his donkey as she pulled him through the dank city. Smooth cobblestones led the way from the main highway. A myriad of awful smells mixed with one another were the least of his worries. He had but one aim, the palace.

A number of carts filled with apples bustled beside him then veered off to market. From his own rickety wagon, his eyes followed one, curious.

He’d never eaten a fruit. Mother never allowed it. The one time he’d made the attempt, she’d snatched it away; her voice followed him even now.

And when you lose your teeth on top of everything else, what will you do then? Hmm, Wyrnol, what will you do then? Who will love you then?

Reins in hand, he flicked them once and the ass picked up speed. Animals were easier to be around. They were pleasant.

The tournament would end today but he could travel no faster than he moved now.

Besides, he wasn’t going to the palace with victory in mind, only...self-assurance.

This was his life, he’d known, and his mother never asked anything of him but this.

Why don’t you try? You need but try at least, she’d said.

Perhaps she knew something about him he did not. He reached the drawbridge and instantly regretted his foolish decision to honor his promise to her.

The moat seemed deeper than the very deepest pit of hell.

When he urged the donkey on, several men, walking tall with their swords on their backs, glanced at him now and then. More than one laughed but that didn’t matter so much.

He was only here for a promise. Once inside the palace walls, the houses and shops impressed him. This wasn’t the farm but the city.

Hunchback, someone called. Hunchback!

Wyrn ignored whoever it was.

It was best not to engage others.

He tried to dismount is cart, but something grabbed him by the back of his shirt and dragged him to the ground. The cobblestone hurt but he did not even wince.

Upon standing and brushing himself off, he was greeted with a handsome face. It donned a grimace but this man, though bigger and taller than he, did not compare to the terror of the drunkard Wyrn had to endure for the last twenty years so he turned back to his donkey and pulled the animal on.

Why you....

Wyrn decided to follow the crowd; maybe that would be enough.

He arrived in front of several guards who looked him up and down then scoffed. At least they didn’t laugh.

With a bow, one held out his hand and indicated the path he should take. Five minutes later, Wyrn found himself staring down at the pigpen. The animal staring back at him now was far more pleasant than the swine who had tricked him into coming here.

He hove a sigh.

Well, Bluebell, he told the ass, at least we tried.

After maneuvering the donkey to turn, he decided to hold his head high as he walked out of there. An ass was temperamental, and he couldn’t risk her giving him trouble as he tried to leave. So rather than ride the cart, he resolved to depart on foot.

What he met up on was the rude man from earlier.

Hunchback, he called. I will have you respect the words of a prince.

A prince, huh? That was unlikely as nobility rarely did anything on their own. Royalty moved with power and protection at their backs. Only one up to no good or an outcast did otherwise. Wyrn would know because here he was, entering this city alone. The air of entitlement did reek of a prince, but what sort would approach someone he deemed beneath him—a hunchback—directly? Someone else would have to find out. Wyrn cut him one glance then walked by. The gasp to leave the so-called prince wasn’t his imagination.

Come now, hunchback. How dare you ignore my words?

The man ran to catch up, but Wyrn had made up his mind. He’d go home, and on the way there, he’d buy an apple. He’d buy two—no ten. Hundreds.

Hunchback, the man said, closing in. I will have your attention.

He would not. However, when a sword scraped Wyrn’s throat, he came to a stop.

Perhaps this ‘prince’ would get an audience with him after all.

Good. So you have some sense. The prince walked to stand before him and said, I have a proposition for you. He leaned in close, grinning wide. How would you like to leave this place...with a treasure far greater than you’d ever imagined?

Wyrn stared into those dark brown eyes then answered, Shove it up your arse, and walked on.

He left the man stunned but then it happened—Bluebell planted her feet and refused to move.

Inside, Wyrn cursed whatever Fate or deity that refused to give him at least one pleasant day.

The prince regained his composure and sauntered to stand before him once more. Well now, my dear fellow, it appears you have all the time in the world to listen to my proposal.

Wyrn stared him in the eye for some time then took a step back, planted his left foot and used his right to kick the man between the legs as hard as he could.

A sharp wail had the birds taking flight. And down he went. Wyrn walked back to Bluebell and patted her neck while cooing, Let us go. We have no business here.

The ass finally moved but Wyrn didn’t get far. This time when a hand grabbed him by the neck, a sword rose in the other, fit to strike.

