Release Day! The Enchanted

 When you finish reading chapter 1, click here to get back to the June Reading Trail.

 

Greetings! My name is Prince Alan, and I bid you welcome to the release party for Elaine Cantrell’s new novel The Enchanted. My father the king is most pleased with the author's description of recent events in his kingdom and has spared no expense to make a party worthy of her tale.  We will assemble in the castle’s great hall. Notice that part of the hall is roped off. This is the section where the royal family will sit along with the author and any guests with whom she chooses to share this honor.
 

 

My wife the Princess Morgane has overseen the fashioning of a suitable gown for Madame Cantrell. It is made of the costliest materials available.  The queen has selected a ring from the treasure chest to present to Madame Cantrell. It is beautiful, is it not?

Nor has the king spared any expense to obtain the finest delicacies from throughout the kingdom.  The fruit tray is quite impressive. Most of the fruits were imported from across the mountains.

 

The cooks have labored many hours to produce small cakes for the guests.  Are they not beautiful decorated in such delicate colors?

 

The king is fond of delicate fare, but he has also ordered roast beef, ham, and pie of chicken for Madame Cantrell’s guests.

 

The king’s warriors love roasted potatoes, so he has instructed the cook to prepare them for Madame’s guests as well.

 

 

 

The last item on the menu is something new. It is called chocolate. Traders brought it to the kingdom a year or so ago, and it has fast become a favorite. It is very dear, though. Even the king does not have an unlimited supply. The fact that he serves it at the party shows the esteem in which he holds Madame Cantrell, as do we all. These chocolates are a particular favorite of Princess Morgane. When you bite into them, your mouth is filled with liquid chocolate so tasty it is as if an angel made them.

 

 

And of course we will serve bread, ale, and wine with the meal.

At a party we are usually entertained by the jugglers or musicians, but at this party we can do better. Madame Cantrell has consented to read the first chapter of her book to the guests. I have persuaded her to post it for those not fortunate enough to receive an invitation to the party. To please Madame Cantrell, answer the following question, and if Princess Morgane draws your name from the hat, you will win the gift bag pictured below. Here is the question: Why did Prince Alan not train as a warrior when his brother did? You will find the answer a short way into chapter 1 which is below.

It is a curious prize to be sure. The bag itself is very lightweight but strong. Madame says is made that way so it will dry easily. She has also included a large, plush towel in bright colors, a sun visor, something called lip balm, and sunscreen. I have asked her for some of the sunscreen for Princess Morgane who cannot stay in the sun for long without blistering. Last but certainly not least, she is offering a large, pink glass with a straw that can be frozen so that one's drink will stay cold. This is certainly a wonder to me. Best of all, she will offer a PDF copy of one of her previous novels, Her Kind of Man. Princess Morgane teases me and asks if I posed for the cover. Be sure to leave an email address so that the king's steward can contact you if you should win. 

You may obtain your copy at most retail outlets and from the publisher at http://www.astraeapress.com. Princess Morgane and I thank you for your support of Madame's work. Madame has written a thrilling book filled with adventure and romance. I am sure you will not want to miss it.

Blurb
 

Forced by his father into a marriage he didn’t want, Prince Alan soon finds that his bride isn’t the sweet, submissive creature he expected.  Morgane has the heart of a dragon and beauty beyond compare, but she isn’t thrilled about the marriage either.  When black treachery threatens the kingdom, Morgane and Alan embark on a perilous journey that has an excellent chance of ending in failure and death for them and all of their people. 

Prologue

King Bowdyn sprang from his throne and paced around the room like a crazed tiger. "Perhaps you did not understand me, Alan," he snarled. His hands clenched into fists held rigidly to his sides. "This is not a request, but a command. You will marry Lady Maybina before the next full moon has passed."

Alan dared not raise his eyes from the floor. "Father, I do not…"

"Silence!" the king roared. "I have respected your wishes for three years now, but my patience is at an end. You will wed Lady Maybina as I have commanded."

"Father, having married once for love, I have no desire to marry a woman whom I have never met! Can you not understand? Think of the love you share with my mother. Is it so bad that I desire the same kind of relationship?"

The king's face turned purple, but he took a deep breath and returned to sit upon his huge jewel-encrusted throne. He wiped his face with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. "I have never understood you. You insisted on marrying a commoner — a nobody — and now that death has released you from your vows, you refuse to marry a woman of your own station."

