Chapter 1

Laenas’s Cottage, Freymount, the Kingdom of Wuthia, 1125

Solomon Laenas

My worn-out shoes crushed over the dandelions as I carried the last sack of flour over my shoulder back to the cottage. The sun was warm, glinting off my forehead. A gentle breeze brushed alongside my pale-yellow tunic and dusty-green trousers, bringing needed refreshments as I finally reached my family’s home. The few farm animals we have – sheep, goats, a few pigs, and an annoying chicken- greeted me as I strolled by them. My face reflected against the still water in a barrel on the side of the house – golden skin, dark brown hair, and brown eyes; a gorgeous face if I don’t say so myself.

“How was the market today?” My mother asked as I set the flour sack down in the corner. She was at the stove with her back towards me, kneading dough, probably for dinner or a later snack. Father and my older siblings, Richard and Mabel, were already out and at work, probably at the market themselves, selling their own odds and ends for the family.

“Okay,” I said, taking a seat at the table. “I managed to sell two out of three sacks of flour today.”

“That’s good,” she said. “It’s better than nothing, especially with the tax rising slightly in a few days.” She placed the raw dough in the oven and made something else. “Did you see your father at the market?”

“No,” I said, pouring myself a cup of water from the pitcher on the table. “He was probably near the western point. I was at the eastern point of the market. You know how father loves his special spots in the market, always saying -”

“‘The best spot is the right spot.’ “ We said in unity, followed by small chuckles and giggles. Mother came over from the stove and placed a warm meat pie in front of me, took a seat. It was warm, and like always, it was delicious. She was always thinking of others, making sure they were fed and in good spirits. It’s probably how she and my father got along all this time. Father will always praise Mother as being a saint from above, and he was one of the luckiest men in the world to be her husband.

Another reason my father believed he was a lucky man was that my mother had divine beauty. Her dark chocolate curls touched her shoulders while bringing awareness to her graceful neck. She had dazzling brown eyes like pools of spring water, and a smile that would have lit up the dark side of the moon. The sunlight from the window brushed alongside her slim figure and across her chestnut skin. Her beauty was the envy of most women in Freymount and the lustful desires of any man.