Bonus Content: King Gareth's Interlude

Background

"King Gareth's Interlude" is a short (515 words) chapter initially placed between Chapter 30 and the HEA chapter of The Orc and Her Bride. Originally, it was the only chapter not from Ruga or Elketh's perspective, and it was intended to serve two purposes:

1. A buffer between the confession scene and the wedding
2. Filling out backstory for King Gareth's motives

Several of my beta readers and my editor thought that the chapter was out of place. They were right. I ended up integrating his motives into the rest of the text, with Elketh having a clearer understanding of why he stuck her in Torden in the final version than in previous drafts. But this chapter was charming in its own way, I thought, and gave a little backstory for Elketh and her father's dynamic.

King Gareth's Interlude: A Deleted Scene

Also available to download as an .epub: StoryOrigin epub Download

King Gareth surveyed the disaster that was his study. Next to him, Isolde stammered out what happened, but he could have guessed it, so he paid little attention to her. His cold eyes assessed the cost of the damages, the time it would take to repair everything, the merchants he would need to reach out to in order to replace the ruined books.

“She stole a boat,” Isolde was saying, and King Gareth heard that, at least, and added it to his calculations.

The shrieks were harder to ignore.

A guard ran to the king’s side as he turned to the new source of chaos. King Gareth hurried to the entrance, thinking that he was getting too old to be running like this.

When he got there, the steward was dutifully beating back a giant bird with a besom. In the corner, King Gareth’s son, Prince Owain, cowered from the bird. There were several reddish spots on the prince’s forehead where he had clearly been pecked.

A warm hand wrapped around the king’s arm, and he turned to his wife’s concerned expression. “Don’t worry, dear,” he said calmly. “It mistook Owain for me.”

When the king lifted his free hand, the falcon flew up into the castle, above the steward’s reach, and landed on it. The king winced as the falcon dug in its talons. From one of its jesses dangled a scrolled note.

He untied it and freed the message. The falcon flew away when the king had the note in his clutches, as peacefully as though it had never come and harassed the royal family. The prince cursed at it as it left.

The king unfurled the note, read it once, and then rolled it back up and set it snugly in his pocket.

His tense shoulders slumped. He let out a relieved sigh.

“What is it, dear?” the queen asked. “What does it say?”

“Thank the goddess,” he whispered without answering, because he was king and did not feel the need to let other people in on anything unless it was absolutely necessary. “Gwenhwyfar, find out if there is a good smithy out in orc country that can replicate an ancient crown.”

He had anticipated that she would go to drastic measures to avoid her wyrd. He knew his daughter like he knew himself. She was cunning, to go right for something that important. They expected some damage control would be necessary, but his daughter was brash, and neither he nor Freya Wedd had predicted the extent of the tornado her stubbornness would cause. Thankfully, Freya seemed to think he could make up for it.

The king’s chest swelled with uncharacteristic pride—pride he could never let his daughter know about—for her strength and her deep desire to rule.

She reminded him of when he was younger.

“Is there anything else?” the queen asked tightly, because she was used to her husband’s antics. The question brought him back to reality.

King Gareth let out a breathy noise that was almost, just barely, a laugh. “Elketh changed her mind. I can retire.”

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