The Prologue

I’m going to try to take part in the “National Novel Writing Month” this year. So here you will find the chapters of my story. One that I hatched over a year ago and I’m finally getting around to writing.

I always wake up at sunrise. By the time the first rooster crowed I was practicing with my harp. On this particular morning, I awoke with the strong arm of a squire around my chest. His warm breath was lightly tickling the back of my neck. I closed my eyes for a few moments and enjoyed the moment, as Redwyr so rarely would stay the night after our passionate encounters. Tthe kingdom may accept the unorthodox behaviors of their bard, but a squire to the prince and future knight was expected to maintain a different life. However, the prince had been wedded the night before, and after the bawdy crowd had seen the new couple to their marriage bed, a drunk squire had stumbled into my chambers and torn my feast attire from my slight frame. Whether too tired to leave or too drunk to care, we’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms.

When I opened my eyes again, I looked at my harp sitting against the wall where’d I left it the night before. I savored the warmth of Red’s body against my own for a moment longer before sliding out of his arms. The stone floor was cold on my bare feet, as I tiptoed to retrieve my harp and return to the soft mattress. Resting at the foot of the bed, I began to gently strum the chords of the harp as I watched the sleeping form before me.

The room was warm and the sheet was drawn down to his waist. When I’d left the bed, he’d rolled onto his back, and I could now watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest. I gradually increased the intensity of my harp-playing and I saw his eyes flutter open. He smiled at the gentle tune I called forth from the strings as my fingers danced.

“Good morning. Sleep well?”

He rubbed his eyes for a moment, “I’ve got a thousand horses charging through my head, but that harp of yours is sending them away.”

I increased the tempo of my playing, letting the soothing notes flow through me.

“There’s magic in that instrument,” he said after a few minutes.

“The harp is just a harp. The magic is in the music.”

“Well, it certainly has me enchanted,” he said with a mischievous smile.

“You should get going. The castle will be waking soon, and you’ll be missed from the dormitory.”

Dreamily, I watched him collect the clothes he’d left scattered about the room. The velvet doublet he’d worn to the feast the night before made him look almost lordly. When he’d gone, I sat playing the harp a few minutes longer before calling my apprentice to help me prepare for the day. The spring thaw was upon us and the farmers would be looking for a blessing and a song before the planting season began.

Word Count so far: 479 of 50,000 (49,521 to go!)