Page 40 of Enamored
My muscles tensed with a sudden keen longing. If anyone could uncover the means of freeing the sword, Maxim could. He’d already opened the case and read the engraving. Maybe he was the worthiest.
Oh, if only he could pull it free. Then we could be together without any more boundaries. He’d be mine. I would be his. And we’d never have to worry about being torn asunder again.
Maxim backed away from the sword. “I regret I must decline, Your Majesty.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. But at Maxim’s clear and unwavering statement, a whoosh of air slipped past my lips. Protest swelled in my chest along with a demand that he should at least try. But what if I’d misinterpreted his declaration from earlier today? What if he hadn’t meant I was hiseverythingin the way I’d taken it?
After all, he’d turned his back on me after the kiss. Maybe he was just as embarrassed by it—or more—than I was.
“I am but a humble man of humble origins,” Maxim continued. “The princess must marry a Norvegian of royal or noble blood. The law prohibits royalty from marrying commoners.”
Of course. He was right. I stuffed down my disappointment. Or at least attempted to, even as sadness settled over me.
For a heartbeat, Maxim held the king’s gaze before lowering his head. After a moment, the king nodded. “Very well, then we shall begin with all haste the process of testing. Each of the twelve noblemen will attempt to take up the Sword of the Magi first. If they are unable to do so, we shall invite every nobleman in the kingdom to take a turn.”
“Every?” I squeezed the word past my constricting throat. “Do we have the time for such a search?”
The king grazed the jeweled pommel. “With so powerful a weapon on our side, we must take the time. Then you will not only have a worthy husband and king, but Norvegia will be assured a victory against King Canute and Swaine.”
Chapter
13
Maxim
By dawn, theline of noblemen awaiting a turn at freeing the sword stretched through the great hall, down the passageway, and out into the inner bailey. The number of men arriving to Vordinberg and the royal residence was multiplying exponentially by the hour. Soon the line would stretch out of the castle boundaries and extend into the city.
I’d stood beside the Sword of the Magi all throughout the night, giving each man a turn to dislodge the relic from the case—no longer than three minutes, the fair amount of time determined by the Royal Sages.
I wasn’t sure why I’d been given the task of overseeing the process of finding the worthiest king. But since Rasmus had assigned me the role, he had an ulterior motive. He always did.
From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed him speaking with the two newest Knights of Brethren near a side doorway. I still hadn’t figured out why Rasmus had related my accomplishments to the king regarding how quickly I’d opened the case and learned the ancient language. Again, he’d done it for a reason. If only I could rationalize his motivation.
After the long days and little sleep of late, my mind wasn’t as sharp as it normally was. Was that Rasmus’s intention? To weaken me to more readily do his bidding?
The sunrise was brightening the high, narrow eastern windows filled with thick opaque glass. Elinor would be standing in our turret making notations, but without me today. Or any day.
My heart squeezed with the need to be with her, our faces to the east, the glow of dawn in our eyes, and the cool sea breeze blowing our hair.
When she left the hall last night after the twelve had failed to remove the sword from the case, her expression had been etched in resignation. Perhaps she’d expected one of the Knights of Brethren to succeed—Torvald, Kristoffer, or Sigfrid. Perhaps she’d simply wanted confirmation of their worthiness.
Whatever the case, she hadn’t expected the king to invite every nobleman within the kingdom to attempt to free the sword. But King Ulrik clearly hoped to gain the sword to deter Canute. If not to deter, then to defeat. The king would evaluate every eligible nobleman of marriageable age—no matter his birth order.
And what would the king do if every nobleman from the White Sea in the south to the Tundra Sea in the north took hold of the sword only to fail? What then? Would he acknowledge the truth: that the sword would pick the worthiest man to be king, no matter his bloodline?
When the king gave me leave to test the sword, I’d been mightily tempted to try it. But the truth had held me back—the truth that I wasn’t worthy. My heart was too stained, my ambitions too selfish, my motives too full of lies.
Nevertheless, I’d given the excuse the king had wanted, the reasoning he’d used that long-ago morn when he sent me away. From the flicker in his eyes last night, he’d recognized my use of his own words. With Elinor standing nearby, he hadn’t dared to acknowledge them. But I suspected my small act of defiance wouldn’t remain unpunished, either by Rasmus or the king.
“Three minutes have elapsed.” I spoke the words for the 182nd time. How many more noblemen would fail?
If I had three minutes to figure out how to free the sword, would I be able to do so? Of course, I had the unfair advantage of having studied every angle of the sword most of the long night.
Nothing visible was holding the sword to the case—no iron clasp, no unbreakable twine, no visible screws, no residue of tar adhesive. The sword lay unhindered against a thin silky red cloth and the cedarwood box.
Most would speculate that the sword was somehow enchanted. But from my extensive study of raw elements drawn from the earth, I guessed that an impossibly strong but thin magnetic layer was embedded into the wood and that the designer had crafted the magnetic layer to shape the sword in an unbreakable bond.
The question that had plagued me all throughout the night was, how could a magnetic hold be broken? Ordinary strength alone wouldn’t suffice. Something else was necessary to sever the energy field. But what?
