The backdoor opens, and I tense.
“Do you think he’s all right?” a familiar female voice says.
An older woman pats Amalia’s shoulder. “Some men don’t hold their drink well, dear. I’m sure he’ll be fine once he sleeps it off.”
My unease grows.
“He’s never done this before,” Amalia says, sounding concerned. “What if he’s ill?”
“If you’re worried, I can send Evan for a doctor,” the woman says kindly, “but the closest is in Kenrow. By the time they return, your brother will be as right as rain.”
Amalia wrings her hands, looking unsure.
“His pulse is normal, and he seems to be breathing just fine. Let’s see how he’s doing in the morning,” the woman says. “Evan, are you finished?”
“Last bucket,” the young man says brightly, smiling like he wasn’t talking about kidnapping Amalia only hours ago.
And he’s apparently done something to the princess’s cousin, which tells me he means to go through with it.
Though I don’t make a sound, the old woman scans the trees behind the inn, her gaze passing right over me. I don’t move, confident I’m well-hidden.
“Since her brother is sleeping, stand guard, Evan.” She turns to Amalia. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you out here alone.”
Evan bows his head. “Of course.”
I narrow my eyes at the young man, but I stay still and silent.
The woman hands Amalia the lantern from the step. “Let Evan know if you need anything.”
Amalia glances at the shack, unsure. “All right…”
“Go on now,” the woman says, “before the water gets cold.”
The inn’s matron then goes inside, leaving Amalia alone in the night with her wretched son. The princess gives him a tight smile, one that shows me she’s not quite as trusting as I first thought.
“I don’t know,” she says, glancing at the bathhouse. “It’s so dark.”
“You’ll be able to see all right with the lantern,” Evan assures her. “And I’ll keep watch, so there’s nothing to fear.”
Turn around and go inside, I think. Go up to your room and lock the door.
The princess hesitates, and I can see her indecision. She probably wants to think the best of the innkeeper’s son, doesn’t want to assume his intentions are less than honorable…but her intuition is urging her to run.
I grit my teeth when she finally nods and hurries to the small building. Quickly, she shuts the door behind her.
It’s hard to see Evan without the lantern’s light, but I make out his shadowed form well enough to keep an eye on him. At first, he goes back to the fire where he heated the water, warming his hands by the flames.
He paces a bit, going to the forest’s edge and then back.
I begin to think I’m worrying for nothing—that I was right to believe he didn’t have the courage to back up his bravado.
But then he calls to Amalia, “Is the water all right? It’s not too hot, is it?”
“It’s fine,” she yells back, but her voice sounds off.
“Did you find the soap?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Apparently pleased with her answer, Evan heads for the forest’s edge and retrieves a bundle from behind a boulder. The dim light of the fire shines over it, impossible to see until he’s closer. Finally, I’m able to make it out—a coil of rope and a length of cloth.
Evan then makes his slow creep toward the building, crouching when he’s near the door. It appears he plans to wait until Amalia steps out, but he won’t get the chance.
Coming up behind him, silent in the night, I grasp the collar of his doublet at the nape of his neck, jerking him up.
He lets out a startled gasp, choking as the fabric cuts off his air supply.
“Evan?” Amalia calls from inside, startled.
I yank the man away from the bathhouse, toward the trees. Pressing the blade of my dagger to his back, I whisper, “Tell her you’re fine.”
I loosen my grip just enough he can speak.
“I’m fine,” he bites out.
“You singed yourself on the fire,” I say.
When it appears he’s going to refuse to say it, I press the blade a little closer, possibly drawing blood.
“I..s..singed myself on the fire,” he finally spits out.
“Good,” I whisper, pulling back the dagger slightly. “Now, you and I are going to have a chat.”
“Who are you?” he hisses.
“That’s not for you to know.” I adjust my hold, making it a little more comfortable—for myself, not him. “What did you do to the girl’s brother?”