Oi! Oi! someone called.

Halt. Halt! said another.

Wyrn’s rescue came from an unlikely duo, the bastard guards who had guided him to the pigsty moments earlier.

Your Highness, you cannot be serious about striking down a hunchback. It’s cruel.

The other one chimed in, "And look at him. What could you possibly do to him that nature hasn’t already?"

Wyrn dropped the reins of the donkey and turned to face both guards. They looked pleased with themselves until he flicked his wrist and the whip on his hip caught them both across the face.

Why you little....

But the other guard stopped his colleague and muttered something under his breath.

The enraged guard gasped then stepped back.

Whatever their reasoning, no one approached, therefore, Wyrn took hold of his donkey and started his journey home.

Why did you stop me? Haven’t you seen what he’s done? the prince demanded.

Yes sir, but....

The rest came in a whisper and Wyrn didn’t reach the drawbridge before footsteps closed in.

Not yet fully recovered, the prince, hobbling at an incredible speed despite his injuries, was tentative in his steps when he caught up. Good man. Good man. I am very sorry. You came for the tournament, did you not?

Wyrn’s feet failed to step on that bridge and take him home. His promise.

Everything in him said to leave.

It was a scream that caused him to turn around and see what the fuss was about. A young woman, with luscious black hair and a lean face struggled in the clutches of the guards who led her down the street.

Unhand me! Unhand me this instant! You tell my father he can go to hell.

No one paid much attention to her vitriol, but Wyrn watched on, waiting for someone to come to her rescue. Whatever he found there, he could not define. And then the woman was gone and Wyrn’s eyes continued their path until they came to a terrible creature. The prince.

Still watching him with a wide grin, the prince asked, About my proposal. You haven’t yet heard it. How would you like to win yourself...a wife?

2 | Persuasion

The sun was high when Wyrn tied Bluebell to a tree and turned to look at the tournament. He couldn’t get far with jousting. And though he could hold a sword, any number of these ones would be too heavy.

His father’d made him one thing, and one thing only, a large dagger. But not a sword. Wyrn hated it.

For while he had a dagger as his safeguard, his brothers had a variety of weapons. Strong weapons. Weapons of respect.

The idiot prince to impose his will on him was named Orm. And Prince Orm wanted him to do something strange.

Yield all your fights to me, he said, fixing his armor. Once we’ve won and she’s in your care. You deliver her to me and I’ll pay you handsomely.

It was a sound plan perhaps. Wyrn had his misgivings about this man but the way the princess stared in their direction unabashed was enough. She wasn’t pining for Wyrn.

Whatever these two morons had in mind, Wyrn wanted nothing of it. Any princess a prince could not win fairly despite his skill, meant politics—strict politics were involved.

Archery would be first. Several top scorers stood comfortably in a line.

Orm hurried along beside him. Go on and make the request.

Wyrn ignored him. He lined up with the other men, Orm at his side.

You are supposed to call upon me to aid you, the prince said, seething.

The sound of Wyrn’s arrow whizzing to its target to gasp and cheers cut the man off.

At first glance, Wyrn did not look it, but he had training. Most of that training ended with his father watching on with a heavy sigh and a shake of the head but he was trained.

The next targets, placed even farther away, were equally as easy.

Orm completed his shot but waited.

A flock of birds took flight and Wyrn balked; he, unfortunately, was no good in chaotic situations.

That hesitation was his downfall because Orm coughed loudly at Wyrn’s next attempt. And the next after that.

Unable to properly concentrate, Wyrn lowered the bow and arrow and stared at the man.

In time, the targets, carried by two guards, faded from the field.

Orm looked smug but Wyrn, hardly casting the fleeting bullseye a glance, brought his bow up and let loose.

When it hit its mark, there was silence then a cheer.

The hunchback is beating even a prince, someone shouted, and the crowd erupted in laughter.

After that, the day progressed in a strange way. Orm no longer begged to be Wyrn’s champion. Instead, he eyed Wyrn with a dangerous glint in his eye.

His mounting rage was no farce; it was no lie, and it certainly was no exaggeration.

Wyrn didn’t care. Should he die in combat, his father might finally summon up some respect for him.

Although Wyrn bested most opponents in fair marksmanship, some, insulted at being challenged by the likes of him, bowed out.

