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Not that he regretted his decision to leave, but he wasn’t sure what was next for him now.
And really, as awful as his brother’s words were, were they so very different from some of the things Archie had been thinking himself? That much of his recent fortune was based on lies, and his relationship with Ainsley wasn’t all that it should be?
Perhaps he was nothing more than the princess’s amusing and mostly silent “pet.”
But the fur-lined cloak had been enough to lend Archie some warmth through the night, and the next day was the Spring Festival. The castle gates were open, and the whole town seemed to be out celebrating. Archie was sure his brother would use the opportunity to announce his and Ellie’s betrothal to their neighbors, glossing over everything else.
Archie even saw the goose girl flirting with one of the farmhands.
So maybe she wasn’t so concerned about the change of events. Maybe he was the only one who thought anything was wrong, and that their lives should be more like a faerie story.
Either way, he was left with a great desire to hit something. He lined up with the other boys taking bets and running matches in part of the open courtyard—a fenced-off arena that usually housed goats or pigs. He grabbed a staff, stripped off the fancy tunic Ainsley had given him, and faced off against another village boy.
His opponent looked Archie up and down, his expression wary. Archie didn’t blame him. This was far from his first match, and he had gotten larger in the last year.
Someone whispered in the crowd, putting his coin on “the ogre.”
But Archie wasn’t an ogre. Or at least, he was generous enough to let his opponent make the first swing.
Then he grabbed the boy and pinned him to the ground in two quick and satisfying movements.
Time passed. Archie threw a few more village boys in a steady stream. More whispers and jeers came from the crowd. More people dubbed him an “ogre.” Sir Callum came over after a few rounds, shouting over the fence. “Lad, where did you learn that?”
No one had taught him to swing a stick. No one had to. “Not much to know.”
Archie tried to gauge if the knight was actually praising him or not. The first time Archie threw a blacksmith’s son, he thought his father might be proud. He wasn’t. He just shook his head and said, “Well, I guess we haven’t been working you hard enough at home. Now put that fool stick down before the king decides he needs another foot soldier.”
Archie might have thought that there could be something romantic about being a knight and fighting for some righteous cause, but his father saw the same thing that his brothers did. Archie was a mouse—albeit an oversized one. A brainless ogre. If he was to fight in a king’s war, he would be designated as arrow and magical fodder. And if he was to love a princess, he would be her fool. Better to live an honest and simple life of a miller where they might not have had much, but they still had their pride.
No, there was no question what Archie’s father would think of his activities if he could see him now. The only question might be why he hadn’t tried to lock Archie into an apprenticeship when he was younger—like Rupert had tried to do—instead of giving him a “magic cat.”
Sir Callum laughed. “Well, when you are as big as an ox, perhaps you can get away without knowing the finer points, but you could still be better with them.” The knight took another staff from the pile and planted his feet in demonstration. “Try it like this.”
It was only then that Archie remembered the knight had signed on as his sponsor—if only to please the princess. With the shouted advice, Archie threw a few more village boys. He even threw Harris when his brother came to take a turn, but it still didn’t make him feel better about anything.
“Good, lad,” Sir Callum said. “Just loosen up a bit. It’s all for fun, after all.”
That was true. Not everyone calling Archie an ogre was doing it maliciously. Children from the Charity House had come to join the crowd, and Archie had no problem playing up his performance for them, growling and swinging his arms more as he claimed another victory over one of the younger huntsmen he had met over the last few days.
Declan jumped in next. “My turn, Ogre,” he said with a haughty sort of sneer, but Archie was too far into his new role to care. If the young lord wanted to fight an ogre, then that was exactly what he would get. And ogres didn’t have to use any fancy words or titles to get their point across.
Before the match could really get started, Archie dropped his staff, picked Declan up, and threw him over the fence. The young lord landed in the muck.
Being an ogre could be fun.
Then, in jumped the king.
The crowd jeered. Archie frowned and startled back. Could he beat him? Did he even dare try? Most of the rules for these kind of matches were unspoken, but the men Archie had fought so far were only a handful of years younger or older than him.
They weren’t the king.
And just like that, the mask was gone. Archie couldn’t be an ogre and fight the king.
“Any advice for this one?” Archie asked Sir Callum.
The knight pushed away from the fence and threw up his hands. “Don’t die.”
Thanks. Archie gritted his teeth and circled in, but in the end, the match wasn’t much of a match. The king pounded him into the ground, using the staff like a two-handed blade.
