Grumble and Gasp: Of Rabbits and Regicide - Chapter 3, Part 2

Of Rabbits and Regicide – Chapter Three: The Spring in his Step

by Brude Bowyer

The midday sun was making Grumle sweat in his armor by the time the convoy halted beside a clear brook that cut through the countryside.

Grumle dismounted, gratefully stretching with a groan, vertebrae popping in protest after hours astride the swaggering rooster. The convoy quickly transformed from an organized column to functional chaos, servants flowing around nobles like water around stones, each person knowing their place in the intricate dance of royal leisure.

Guards formed a loose ring around the encampment, their armor catching sunlight in dazzling flashes. Multicolored pavilions bloomed like exotic flowers, the largest reserved for the royal family. King Thaddeus stood beneath it, deep in conversation with his chamberlain, his hair dampened with sweat as he removed his crown.

Grumle positioned himself beside his queen as she emerged. He knew her rhythms as well as his own. The way she tilted her head when considering options, the almost imperceptible tightening around her eyes when masking impatience.

“Sergeant Grumble,” she said, precisely loud enough for others to hear, “walk with me. I wish to discuss the security arrangements for the night.”

He fell into step beside her, their strides matching by muscle memory alone. They moved away from the pavilions toward a stand of birch trees whose pale trunks stood guard along the brook’s edge. Not too far, never out of the king’s vision, but enough for a semblance of privacy.

“Your helmet has more dents than a thimble,” she observed with a crooked smile. “When are you going to turn that old thing in for a new one?”

Grumle’s mouth twitched into an almost-smile. “The dents keep track of the years, my Queen.”

“And the dings?”

“Those keep track of the fools.”

Her laugh was brief but genuine, a sound he hoarded like a dragon’s gold. He looked past her shoulder, military discipline his only shield against dangerous sentiments. “You wanted to discuss camp security, Your Highness?”

Across the camp, Prince Lucien darted between servants’ legs, a wooden sword clutched in his small fist. “Protect the realm!” he shouted, lunging at imaginary foes. His deadly weapon deftly slaying a stacked pile of cushions, sending them tumbling. A chambermaid scolded him with the gentle hesitation reserved for the children of your betters.

The boy paused in his play, eyes finding Grumle and the Queen beneath the birches. He waved to them both enthusiastically. “Mother only smiles funny like that around Grumle.”

The chambermaid snorted in surprise, storing the information away for that night’s gossip before decorum slid back into place.

Grumle and the queen thoroughly reviewed that night’s plans. A close call during the Dire-Snail invasion long ago had taught both the queen and Grumle never to leave matters of security to underlings. Elara approached them with downcast eyes, the queen’s heavy cloak draped across her arms. “Your Majesty,” she said, “it is still quite chilly here in the shade.” Her gray eyes briefly met Grumle’s own as she nodded in modest deference.

“Thank you, Elara,” Lillith turned, allowing her lady-in-waiting to settle the cloak around her shoulders as King Thaddeus approached, his boots crushing new spring grass beneath each step. His smile was fixed, his eyes calculating as they moved between Grumle and his wife.

The king slid between them with practiced casualness and began to discuss the summer palace renovations. Grumle stepped back, giving the royal family the space that duty required.

The king guided the queen back towards the caravan and a late lunch, Grumle and Elara following at a full pace behind. One of Lillith’s soft leather gloves slipped from her hand, floating to the grass between them. Both men moved instinctively to retrieve it; the royal crown clattering against Grumle’s helmet when their heads struck together. Another ding for the collection, and yet neither of them claimed the prize. Elara’s hand darted between them, scooping up the glove with fluid grace. She presented it to the Queen with a small curtsy, her eyes carefully downcast.

“Your glove, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Elara.” Lillith looked at Grumle over her lady’s shoulder, mouth curved into a wry grin.

Her smile, unguarded and genuine, never failed to twist something within Grumle, even after all these years. His full attention lingered on it for a heartbeat too long.

With his vigilance momentarily diverted, Grumle failed to notice how the grass trembled, until the earth beneath him burst upwards like a fountain. Dirt sprayed in all directions as he was thrown to the ground. All eyes turned to the dark hole that had opened at their feet, holding their collective breath for whatever would follow. First, long, floppy ears emerged from the recess, followed by wide, innocent eyes set in a face of pure, unblemished adorableness. Much like the landscape, its fur was the white of snow, broken here and there by patches of speckled brown. Its nose was pink and perpetually wiggling. Finally, a cotton-puff tail bounced out as it fully emerged. The rabbit’s head, including the ears, would have only risen to Grumle’s chest had he still been standing.

The petite creature dressed in a tiny set of armor was so unexpected and cute that for one suspended moment, several ladies of the court actually cooed.

Then came the blood.

Thanks for reading. The story is a work in progress, and I welcome all comments and constructive criticism. This is book 0 in the Grumble and Gasp quadology. If you find yourself liking the story and wanting more, the full first novel is available on Kindle and Amazon.

Book One Available Here!

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