No matter. Wyrn soldiered on. But at the jousting event, all fell deathly silent as Wyrn, riding Bluebell, struggled with the lance. He was going up against horses, bigger, stronger horses, and riders with proper armor.

But all Wyrn had was what he wore.

Across from him, Orm, wearing his own battle-tested armor, grinned before pulling on his helmet.

Though the lance sagged, Wyrn gripped the reins, determined to die on his feet.

It was customary for the princess to signal the event but after a long wait, no such signal came.

Even Prince Orm thought to investigate as to the cause of the long delay.

The king, a heavyset man with a bulging belly, sat with his arms folded.

He did not focus on Wyrn, but rather Orm, who he gave a disgusted scowl. The man’s on a mule and he is half your size. What sort of coward are you, Orm? I might have known you held little honor.

Orm, carrying his helmet under his arm, parted his lips and struggled to answer. But it was Wyrn who took insult.

I am a fighter, Wyrn said. It matters not if I am but half his size. I am a proper opponent.

He hefted the lance but Orm did not return to his post. In fact, he turned to Wyrn and said, Let us consider more fair assessments.

Enough, bellowed the King. He studied Wyrn for some time then said, I am impressed by your bravery. Surely, you are our champion.

I do not need your charity, Wyrn interrupted.

A silence fell over the land. This was no way to speak to a king, to be sure, but Wyrn refused to back down.

It is no charity, hunchback, the king said, sitting up. He waved to a nearby guard and received a long scroll. You’ve earned well.

Against the ones who’d remained? Perhaps. But that would not satisfy Wyrn. Wasn’t he supposed to receive a challenger?

And then he saw it, something in the king’s smug expression.

His daughter, quite distraught, sat meekly at his side.

This was some sort of game to them. She’d defied him, perhaps by choosing Orm against her father’s wishes, and the king intended to shame her by giving her in marriage to a hunchback.

So Wyrn would be a punishment? The nerve.

As per the stipulations of the contest, you will receive my daughter’s hand.

I don’t want it, Wyrn said.

At the collective gasps, he kept his gaze trained on the heavyset king whose face was slowly drifting in and out of all sorts of expressions.

W—whatever do you mean? You’ve won!

Good. Then I’d like to have another mule, and a basket of apples, and I’ll be on my way, duly proud of my accomplishments.

The king’s face drained of color. What had begun as posturing then ultimately shaming for his daughter, now carried over to even him.

Of course, hunchback. An extra mule for your new bride. That is understandable.

Wyrn’s gaze turned cold. These morons were trying his patience.

The princess sat up now, two wide brown eyes brimming with insult.

Why you.... Orm jumped back and drew his sword. I will avenge the princess’s honor.

Such actions no longer interested Wyrn but a proper fight did.

It is no secret, hunchback, the king called, that you can spit insults unafraid of an immediate execution. And do you know why? There is a warlord to the north with a hunchback son. And he’s sent out a message far and wide, anyone who kills this boy will incur his wrath. Now, these savages aren’t necessarily anyone worth fearing, but they can become a nuisance. Therefore, most people will allow you your talk. I suppose your kind have become rather emboldened. But you forget one thing....

Wyrn dropped the lance and folded his arms. Oh?

They are only interested in battle. Anyone dying in fair combat need not be avenged. So hold your tongue, take your new wife, and be off.

Despite their distance from one another, Wyrn remained defiant.

After a long bout of silence, the king told a close advisor, Clear off the field of the lances and get the swords ready.

The king’s commands were followed. Within minutes, Orm was battle-ready and Wyrn let out a sigh.

Someone hurried to him with a sword. Even the guard, towering well over Wyrn, struggled with the heavy weapon. Wyrn supposed this was what a fair fight looked like.

What’s the matter, hunchback? Orm boasted, Too much power for your weak arms to wield?

Wyrn could wield it, but why put out so much energy doing so?

Orm threw his own sword down and retrieved the one meant for Wyrn. The way he tested the weight meant he hadn’t counted on it being that heavy.

That was foolish. Taking an unfamiliar weapon into a fight. But then again, so many things about this prince weren’t well thought out.

I know what you’re doing, Orm said. You’re making a show so that your claim to her will be solidified when you don’t bring her to me as per our bargain!

What bargain?