Alan's heart thudded in his chest. How far could he push his father? With Bowdyn, one could never be sure. "I am sorry to disappoint you."

"The kingdom needs heirs. The wedding will proceed as I have planned."

"Father…"

"Enough!"
Bowdyn's eyes bulged with the force of his scream.

"But…"

"Guards!" Four men dressed in the family's red red-and-white livery rushed from their places against the rough stone wall. "Bind him!" the king cried.

The guards hauled Alan to his feet and fastened his hands behind his back with a silken cord — a privilege extended only to those of royal birth. "I have tolerated your disrespect and rebellious attitude long enough." The king's voice dripped with icicles now. "As much as it pains me to admit it, you are nothing like your brother. If Nealon had lived, I would have the option of letting you spend the rest of your life painting pictures or grieving for your dead wife. Unhappily for us both, your brother died defending the kingdom, and you are all that I have left.

"Therefore, for your disobedient and disrespectful ways, I sentence you to one year in the prison of Malville." A grim smile crossed the king's face. "Keeper Kynthelig has a way with men. When you return, I expect you will know your duty and see your way clear to do it."

He turned to the guards. "Confine him in his room for the moment. Tonight I will write a letter to Keeper Kynthelig, and tomorrow you shall cross the Leptan Desert and deliver my son to him."

****

Keeper Kynthelig's long, thin fingers tapped against the parchment the king had sent him. He laid it aside and looked his prisoner over. "How tall are you?" he asked.

"Six feet, three inches," Alan replied, his voice flat and even.

"You will address me as Keeper Kynthelig. For one so tall, you are not well muscled. Did you not train as a warrior with your brother?"

"No, Keeper Kynthelig, I did not."

"Why not?"

"My father had my brother. He had no use for me because I liked to paint."

Kynthelig stepped forward and struck the prince across the face. A black stone in his elaborate gold ring scratched a thin red line across Alan's cheek. "You were told to address me as Keeper Kynthelig."

The prince's eyes flashed. "Yes, Keeper Kynthelig."

"That is better." The keeper sat back in his soft leather chair and picked up a fine crystal glass from which the scent of a delicious wine emanated. "Your brother is dead, Prince Alan, and you are King Bowdyn's heir. As such, certain behaviors are required of you. It is my job to see to it that you learn them."

He gestured to a hulking guard in a stained leather jerkin who waited near the door. "Put Prince Alan in building seven. With his fair complexion, we will start him off working underground so that the desert sun will not blister him."

The prince gasped as the guard grabbed his arm and jerked him around. "I will see to him, Keeper Kynthelig. Do not worry about a thing."

Chapter One

Keeper Kynthelig's long, dangling necklaces clinked softly and tangled together as he bowed low to his visitor. "King Bowdyn, it is an honor to receive you. I had no idea that you would come to collect Prince Alan in person, or I would have made arrangements for a feast in your honor."

The king's nose flared slightly. The stench of the prison penetrated even these fine apartments. "That is quite all right, Kynthelig. I must collect Alan and leave right away, else we will be late for the wedding festivities."

"Yes, news of Alan's marriage has spread throughout the kingdom."

Bowdyn frowned. "I trust no one here has spoken to him of this matter."

"No, sir, they have not."

"Good." The king's face relaxed. "I wish to break this news to him myself."

"Of course. Would you like the guards to fetch the prince for you?"

"I would."

At the keeper's nod, one of the guards hurried from the reception room. "Please, sit and make yourself comfortable," Kynthelig begged the king. "I will send for wine and cake."

Bowdyn nodded and seated himself in a cushioned chair overlaid with rich, gold brocade fabric while servants ran to do Kynthelig's bidding. They soon returned with a silver tray loaded with myriad sweet delicacies. A second tray held several bottles of wine and three golden goblets.

A wine taster stepped forward and sampled both wines before Kynthelig or the king drank.

"This is excellent wine, Kynthelig," the king approved as he sampled the keeper's offering. "Now I do not feel so dry and parched from my trip across the desert." He drew a deep breath. "I no longer smell the stench of the prison either." Reaching for a small, bite-sized cake with pink frosting, he settled himself more comfortably in his chair. "Are you pleased with my son's progress?"

