Embellish: Brave Little Tailor Retold (Romance a Medieval Fairytale series Book 6) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  The next book in the series will be Princess Sativa's tale, Appease: Princess and the Pea Retold, wh

  If you're looking for more of Demelza's medieval fairytales, you can find the rest of the series HER

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Embellish:

  Brave Little Tailor Retold

  DEMELZA CARLTON

  Book 6

  of the

  Romance a Medieval Fairy Tale series

  A maiden dying for adventure. A hero on a perilous quest. Monsters that must be slain.

  Once upon a time…

  After losing a battle with a dragon, George is desperate to salvage his reputation. Only he can’t do it alone – he needs an assistant.

  Royal tailor Melitta longs for adventure, so when she hears of a job opening for an apprentice hero, she jumps at the chance. Slaying monsters must be more exciting than sewing.

  Can the unlikely pair still succeed at their quest – or will they fall for each other instead?

  Table of contents

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  The next book in the series will be Princess Sativa's tale, Appease: Princess and the Pea Retold, which you can get HERE.

  If you're looking for more of Demelza's medieval fairytales, you can find the rest of the series HERE (http://www.demelzacarlton.com/fairytale/).

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Dedication

  This book is for Emmo, who truly appreciates the value of a well-told tale.

  Especially one with dragons.

  Copyright © 2017 Demelza Carlton

  Lost Plot Press

  All rights reserved.

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  One

  The one thing George loved most in all the world was dragons. At least, he had until a few minutes ago, when the biggest, grumpiest dragon to ever crawl out of a cave had disarmed him and knocked him down with a single swipe of its mighty tail. Now he didn't feel particularly fond of dragons at all.

  George raised his head slightly, wondering why he wasn't dead like the charred, armoured corpse beside him. Perhaps the dragon's eyesight was so bad that he thought George was already dead. As soon as George moved, though, the dragon would realise its mistake. And rectify it.

  George suppressed a sigh. He didn't lack for courage – he'd challenged the dragon, after all, and he intended to defeat it. But standing before a dragon while the damn dragon held his sword under one claw would only turn him into a piece of toast before the fire, for in one gout of flame, he would be dead, George had no doubt.

  Cowardice wasn’t his problem. It was common sense, and the ability to see consequences no one else could. The other boys in town would boast of how long other knights had stood while the dragon roasted them with its fiery breath, but George had little admiration for such men. There was honour in defeat if you learned enough from it to ensure victory in the future. What honour was there in taking ten seconds to burn to death before your armour collapsed with your charred bones inside? Even George didn’t remember the name of the knight whose body lay beside him. A century from now, no one else would remember him, either. But they would remember the man who slayed the dragon. Even if George wasn't the man to do it today.

  The dragon headed down the hill toward the river, distracted by something more interesting than the boy whose sword he'd stolen. George recognised opportunity when he saw it. He leaped to his feet, and sprinted toward the city gates.

  His heart hammered in his chest, but he didn't dare stop to look back. All he could focus on was his booted feet pounding the road ever upwards to the safety of the city walls. Fifty yards more. No, forty. Thirty. Twenty-five. Twenty. Fifteen. Ten.

  Eight, seven, six…

  His fleet feet ate up the distance faster than he stuffed down dumplings at the dinner table.

  Three, two, one…

  SAFE.

  Laughter and applause greeted George as he slowed to enter the city gates.

  "Dragon too big for you, boy?"

  "No one ever wrote a ballad about a hero running away from a dragon!"

  "Leave dragonslaying to men who know how to fight, boy. Go home to your father."

  "The girl put on a better show than he did!"

  George did his best to ignore the ribbing, but the last comment hit home. In his battle lust, he'd forgotten about his fairy godmother, Lady Zoraida, who'd graciously agreed to be the maiden bait who tempted the dragon out of its cave. If she'd been injured by the dragon, he'd never forgive himself.

  "Where's the girl? What happened to her?" George blurted out, finally allowing himself to peer back down the hill to where the dragon's cave lay.

  "Held up her end of the fight better'n you, boy. Threw some of the dragon's own fire back at him, she did. He didn't like that, neither. He tried to eat her, but she drew a big purple circle in the air and disappeared. Don't know why. She was holding her own against the dread beast, and no mistake. Maybe she didn't want to be a hero. I mean, who ever heard of a maiden who defeated a dragon?"

  George opened his mouth to say that his saintly namesake had needed the help of a maiden to defeat his dragon, but he closed it again. The city guardsmen didn't want
to hear stories about how other dragons had died – they wanted to witness the death of this one, which had terrorised their town for too long.