Wyrn might have argued against that logic if he’d cared enough. This fight was a dream come true, not for the prize, but for the battle. It was no secret to him that he had nothing to fear wherever he roamed. He hadn’t known this was the reason till now, however. He’d just thought perhaps his manly persona was working.

To find that he was being held up...by words, hurt.

Words and his father’s vicious army.

No matter. This prince was a proper fight and it would be enough.

Wyrn reached behind himself and brought his hand forward, brandishing the dagger.

The crowd gasped then laughed and Wyrn burned with shame. He’d picked the wrong one. This was a small knife.

Orm let out a battle cry and charged.

Wyrn, unsure of what to do, dropped the knife and stomped the ground. He needed to work himself up into a frenzy; that was how his people did battle. Orm wasn’t supposed to attack right now.

Each stomp had Wyrn’s body burning. He was halfway there but it was too late, the prince raised the sword with both hands.

A fire ignited in Wyrn’s gut and he charged, keeping his body low. When Orm struck, Wyrn tucked his head, intentionally giving his back.

Orm struck true but the sword had no effect. The prince puzzled over that one second two long. Wyrn swept Orm’s legs and jumped on him as he toppled.

There were rules to fighting, he knew, but he didn’t know these people’s guidelines, only his own. And his father’s rules were simple—take a head when you see a neck.

Wyrn detached the whip and wrapped it around Orm before the prince had time to recover. Using his body to push down on Orm’s chest while simultaneously pulling, Wyrn summoned every bit of his strength as his aid.

Orm struggled at first then dropped his sword and began striking the ground furiously.

His cries resembled that of a pig about to be slaughtered. The crowd cheered, many on their feet.

Wyrn closed his eyes and prayed for courage. He’d never taken a life before. This was a milestone. This was a fitting fight. This was his right.

But as Orm’s twisting and jerking weakened, Wyrn felt sick.

He jumped off and loosened the makeshift noose.

The prince didn’t move. Wyrn feared appearing weak. Should he approach, wouldn’t they realize he hadn’t the nerve to take a man’s life? Wouldn’t they realize his weakness and speak of it?

Eventually, wouldn’t his father know?

For a long while, Orm didn’t budge. Wyrn felt worse with each passing second.

The moment the prince’s body jerked, Wyrn let out a sigh of relief.

Several people rushed Orm, who was rather dazed and in actual tears, and helped him off the field.

Wyrn twisted the whip in both hands, fighting back the urge to vomit. He shouldn’t have lost his nerve. He should have been a proper warrior. This had been his chance and he’d failed.

One clap came.

Then another.

Wyrn picked his head up to see the king, brimming with pride, smiling down on him as he clapped.

The crowd followed suit shortly after.

For Wyrn, there was no satisfaction in any of it. He wished he’d never come.

Splendid. You even show mercy. Come now, hunchback. You’ve bested even a prince!

Eyes fixed on the dirt at his feet, Wyrn felt numb.

Wyrn was a prince, too, in his own right. He should have said as much but instead, he picked his head up. I’ll claim my victory now, if it’s all the same.

The king sat back, joy creased in his face. So, what was it? A basket of apples and a second mule for your new wife.

I don’t need the wife, Wyrn affirmed.

Out of the corner of his eye, a man with a crossbow took aim at him.

With this hollow pit in his stomach growing wider by the minute, Wyrn stared the king down. And I fear no death.

This is a great honor! the king bellowed.

But Wyrn didn’t answer, or flinch, or move.

This time when he glanced at the crossbow, it was because its aim shifted, pointing at Bluebell in the distance.

Or you can go home with nothing, the ruler challenged.

Wyrn’s lips parted, and he told the king, However...I suppose I can be persuaded.

3 | Villainy

Tears.

For while the princess, standing by the castle gates with her meager belongings at her feet, wiped her eyes as she wept outwardly, Wyrn cried silently on the inside.

Despite his request of one bushel of apples, he received three. The second mule now accompanied Bluebell who looked smitten. The new mule’s cold response resonated with Wyrn as well.

Once one basket of apples landed into the wagon, Wyrn took hold of Bluebell and started for the bridge.

Oi! Oi! You’ve got two more.

No. They had two more. Wyrn took what he’d requested and set off. His plan was simple—take the princess as far as he could on the highway and let her run off toward Orm’s kingdom. With a new mule, and some apples, she’d eventually arrive.