Kynthelig almost smiled. "Indeed, I am. The prince's time here has made a new man of him. It is a pity that such steps had to be taken, but as always, you did not flinch from the duty set before you. Your subjects have much to be grateful for. Not all monarchs are so wise."

The king grunted. "I have little doubt that Alan feels quite differently, but in time I believe he will see that I did the right thing. I pray it will be so. Even though he has been disobedient to his father and king, he is my son."

The clanking of heavy chains announced Alan's arrival. The king set his silver cup down and beheld his son for the first time in a year. "I almost did not recognize him. He is filthy, and his hair is disgracefully short, but he has certainly put on a lot of muscle."

Kynthelig inclined his head. "Indeed."

The keeper's servant brandished a fan made of fluffy white feathers and fanned King Bowdyn as he looked Alan up and down. "He looks as if he has worked often in the sun. His skin is quite bronzed."

"That is so. After a few months of underground work we moved him to the surface. Staying underground too long is unhealthy."

"Turn around," King Bowdyn commanded. The prince did so with absolutely no animation. Bowdyn stared at his son's back. "You whipped him. He bears the scars from the flogging."

The keeper shifted uneasily as he clasped and unclasped his hands. "He is not stupid. One flogging was all that it took, so the scarring is minimal."

Bowdyn picked up his wine cup and drained it. "I am glad for the scars. Every time he looks at his back in the mirror he will be reminded of his duty. Did he make friends here?"

"Yes, sir." A pained look crossed the keeper's thin, sallow face. "He and another prisoner called Adair were friendly to each other. Naturally, I transferred Adair once I learned of this situation. Isolation is necessary to achieve certain ends."

The king stood up and walked over to Alan, whose head hung low. "You have not made eye contact with me since you walked into this room. You are not a prisoner anymore. Lift your head as befits the crown prince of the realm."

Alan's head came up, and he stared straight ahead. The king smiled. "You have taught him well, Keeper Kynthelig. He no longer speaks his mind without permission." The king snapped his fingers. One of his guards hastened to present a set of new, soft clothes to Alan. "Wash yourself and put on new garments. We will leave as soon as you are ready. I would cross the Leptan as quickly as possible."

Keeper Kynthelig motioned for one of the prison guards who stood in the doorway. "Escort Prince Alan to the pool and give him soap and a towel."

The man nodded and touched Alan's arm. Alan silently turned around and followed him.

The keeper watched with a face full of satisfaction. "I think you will be pleased with him. I am certain he now appreciates all the advantages of his position."

"I certainly hope so, Kynthelig. Now, if it is not too much trouble, I will drink another cup of your excellent wine."

"It is an honor to serve you, my king."

****

Alan stopped so abruptly that the guard behind him plowed into his back. How wondrous! A set of stone steps led down into a little pool of sparkling water. Bushy, dense trees surrounded the pool and provided privacy to bathers. His throat sucked dry as he caught the sweet scent of fresh water, so different from the warm, brackish liquid he had been forced to drink for the past year.

The guard prodded him in the back. "Wash yourself."

Alan stripped off his filthy, ragged loincloth and plunged into the water. He drank deeply as his dry skin soaked up the cool, refreshing moisture.

"Hurry up," the guard growled. "Do not keep the king waiting."

Alan soaped himself, rinsed, and left the pool with some reluctance. He dried on the rough towel the guard gave him and donned the traditional hooded white robe worn by most desert travelers.

Without a word, the guard escorted him back to the keeper's reception room where King Bowdyn was just finishing a cup of wine. His mouth watered as his eyes fell on the plate of cakes on the table. The guards had refused him food that morning, as they sometimes did when they wished to torment the prisoners.

The king nodded to him. "You look much better. Most of the prison dirt is washed away as is the stench. Come. We must ride as far as we can, and the hour grows late."

The king strode from Keeper Kynthelig's reception room. Alan followed several steps behind him. They reached the courtyard where one of the king's servants bowed and handed Alan the reins of a large, dappled gray stallion. "The horse is a gift for you," Bowdyn said. "I selected him myself. Gawen, who trained him, assures me that there is no finer animal in the kingdom."

They mounted up and exited the grounds. Alan drew a deep breath as the prison disappeared from view. He had feared that this was only some new torture, and at the last moment, his father would leave him behind.