  Instead, George said, "If you do, I want to meet her."

  He'd apologise to Lady Zoraida when he saw her next, George promised himself, though it would probably be a while before he did. She hadn't been happy about helping him with the dragon, and he'd lost the enchanted sword she'd given him, too.

  He had no luck with women or dragons.

  Sighing deeply, George trudged home. Seeing as he was still alive and there were a few hours of daylight left, he should help his father in the shop. More monster slaying could wait until the morrow.

  Two

  Melitta would never forget the day she decided she would become a hero. It was the holy day of St John, and the entire court was present in the Great Hall for the feast.

  "Your Majesties, may I present to you, the renowned knight from far off lands, the hero of countless battles, the mighty Sir Chase!" the herald bellowed.

  From her place at the high table, two seats away from Queen Margareta, Melitta had an ideal view of the knight who strode into the Great Hall, haloed by the rosy rays of the sinking sun behind him. His armour caught the candlelight from all directions, bathing him in gold. Gasps rose from the long tables on either side of him. Only the king and his knights could afford so much metal, while most of them wore leather. To wear such glorious armour, for surely it could not be real gold, this travelling knight must be rich indeed. And if it was real gold…why, he must be the best knight in all the lands, and a true hero.

  The kind she wished to be.

  King Erik called for a place to be set for the knight, before announcing grandly that there should be a tourney on the morrow, so that his own men could test their skill against such a legendary hero.

  Cheers erupted around the hall and men raised their cups to toast the king's health.

  Melitta didn't need to read the men's minds to know they all shared the same thought: every man present wanted to beat the newcomer in a fair fight, for honour won in battle, even a mock battle, was more precious than life itself.

  "Fools," Queen Margareta muttered to Mother, loud enough for Melitta to hear. Whether she included her husband in that, Melitta didn't know.

  As if the knight had heard, Sir Chase bowed his head and removed his helmet.

  Now it was Melitta's turn to gasp.

  Sir Chase was the handsomest man she had ever seen. Dark hair warred with light coloured eyes, and yet the outcome of the battle was…mesmerising. No wrinkle or scar marked his face, beneath a thatch that bore not even a single white hair. He appeared younger than even their ever-youthful queen. Too young to be a hero, yet here he was.

  Sir Chase bowed low before the dais. "Your Majesty King Erik, I am honoured by your hospitality. I wish only to serve."

  This was when he would whip out his sword and lay it at the king's feet, Melitta knew, as he pledged his fealty and honour to the king's service. She'd seen enough knights sworn in to know the way of it.

  Yet Sir Chase's sword remained firmly in its scabbard.

  "I eagerly await tomorrow's tourney, for what better way to show a man's fighting prowess? Yet there is more to a knight than his sword."

  Queen Margareta's musical laughter rang out across the hall, silencing all conversation. "Pray continue, Sir Knight."

  "As you wish, most beautiful queen. A true hero must keep his wits as sharp as his blade. His honour must shine as bright as his armour, and never be allowed to tarnish. So that if his liege or his lady is plagued by the most enormous monster or the tiniest gnat, he can dispatch it forthwith."

  Gnats? In summertime, they had more problems with flies, Melitta thought, shooing several of the buzzing nuisances away from her meat. How did they manage to seek her out so fast? She'd been so focussed on Sir Chase she hadn't seen them appear.

  "Allow me, Your Majesty," Sir Chase said.

  He reached behind him for his bow, notched an arrow to the string and let it fly. His arrow lodged in one of the tapestries high above Melitta's head.

  What was he doing? In her momentary distraction, Melitta must have missed something Sir Chase had said.

  Melitta bit her lip, and concentrated on his thoughts.

  His gaze centred on a fly buzzing above the queen's head as he drew another arrow. The point followed the insect until he had a clear shot, when the knight released. His arrow arced up, skewering the insect before embedding itself in the wax encrusting a lit candelabra at the back of the dais. The candles wobbled for a moment, but did not fall, to the knight's relief.

  Evidently deciding that Melitta's meal was a far safer target than the queen's, a fly zoomed past Melitta's face.

  For a single, heart-stopping moment, Sir Chase's eyes met Melitta's. His eyelid drooped in what was definitely a wink.

  She clearly heard him say, "Fear not, young maiden. A knight's duty is to save every lady, not just the queen."

  His arrow point followed the fly as it finally left her alone and bumbled toward Mother.

