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Wyrn knew one truth. It was the only truth his father'd ever tell him. Most nights, he bustled around the long wooden table, as his father's ale-reeking tall stature came stomping in from a hunt. The old man scan his seven sons with pride until his eyes settled on Wyrn. And most nights, his father dropped the pelts on the floor but did not look as his wife hurried to snatch them up. Instead, he'd allow his gaze to linger on Wyrn for a long minute before speaking.

He never mentioned Wyrn's uneven top lip, born looking as if it was cut clean through and healed that way. He never talked about Wyrn's big green eyes. He never even mentioned Wyrn's small size. He was five to five though his brothers all towered over most men—well above six.

No. He'd say but one thing by the fading sunlight at his back.

"Hnp. If you're to get a wife—you'd have to steal one."

A hush fell over their small house. When he entered, no one spoke unless spoken to. No one but Wryn who did not speak even then.

Wearing his hair long was Wyrn's only revenge. As his father had hardly a strand above his ears, despite the remnants of his once strong red mane now clinging to the sides and back. Wyrn's brown hair hid most of his unpleasant features. With its length, it even hid his mouth at times. It did not, however, hide his size.

Those meals were a long ways off now as Wyrn, riding his small cart, watched the head of his donkey as she pulled him through the dank city. A myriad of awful smells mixed with one another were the least of his worries. He had but one aim, the palace.

A number of carts filled with apples made him curious.

He'd never eaten a fruit. Mother never allowed it. The one time he'd made the attempt, she'd snatched it away, her voice followed him even now.

"And when you lose your teeth on top of everything else, what will you do then? Hmm, Wyrnol, what will you do then? Who will love you then?"

Reins in hand, he flicked them once and the ass picked up speed. Animals were easier to be around. They were pleasant.

The tournament would end today but he could travel no faster than he moved now.

Besides, he wasn't going to the palace with victory in mind, only...self-assurance.

This was his life, he'd known, and his mother never asked anything of him but this.

"Why don't you try? You need but try at least," she'd said.

Perhaps she knew something about him he did not. He reached the drawbridge and instantly regretted his foolish decision to honor his promise to her.

The moat seemed deeper than the very deepest pit of hell.

When he urged the donkey on, several men, walking tall with their swords on their backs, glanced at him now and then. More than one laughed but that didn't matter so much.

He was only here for a promise. Once inside the palace walls, the houses and shops impressed him. This wasn't the farm but the city.

"Hunchback," someone called. "Hunchback!"

Wyrn ignored whoever it was.

It was best not to engage others.

He tried to dismount is cart but something grabbed him by the back of his cape and dragged him to the ground. The cobblestone hurt but he made not even a wince.

Upon standing and brushing himself off, he was greeted with a handsome face. It donned a grimace but this man, though bigger and taller than he, did not compare to the terror of the drunkard Wyrn had to endure for the last twenty-two years so he turned back to his donkey and pulled the animal on.

"Why you...."

Wyrn decided to follow the crowd; maybe that would be enough.

He arrived in front of several guards who looked him up and down then scoffed. At least they didn't laugh.

With a bow, one held out his hand and indicated the path he should take. Five minutes later, Wyrn found himself staring down at the pigpen, and a swine staring back at him.

He hove a sigh.

"Well, Bluebell," he told the ass, "at least we tried."

After maneuvering the donkey to turn, he decided to hold his head high as he walked out of there. An ass was temperamental and he couldn't risk her giving him trouble as he tried to leave. So rather than ride the cart, he resolved to depart on foot.

What he met up on was the rude man from earlier.

"Hunchback," he called. "I will have you respect the words of a prince."

Wyrn cut him one glance then walked by him. The gasp to leave the so-called prince wasn't his imagination.

"Come now, hunchback. How dare you ignore my words."

The man ran to catch up but Wyrn had made up his mind. He'd go home, and on the way there, he'd buy an apple. He'd buy two—no ten. Hundreds.

"Hunchback," the man said, closing in. "I will have your attention."

He would not. However, when a sword scraped Wyrn's throat, he came to a stop.

Perhaps this 'prince' would get his attention after all.

(Continue this excerpt of the first chapter in the book "The Hunchback's Reluctant Bride" ) Link in the comment →

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