He and the king rode in the middle of a large contingent of soldiers. They traveled for hours, stopping periodically to rest and water their horses at the small, infrequent pools of water scattered throughout the desert. By nightfall they had crossed about half of the Leptan. King Bowdyn called a halt for the night, and the servants set about making camp long before Alan wanted to stop. The more distance between him and the prison the better.

Knowing the king's appetite, the cook hastened to assemble and heat a savory meat stew from precooked ingredients he had brought with him. Alan's stomach growled. He felt almost lightheaded when he smelled the food. The cook served the king first and then offered Alan a tin plate heaping with meat.

He turned to the side, hoping his father would not watch him eat, but he could not stop himself from almost inhaling the food.

"You were hungry," Bowdyn observed. "Well, no wonder. I doubt you have eaten meat in a year now. Jacca, serve my son more food."

Jacca hurried to do so, and Alan gobbled that, too.

King Bowdyn finished his meal and laid his plate aside. "Let us get some rest. We still have a long way to go." He turned to Meryn, his chief servant. "Be certain to keep the fires burning all night. I have no desire to wake with a sand dragon beside me."

Alan agreed. Sand dragons were about the size of a housecat, but their bite spread noxious venom that destroyed flesh and usually killed. They feared fire, though, no matter how small.

Meryn approached Alan with shackles. "My lord, your father the king commands that we shackle you until you are accustomed to your freedom."

The muscles in Alan's arms knotted, but he allowed himself to be restrained with no fuss, looking neither right nor left and avoiding eye contact with either Meryn or his father.

The king's eyes perhaps held a hint of compassion. "That will not be necessary once we reach home. For now it is simply a precaution. You are undoubtedly another man now, and I do not know as yet whether you harbor ill will toward me or not."

Alan lay down on the blanket Meryn spread for him and watched the stars. It had been a year since he had seen the moon or the stars. He yawned. His eyelids drooped. After awhile, he turned over and let himself drift off to sleep.

The sharp crack of a whip behind him jerked him from slumber. "Did you really think to escape us so easily?" Kynthelig hissed. He gestured to the burly guards who had accompanied him. "Seize him."

This time Alan fought back, punching and kicking and cursing the blanket and shackles that hindered him .

A hand clamped down on his arm. "Alan! Enough!"

Gasping for breath, Alan wrenched his eyes open. His taut muscles relaxed. A dream. Only a dream.

King Bowdyn released Alan's arm. "Sleep. The morning will soon come."

****

Meryn awoke them early the next morning. By daybreak they were back on the trail. They rode until the sun was straight overhead before they paused to rest. Alan searched the landscape with eagerness. Things had begun to look familiar to him. In the distance he saw the Desvault Mountains where he and

Nealon had roamed as children. They had enjoyed playing in the many caves that honeycombed the mountain. No one knew who had made the caves or why, though everyone thought they were man-made.

Several hours later they reached the castle, a heavily fortified stone structure on top of a steep hill. A red flag bearing the image of a screaming eagle flew from the topmost spire, proclaiming Bowdyn's pride, glory, and power to the world. Alan heard a horn blow to signal the return of the king. By the time they reached the courtyard, it was crowded with servants, warriors, and advisors eager to greet Bowdyn. One of the grooms took the reins of Alan's stallion. He dismounted and followed the king into the castle. Queen Donella met them as they entered the high-ceilinged central hall whose mosaic floor was considered a wonder all throughout the kingdom. Castle Bowdyn was the only known structure with such an imposing, costly floor.

His mother stood tall and willowy, with light brown hair, brown eyes, and a porcelain complexion. She approached Bowdyn with the grace of a gazelle and kissed his cheek. "So, he is back, Bowdyn."

"He is."

"Has he learned his lessons as he should?"

"I have seen no indication otherwise."

The queen's blue satin skirts rustled as she turned and held out her bejeweled hand to Alan. "Welcome home, Alan."

He bowed and kissed her hand. His mother smelled of cherries and almonds, a signature fragrance King Bowdyn had created for her many years ago.

"I have ordered a special dinner to celebrate your homecoming." She took Bowdyn's arm. "My king and my prince stink of horses' sweat. I will instruct the servants to prepare baths for you."

The king nodded. "You may go to your room, Alan. I will send a servant to tend you."

