The Castrofax by Jenna Van Vleet Read Free Book Online Page A

Prince often went on hunting
trips or visited Castle Jaden. Even then he always brought a few
flasks of tainted wine with him and never fully recovered. Balien
knew he would have to flee or murder his cousin if the man found
out, for the Mage would certainly kill him.
    Balien smirked. Nolen would have to catch him
first.

Chapter 4
    The ax in Gabriel’s hands swung high before
slamming into the fallen trunk. The shock sent vibrations through
his arms, and the sun beat down on his bare shoulders in the copse
where the pines offered little shade. He pried the ax loose and
swung it again, uttering a guttural grunt as the wedge struck home.
The tree was still a little green, and it did not want to yield.
Had Gabriel wanted, he could have split the tree with an Earth
sapling-snap pattern, but there was something rich about doing it
himself.
    He had grown into a man since Robyn came to
his manor, standing three inches over six feet with a much broader
torso and legs longer than his father’s. His hair once cut short
grew out in black waves brushing his collar that tightened to
ringlets when wet. His once smooth hands toughened with the work of
commoners, and his muscles honed under the labor of maintaining the
cottage. It was not hard work, but it was never the work he
expected.
    Putting a boot on the trunk, he pushed until
the desired piece dislodged. He could not see the cottage he called
home, but he knew the lay of the land well enough to know he was
safe. That, and he had ample trip-wire wards set around if someone
stepped too close. No one ventured up this far from town
though.
    He stacked the wood in one arm and wiped the
sweat from his face on his discarded shirt. Autumn was almost on
them, but this far from the Gray Mountains it was not yet cold. He
passed a few trees with changing leaves as he strode, entertained
by the vibrant colors.
    The cottage came into sight through the
pines: a handsome little structure with three rooms and a stone
hearth. It was broken down when he found it, but with a few Earth
patterns, he fixed it up snugly. A few chickens and geese pecked in
the ground behind it, and a single goat stood tethered not far
off.
    He set the wood on the pile out back and
brushed himself off as he turned to look at the back door. She stood waiting for him. She, with her boy-slim figure,
golden mantle of hair, sharp eyes on a heart-shaped face, and pert
lips on a little chin.
    Princess Robyn had grown into a lovely woman. ‘If ever there was one,’ he thought. She was as well read as
any scholar, skilled in debate and politics, and smart enough to
know how to read a person from tiny expressions. With a fierce
glance and confident posture, she could silence a room, and with a
laugh and well controlled smile, she could make every eye follow
her. Dancing lessons taught her to be graceful, diction told her
how to speak, experience showed her how to be lovely, but archery
taught her the strength and assurance she could never learn in a
palace.
    “How nice of you to greet the day,” he stated
in a smooth tenor and dusted his hands off.
    “I have nothing better to do with my
mornings, I might as well sleep through them,” she replied. She
wore her usual garb since leaving Urima Manor: leggings, tall
boots, blouse and tunic, or sometimes a vest. Today it was a green
tunic with no embroidery. They could not afford to look highborn
while on the run.
    “I have needs, Robyn.”
    She barked a laugh. “You really can’t find
anything to eat by yourself?” She disappeared into the darkness of
the cottage and emerged a moment later. “We have eggs.”
    “They aren’t cooked, are they.”
    She folded her arms under her breasts—the
part of her slim figure that was anything but boyish—and set him
with a glare. He could not help but grin, and she vanished back
into the house again.
    “Why don’t we go into town today?” he posed.
“We’re low on oil and flour and by the stars I could use a
good hot meal.” An egg