Page 4 of The King’s Bodyguard (Catkin Trilogy #1)

Corrin

“ A nd a good day to you, ser.”

The man’s polite tone of voice and address snapped my attention back to him.

After a moment, I nodded, handed over my coin, and accepted the warm sandwich he had wrapped up in paper for me.

As I walked away, I mulled over the man’s politeness.

The stall owner had dark chestnut brown hair and tan skin, but his eyes had been the color of gray.

After two weeks spent in Rimefrost, I was beginning to realize that my mother’s words of warning were once again proven true.

I was indeed alone, and my pale skin and dark hair set me apart in the crowd as distinctly northerner.

While, there were some Munni who could tan, albeit after repeated exposure to the sun, all Sunna tanned naturally and were gifted with lighter colored hair ranging from dirty brown to red and gold.

Here in Rimefrost, however, I stood out as distinctly Munni.

Yet, as was seen by the sandwich stall owner, it was clear that other rumors had also been correct—rumors of mixed families, where Munni and Sunna shared households, family names, and blood. It was odd to consider after spending all of my life as I had among the stoutly proud clans of Velamere.

Perhaps there were others, though, who were more open to finding mutual support among their Sunna brothers and sisters. From them sprang a new stock of catkin. These had bonded through difficult times. Although Sumarene was changing for the better, progress was slow. Still, change was in the air.

Ser. The tomkin had been polite. He hadn’t referred to me as ‘Munni’, ‘Northerner’, or ‘barbarian’. That was nice. Unwrapping one edge of the brown paper, I inhaled the warm scent of beef, gravy, and onions. Suddenly, I felt hungry. I began to scarf it down.

Slowly, I made my way up the main road of Rimefrost as I finished my breakfast. To the west, the sun hung low in the sky, soon to set.

A bell tolled five times. I stopped before another seller and tossed the now empty sandwich wrapping in a nearby basket.

Before me, a purple and blue awning stretched over a rickety stall laden with the last of summer’s fruit—glistening red apples, juicy plums, and sweetly scented peaches.

I flipped the stall owner a coin and snagged a red apple with a sharp nod.

The purple and black livery I wore forestalled any comment.

The grizzled, white-haired Sunna fruit seller grunted as he palmed my coin.

He muttered something about northerners and turned to serve a plump matron who was carefully picking through his produce.

I didn’t wait to watch the inevitable haggling match that would ensue.

Instead, I continued on my way up the hill toward the royal palace walls. My gaze scanned the walls and the windows of the keep. There was no sign of any royal entourage. Landis wasn’t inspecting the walls today. Perhaps he was in meetings.

As if on cue, shouts rose behind me. I turned in time to see a stately set of four horses drawing a sumptuously swathed and carved black, purple, and red carriage.

The royal carriage, no doubt bearing King Landis from whatever meetings he had been attending earlier in the day.

It was attempting to make its brisk way up the street, but the crowds parted reluctantly.

Clearly, many of Rimefrost’s citizens were excited to see their young king.

The horses slowed to a standstill, and I could see a golden head of curls pop out.

Landis. My heart skipped a beat, and then I caught myself frowning.

Where was his guard? Had they fallen behind?

Instantly, I looked about, concerned about Landis’s safety.

Two soldiers on horseback loped behind the carriage, and another had been stationed by the coach hand.

Shouts and cheers rose, and the carriage was finally able to move forward at a crawl.

I bit down into the red apple and munched thoughtfully as I watched King Landis’s carriage slowly make its way up the hill.

Behind me, crowds of stall owners, matrons, young misses, boisterous lads, and stalwart laborers pushed forward.

I found myself reluctantly quite close to the oncoming horses.

Beside me, three young ladies were shrieking. My ears instinctively flattened, and I grimaced as the sound of cheers and sharp whistles burst out on the early autumn breeze. One young lady, no doubt overly enthused by her appreciation of a certain pair of blue eyes, was on the verge of fainting.

King Landis waved cheerfully. He had probably realized that some interaction with the crowd was necessary in order to arrive home in a timely manner.

At the sight of me, his jaunty wave faltered a little.

His blue gaze zeroed in on my, no doubt, stoic expression of distaste.

As Landis passed by, I could see that there was a slight blush on his face as though he were mortified to be caught by me enjoying the praise of his people.

I shot him a reassuring grin. Landis’s blue eyes lightened with relief, and his lips twitched in amusement as the young lady beside me began to collapse into my arms.