Alan felt his father's eyes boring into him as he moved toward the stairs. A large, fawn-colored dog darted toward him from behind a tall, heavy curtain. He had raised Amena from a pup, but he paid no attention to her, not even to pat her head. When he reached the landing Alan shot a look at his father, who had wandered over to the window to look out at the activity in the courtyard. The satisfied look on Bowdyn's face told him his father was pleased with him.

Alan's jaw tightened. Bowdyn probably thought he had done him a favor by toughening him up. As his father had said many times, they lived in a hard world where dreamers and artists had little place.

****

The minute the door closed behind him, Alan bent and hugged the dog. "I have missed you," he whispered as Amena furiously licked his face. As he patted her, he studied his room. Things looked different to him after an absence of a year. Brilliant light and clean, sweet air filled his spacious room. He pressed the bed with his hand. The golden coverlet felt as soft as a spring breeze, and the bed itself was surely made of spun clouds! And oh, he had never noticed how large the fireplace was. He shivered, remembering the coldness of the underground mine.

As he had expected, all traces of his wife had been removed in his absence. Her silver hairbrush no longer lay on the dresser, and her wardrobe held no gowns or shoes. The small painting of her that he had kept on a bedside table was also gone.

No matter.
The very day his brother had died, he had hollowed out a space under the floor stones. There he kept his greatest treasures, including a good portrait of his beloved Olwyn.

He heard a discreet knock on the door. "My lord, I bring your bath water. May I enter?"

"Come in."

Turi, Alan's personal servant, entered the room with two other men. Each carried two large buckets of water which they emptied into a small stone tub in a curtained alcove. Then Turi's helpers left the room. "It is good to see you, Prince Alan," Turi assured him. "I have worried about you for an entire year now. Are you ready for your bath?"

Alan brightened. "Yes, I am, Turi, and I have missed you too." He eagerly stripped and stepped into the tub. "Ah, this warm, clean water is a miracle. I sometimes wonder if I will ever feel clean again. It seems to me as if the foul stench of the prison has permeated my very skin. I only pray that with time the dreadful odor will finally leave my nostrils."

Behind him, Turi drew a sharp breath. "Prince Alan! The… the scars…"

"It is nothing, Turi. Let us not speak of it."

After Alan bathed, Turi finished his bath by pouring a bowl of water over his head and shoulders. "The king requests your company in thirty minutes, Prince Alan. May I help you to dress?"

Alan inclined his head. "I will be there, but I will dress myself." He needed a few moments' privacy to prepare for the coming meal. Under the circumstances, he wished his mother had not prepared a celebration for him.

After his servant left him, Alan donned a soft, rich tunic of red velvet and a pair of skin-tight breeches in dark gold. Both garments fit tightly after his stay in the prison, for as his father had said, he had put on quite a lot of muscle. His

lip curled with amusement. Frankly, except for the bath and the food he would just as soon be back in prison. At least there he had known where he stood.

****

One of Bowdyn's servants pulled out Alan's heavily carved chair as he came down the stairs. "Welcome home, Prince Alan. May I serve you?"

Alan nodded, and the man served him a heaping plate of pork, vegetables, and bread. He also brought wine of an excellent vintage. His mother and father had already been served, so the king called, "Let us eat."

Everyone started to eat with gusto. "This truly is a meal fit for a king," one of Bowdyn's courtiers called.

Another man answered, "Of course it is. King Bowdyn serves only the best food and drink."

As the nobles and military leaders ate their fill, Bowdyn turned to face Alan on his right. "I have news for you, Alan."

Alan said nothing. The hard, cold expression on his father's face told him he would not like what he was about to hear.

Bowdyn's eyes narrowed. "For two months now, you have been a married man."

Alan had resolved to say little or nothing to anyone, but surprise loosened his tongue. "I do not understand. Olwyn has been dead for four years."

"Indeed. But you and Princess Morgane, daughter of King Maccus, were married by proxy two months ago."

Alan frowned as he tried to understand his father. "I have never heard of this thing. What does it mean?"

"It means that as long as both fathers are present, two people can be married even if one of them is absent. This is a privilege extended only to those of royal birth. Due to your confinement, it seemed like the easiest thing to do. King Maccus will arrive with Princess Morgane tomorrow. We will celebrate your marriage with a feast and a ball. At the appropriate time, you and Morgane will consummate your marriage in order to produce heirs for the kingdom."

Alan's fists clenched under the ornate table. "I see."