Taking her to the crossroads was already out of his way. He’d even thought she would not follow him, but one glance back showed her hiding her face while carrying her things in her right hand.

It was already shameful enough walking rather than riding, so Wyrn resolved to slow to allow her to catch up. His plan was to put her things in the wagon but when he stopped, she did as well, a good distance behind him.

He took that for his imagination but on the second attempt with the same results, he took the hint and turned to be on his way. Now, he no longer cared about the length or speed of his strides. The moment they left the castle walls and stepped onto the cobblestones of the city, the princess stopped moving and instead looked around.

Like a fish stranded on dry land, eyes wide, mouth gaping, she scanned the tall buildings like she’d never left the castle before.

The better part of the afternoon passed before they were on the road. At this rate, she’d be forced to travel at night all alone.

Wyrn concluded, more than once, that it wasn’t his business what she did or what became of her.

Finally, they reached the fork in the road and Wyrn looked back. They’d said not a word to one another.

Most of his hair guarded his eyes but he could still see her quite clearly.

I’ll give you money for an inn, Wyrn said, gesturing to the building not so far away on the left path.

Rather than answer him, she remained with her head hung.

Wyrn studied her. For a moment, he wondered if she could speak at all. But that was nonsense, she’d spoken to the guards about her father. Perhaps that was a twin, a twin with trouble thinking and he’d been tricked. That would make more sense.

All the more reason he could not go home with this woman. But as he waited, she made no indication she intended to find that inn. Wyrn reached under the covering in the wagon and found his coin pouch. It was a good amount. She’d need only a fraction of it for the inn.

In the end, he decided to give all of it to her. He put it down on the ground and led Bluebell toward the road on the right—the new donkey followed.

The sun all but faded when he reached the hilltop. If he’d ridden the wagon, he would have been nearly there by now. Anticipation of the night drove him to find a lantern under the covering in the wagon and ready his flint.

It was when he’d struck it that he noticed the extra presence.

The princess stood some distance away, her clothes in one hand, but nothing in the other.

Wyrn took her in then cursed under his breath and ran past her. He found the money right where he’d left it. With a sigh of relief, he snatched it up.

He could barely make her out in the distance, her brown dress caught the wind and flowed around her. And then she moved, running away with his wagon and mules.

Something in Wyrn failed to function. It wasn’t like him to allow a slight but today he felt so defeated that he nearly allowed this trick to go unanswered. She’d left the money, maybe not even all of it, here for him to run back so she could steal his mule.

Wyrn started towards where he’d left them. There was no sense in running them down like an imbecile. But then he thought of Bluebell, he’d raised her from birth, and he took off.

Finding speed without the frenzy was near impossible but in no time at all he closed in on his previous location. What he expected and what he saw broke his heart.

The princess, firmly sitting on his wagon, commanded the mules with purpose. Her speed resembled that of a bat out of hell.

Wyrn thought to call for Bluebell but hesitated—at this point, maybe even she would betray him.

No. He was being foolish. So, he put two fingers into his mouth and let out a whistle.

Faithful and true, Bluebell planted her feet and the second mule obeyed. And off the princess went, sailing into the air.

She, unfortunately, landed in the grass, flat on her back. He’d been hoping for some of the dirt road—that would be more deserving.

His approach to her was far slower. That he did on purpose, but when she failed to move for a long while, he hurried to close the distance between them.

As soon as he arrived, he checked her neck, then her arms and finally, her feet.

Nothing. Not a thing was broken. How could someone so despicable be so lucky?

Finally, he concluded that she was most likely winded.

You’ll come around. Here. Wyrn pulled her to sit, all the while rubbing her back. Take deep breaths.

But she was limp in his hands. More than once, he imagined someone walking by and misunderstanding their situation—it wouldn’t be all that hard.

Come on, Princess. Wake up.

Two brown eyes flew open. They peered at him for a long minute then a shudder of disgust surged through her body and the woman yanked herself free.

Wyrn, too stunned to even respond, stared her down. He remembered who he was and what people thought of him, so he stood.

She was moving. She was fine. And she was a blasted thief.

That was all he needed to know.

It was getting late, and he was hungry.

He gathered Bluebell and the new mule he hadn’t yet named, though he had a few choice names he considered now, and made his way from the road.

Best if they set up camp, he decided. Sure enough, once he reached the river, she came as close as she dared. He paid her no mind, but the fear