Suddenly distracted by the armful of a young miss, I realized I had to figure out how to extract myself from a rather compromising situation. After all, most citizens of Rimefrost might be more than willing to attribute the worst intentions to a Munni caught manhandling a young lady.

“Oh, Betsie,” one of the girl’s friends gasped in clear shock. “Mama! Betsie has taken ill!”

“Perhaps the sun got to her finally,” said the other friend, clearly jealous about the attention Betsie was getting. “Or the night air.”

“Ex-cuse me,” breathed a matron, suddenly appearing at my elbow. “I apologize, ser, for the inconvenience.”

I glanced beyond the molly to her silent husband who glared at me disapprovingly from behind his wife. Quickly, I shifted my hold on the girl’s armpits and proceeded to push her toward the husband.

“I believe your good husband would prefer to attend to the girl,” I said succinctly. “I must away to the castle.”

Ensuring the gentlecat had a firm grasp on the wilting molly, I extricated myself from the crowd and followed after the carriage. Entering the castle, I noticed that, as I expected, the King’s horses were already being untied from the carriage traces. There was no sign of Landis.

“Hey, you,” a voice stopped me in my tracks.

I turned at the sound of the grumpy voice. It was Ser Anderson, one of the older knights. He seemed to have a grudge against all Munni and had already developed a habit of lording it over us lower guards. I kept my posture relaxed as I answered his call.

“Ralf, is it?” He asked.

“Corrin Stonewarden, ser,” I blandly corrected him for the tenth time.

“Up early, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ser,” I said.

Most Munni preferred to rise around the seventh bell, but today I had woken feeling more rested than usual and had ventured out. My mistake, apparently.

“Seeing the sights, I suppose?” Anderson frowned.

“I went out to break my fast, ser,” I said, wondering why I had to justify a stroll around the capital of my own country.

“Harumph,” he said and then added something under his breath about northern spies. “Lord Morne warned me about you...”

Lord Morne, what? I raised a single eyebrow in disbelief.

Lord Morne was already proving himself to be an annoyance.

He had managed to hoodwink the court and pretend to be a courtly gentlecat, but I knew better.

The few times I had seen King Landis speak with the catkin, I sensed that the King himself disliked his Royal cousin. I was beginning to see why.

“Ser Stonewarden,” a voice interjected.

I turned and realized with relief that our commander, Ser Hugh Starr, was fast approaching.

Hugh was a deeply tanned, stocky knight with reddish-blonde hair and gold-flecked brown eyes.

Like Landis, his tail and ears were shorn close.

To the ladies, Hugh’s full lips, scruffy jaw, and well-kept curls were the height of fashion.

Beside him, I was no doubt a homely flower.

At his side strode the ever-silent Lord Gareth Wright.

Like Landis, Gareth was lightly tanned, but he had been gifted chestnut-colored hair, chocolate-brown eyes, and an aristocratic mien.

He was easy on the eyes, for toms and mollies alike, with his high cheekbones, thin lips, and sharply angled eyebrows.

Both gentlecats glanced at Anderson. Hugh raised an eyebrow. Gareth’s lips thinned. Melting like snow on a summer’s day, Anderson slunk off.

“Was Anderson bothering you again?” asked Hugh, setting his hands on his hips and shooting a glare in Anderson’s direction again.

I shrugged and offered a deprecating smile. “All is well now, at any rate,” I said. “Am I needed somewhere?”

“Bjorn has the trots,” Gareth said. “Do you mind filling his position a bit early?”

“Gods, Gareth!” exclaimed Hugh. “Has the concept of tact never entered your skull? If any maiden were to pass by, what would they think? You would have all of the mamas and misses fainting at the words that pass your lips. Hardly an ingredient for success if you wish to make good with the ladies.”

“I have no interest in the ladies,” Gareth said dismissively.

“Or the young lads.” Hugh rolled his eyes. “Learn well, Corrin. If you are to make any headway in court, it would behoove you to curb your tongue with care. Unlike our good friend Gareth here.”

“He might prefer the field to the court, Hugh,” Gareth grunted. “Not everyone enjoys the meaningless banter of gossipy gentlecats.”

Hugh’s tail fluffed with dramatic shock at Gareth’s words.

I found it hard not to laugh at the knight’s antics.

Hugh, a younger son of a lower house, had made a name for himself both on the field and the dance floor.

Despite his reputation, however, I knew him to be a kind soul who respected the Munni as he did the Sunna.