Queen Donella tapped his arm. "I am told that Morgane is beautiful. I am also told that she is a spirited girl who likes to laugh and enjoy life. I think you will be very pleased with your father's choice."

"There is one thing." The king pursed his lips. "Maccus has told me of Morgane's beauty, but she has a scar which runs from the corner of her mouth almost back to her ear. It seems that she annoyed Maccus past all restraint one evening, and he punished her by cutting her face."

"That was foolish," Queen Donella huffed. "He lessened her value in the marriage market. Who would wed a scarred woman? Is he trying to pawn his defective daughter off on us?"

"To make this alliance, I would not care if she looked like a cow." The king turned to Alan. "Is this a problem for you?"

Alan swallowed hard and tried not to look his father in the eye lest Bowdyn see the anger and resentment burning there. "No, Father."

"Good. Then we will celebrate tomorrow."

After they had finished their dinners, most of the nobles and military men approached Alan to offer words of welcome. In some eyes he saw pity, in others scorn. A muscle in his jaw jerked. Pity! Scorn! Gah!

Once the meal concluded, Alan went to his room, where Amena waited for him. He had brought the dog a piece of meat, which she attacked as if she had not eaten in a long time. "What am I to do?" he muttered. "I would almost rather go back to prison than marry this woman."

Amena growled over her pork.

"I forgot for a moment, Amena. It is already done. I am a married man."

He lay down on his bed, reflecting as he did so that he hadn't had a clean bed to sleep in for an entire year. The backbreaking labor and cruelty of the guards had been no harder to tolerate than the filth in which he had lived. He imagined a strange princess beside him in this clean, soft bed. "No," he muttered. "I want no part of it."

A soft knock on the door interrupted his gloomy thoughts. "Come in."

Cademon, his old tutor, poked his white head around the door. His seamed face lit, his brown eyes sparkled with joy when he saw Alan. "Good evening, Alan."

Alan jumped up and threw his arms around the old man. "It is good to see you."

"And you as well."

Alan indicated two comfortable, deep chairs drawn around the oversized fireplace. "Please, sit down. Tell me all your news."

"Nothing changes with an old man. I would rather speak of your troubles."

Alan grimaced. "I had hoped my father would forget this marriage nonsense, but evidently it is not to be."

Cademon snorted. "Indeed not."

Alan frowned. "You sound as if you agree with my father. I expected your loyalty to lie with me."

"As it always does," the old man placated. "I love you as if you were my own son."

"Then why do you speak to me in such a fashion?"

Cademon shrugged. "Is it not obvious? Since Nealon's death, you are your father's heir. You must marry and produce offspring. I would not have chosen such a way as prison to bring you to your senses, but did you not know that eventually your father would require you to marry?"

Alan shrugged. "I gave it very little thought."

"I have heard good things about the Lady Morgane. Perhaps you will grow to love her."

"Doubtful."

Cademon tapped his knee. "Your father needs this marriage, Alan. It will cement the alliance between our people and King Maccus. We need this alliance. Since you went away, the Baronis to the north have grown bolder in their attempts to take your father's northernmost provinces."

"And Maccus lives on our northern border," Alan finished.

"Yes."

Alan's face hardened. "Did my father send you to me?"

Cademon nodded. "I will not lie. He did send me. He wants me to report on your willingness to obey."

"And what will you tell him?"

"That you are a loyal son who understands the necessity of the marriage and will do his part to produce heirs for the kingdom." Cademon smiled at him and rose from his chair. "Your father was wrong to send you to prison as he did, but all of that is now ended. Take your rightful place at his side."

Alan refused to tell Cademon what he wanted to hear. "Thank you for your visit."

Cademon bowed and let himself out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Amena crawled out from under the bed and snuggled against Alan, who absently stroked her head. "I have three choices, Amena. I can do as Cademon says, but if I do, I fear I may become as cold as my father. Of course I could run away, something I have vowed never to do, as it indicates a cowardly and weak nature. However if I do not run away, the Princess Morgane joins us tomorrow night."

He paused and poured a glass of water from the jug on the washstand. "I could also challenge my father. If I defeat him in battle, I become the king and can do as I please."

Amena whined and Alan exclaimed, "I do not like that one either! I do not feel kindly toward my father, but I cannot kill him."

So his course was clear. He would rather live as a wanderer than become like his father. Tomorrow he would leave the kingdom.