  Melitta felt a burst of satisfaction from the knight as he released the third arrow. It would meet its target, the queen would be impressed, he would have a place at court, he…

  Queen Margareta leaped to her feet. "Guards!"

  Melitta stared. A thin line of blood trickled down the queen's fingers to where the arrow had lodged in the table before her. A shimmery wing was all that remained of the fly, now squashed under the weight of the arrow point. The knight had shot the bug, all right, but he'd been so intent on his target that he'd unwittingly hurt the queen.

  Sir Chase was too stunned to resist as two of the king's trusted men seized his arms, and a third reached for his sword. "Your Majesty, I meant…I meant to rid you of a pest, not…" Sir Chase stammered.

  "Silence!" Queen Margareta thundered.

  At her side, King Erik rose. "Anyone who seeks to harm my queen commits treason. Such a heinous crime is punishable by death."

  Sir Chase's thoughts were a jumbled mess of panic as he found he could not speak. Yet rising through it all was a scream of horror that he had not meant to harm the queen. Melitta believed him.

  But the queen did not.

  "He's telling the truth!" Melitta was surprised to hear her own high voice echo across the hall. Somehow, she'd risen from her seat, and now her knees wanted to wilt so that she could sink under the table and hide from what seemed like every eye turned toward her. Yet Sir Chase's talk of honour and heroes emboldened her, and she forced herself to stand tall. Maidens could be heroes, too. "He shot a fly. Look!" She pointed at the arrow with a hand that shook.

  Mother shoved her back into her seat, telling her to hush, but it was too late. The queen had heard every word.

  Glittering dark eyes seemed to survey Melitta's soul. Melitta stared back defiantly. Until, miracle of miracles, the queen inclined her head and yielded.

  Queen Margareta turned to the knight. "Get out," she said softly. "This once, you may leave with your life. Set foot in this kingdom again and you will not be so lucky."

  Melitta slid out of the knight's mind as easily as she'd ventured into it. He bowed one last time toward the dais before making a hasty exit. And while Sir Chase vanished from her world, he never really left her thoughts.

  Only it wasn't his handsome face, or his shiny armour that stayed with her. No, it was his words. And the dead flies.

  And the hope, one day, of being a hero once more.

  Three

  George's father looked up from the boot he was piecing together. "Dragon watching again, hmm?"

  Not wanting to talk about his horrible failure any more, George simply nodded. He considered helping his father with the boot's fellow, but he was too weary for the kind of precision it required. Instead, he spread a piece of leather out on the cutting table. Destruction was more his style today. George reached for a pair of shears and set to work cutting out soles for shoes.

  "Who w
as today's challenger?" Father asked.

  It was too much to ask that Father had been too busy working to hear the dragon roaring.

  George snipped savagely. "No one of consequence."

  Father nodded sagely as the boot took a distinct curve in his hands. George would always envy the nimbleness of his father's fingers, forming such beautifully shaped shoes from a flat piece of leather. "So your dragon is alive and well, then? How about the would-be slayer?"

  "Alive," George bit out as he snipped the sole free. "He ran away." Because he was outmatched, George snarled inwardly. Better to run away and fight properly another day.

  "A smart slayer. Will wonders never cease?" Father lifted a needle to his eye and threaded it in one smooth stroke. "That's who will rid us of that nuisance. Not some mighty hero with a stout sword and shiny armour, but a man with a powerful mind. Dragons are cunning creatures, and fighting one will always be a battle of wits."

  "I wish more people listened to your good advice, Father," George said, wishing he had. When his father found out his own son had been today's idiot, George intended to make himself scarce. "I don't think I'll watch the next challenger fight the dragon. I'll stay here and help you instead. There's a lot of orders here. Will we get them done in time?"

  Father held up a finished upper, ready to stitch to the sole George had cut. "Together, I'm sure we will. Your mother would be proud."

  George winced. If his mother was still alive, his father wouldn't need him in the shop so much. And she would have forbidden him from going anywhere near the dragon, let alone attempting to fight it. Even his fairy godmother had tried to talk him out of it, but he'd been too stupid to listen.

  George snipped around another sole. Zoraida had been better at battling the dragon than he had, and his mother had had more wits than any man alive, or so his father said. Perhaps that was how his namesake had defeated that long-ago dragon. The stories all said he'd saved the virgin princess from the beast, but maybe she'd defeated the dragon and all he'd done was offer her his cloak to cover her singed clothes. The townspeople had proclaimed him a hero and not believed a girl could beat the beast.

  For who had ever heard of a maiden hero? Not George. He'd like to meet one, though. Such a paragon might be able to tell him what he was doing wrong.