The Countess' Captive (The Fairytale Keeper Book 2) Read Free

them beneath the pit of his arm.
    Galadriel motions to the rope that opens the gate. “Now cut the rope.”
    “Milady…” he pleads.
    Galadriel widens her eyes in warning.
    Gregor approaches the gate with a heavy sigh. He struggles to grasp the cutters with his rheumatic fingers, dropping them twice. When he finally gets them within his grasp, he clamps down, shaking in an effort to cut a rope as thick as my forearm. He drops the cutters again and curses beneath his breath.
    Galadriel allows him a few more attempts before she approaches the rope, sliding her slender fingers along the strands. “He has not cut a single thread!” she concludes. Gregor’s shoulders fall. “And you two assume that this man could cut through an iron lock!? And with these cutters? Why they are nearly rusted through.” The smaller man’s face contorts. “Now, give me those cutters, gatekeeper,” Galadriel orders again. After a few attempts, he picks them up and hands them to her. “And you come here.” She summons the oaf. “Take this, and get this man a sharp pair of cutters so that if he needs them, he can use them. It is the least you can do after the fright you have given him.”
    Galadriel places two silver coins in his pudgy palm. It is more than enough to purchase good cutters and many flagons of good wine. The oaf’s red eyebrows rise as he salivates over the groschens. Even the smaller man’s face softens as he looks into his friend’s palm before taking the coins from his hand. Galadriel turns to the carriage, and at once her regal face pales, revealing the fear she hid so well.
    The shorter man bounces the coins in his hands. “What’s this gatekeeper to you?” he asks, and Galadriel halts. “Why do you care what happens to him?” Her face darkens and eyes narrow, fear boiling into rage.
    She turns on her heel and makes short work of the space between them. The guards’ eyes widen with fright. “How dare you address me so informally?!” she growls, shaking the cutters at him. “How dare you question me?! Who do you think you are?!” Then she rounds on the oaf who nearly cowers, though Galadriel is only two–thirds his height. “What is his name?” Galadriel demands of the oaf, pointing the cutters at the smaller man. He looks frightfully, pitifully to his friend. “Tell me, or I shall report you both to Konrad!”
    The short man falls to his knees. “My apologies, milady. It is no business of mine. Have mercy, please.”
    “It is too late for your apologies,” she hisses. “But now I should like to answer your question. This gatekeeper is no one to me, but to someone he is everything, and for that, he deserves protection from those who can give it, from men like you. As a guard, is it not your job to protect the people of this great city? Is it not your job to protect us from the heretic on the loose? And yet, here you stand, ready to send an obviously innocent man to torture and death. So it is either that you are lazy or stupid, and I have not yet figured out which, but I do know that Konrad deserves better guards than you to protect his city. That I do know.”
    “Please, milady. Have mercy.” He grasps Galadriel’s hand, but she rips it from him. “I have children to feed. My wife died of the fever, and they only have me to care for them.”
    “A desperate lie, I am sure.”
    “It’s true, milady, I swear it,” the man says. Galadriel looks to the oaf who vouches for his friend with a sad nod.
    “I shall have to think upon it. It is for the greater good of Cologne to have better guards, even if your children do starve.”
    “I shall be a better guard. I swear it.”
    “If I come back and find this man has been harassed, if I find his cutters have not been replaced, then I know you by sight, and I swear that I shall have more than your jobs.”
    “Yes, milady,” the men stammer, their voices overlapping. “Thank you, milady.”
    She shoos them with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Now