“Sleeping draught.” He begins to tremble, finally sensing he’s in genuine danger. “He’ll be fine in the morning, I swear.”
“Who hired you?” I ask.
“N…no one.”
I tighten my grip on his neck, and he squirms. “You’re telling me you’re not kidnapping women for a man in Brecklin?”
“No,” he denies.
Losing my patience, I cuff the back of his head. “Let’s try that again.”
“I don’t know his name,” he cries, cracking sooner than I expect. “We just deliver the girls to a man in Kenrow, and he pays us.”
“You’re going to find out, and then you’re going to report it to the local guard.”
“They’ll kill me,” he protests.
“If you don’t, I’ll kill you,” I say calmly. “So, it seems you have a problem, don’t you?”
“Please, let me go,” he sobs, all the fight leaving him as he sags against me. “I won’t do it again.”
“Maybe I should just kill you now,” I say, bored. “Your mother would miss you, as mothers are prone to do, but what a service I would be doing the young women of the kingdom.”
“Please,” he begs, “please.”
“Do not do it again,” I growl. “Someday, I will return, and I will watch you from the shadows. It might be next week; it might be five years from now. Do you understand what will happen to you if I witness this again?”
“Yes,” the boy cries, sagging to his knees when I remove the dagger and toss him aside. “Thank you for your mercy.”
“Go inside. Do not talk to the girl.”
He stumbles to his feet and hurries toward the inn, tripping in his haste.
Growling under my breath, I shake my head. I’ll speak with the local constable in the morning and tell him what I’ve learned. It’s not my business to handle it personally—they can deal with it.
“Evan?” Amalia calls again when the inn door opens and shuts. “Are you still out there?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to decide what to do. I had planned to slip away. Eventually, the princess will dare to leave her shelter, though who knows how long she’ll wait or how upset she’ll be when she finally works up the nerve.
But none of my plans are going as I hoped, so why should this be any different?
I walk to the bathhouse and lean against the side, facing the forest. “Why is it that every time we meet, misfortune has found you?”
The princess is quiet, and I close my eyes, wondering if I should have kept my presence secret. I’ve probably scared her half to death.
“You didn’t drown, did you?” I finally ask.
“Rhys,” she breathes, her voice so quiet I barely hear her.
She remembers.
Disgusted with myself for being pleased, I rub my hand over my face. “Finish up. I’ll stand watch.”
She’s silent, and I realize I should have taken my original approach and hidden in the night. How am I going to earn her trust now? What sort of man shows up like this if he isn’t following her?
It’s suspicious.
The door opens, and Amalia steps out, fully dressed. “How foolish do you think I am? I didn’t even get in.”
Because it’s dark, I give in to a smile.
The princess leaves the lantern inside, a
nd she steps around the side to join me.
“How are you here?” she asks, sounding merely curious instead of unsettled. The foolish girl has no sense of self-preservation.
I grunt, unsure how to answer. Finally, I say, “I seem to be cursed with being in the wrong place at the right time.”
“I would argue that you’re in the right place at the right time.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “Should I be worried?”
I rest my head against the wall, suddenly tired. “Of course you should be worried. You’ve met me twice, both times at night, in places I have no right to be—and look at you, acting as though you’ve known me for years.”
She laughs under her breath. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Please don’t.”
“I don’t know why or how, but I think you’ve been sent to me as a protector.”
Unexpected guilt stabs me like a knife in the gut. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true, though. I silently begged that you’d be sent to me again tonight…and here you are.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “Like magic.”
That makes me pause. Slowly, I turn to look at her. It’s too dark to make out any of her features. I can’t see her eyes or her face. “You what?”
“You saved me once; is it so impossible to believe that while I was trapped in there, sensing Evan’s intentions, I wished for you to save me again?”
“Amalia…”
“I’m going to wash up now, before the water gets cold. Will you stay here?”
I close my eyes, letting my head fall back. This woman is…impossible.
“Yes,” I say.
“Thank you.”
Amalia touches my arm before she goes. It’s just a gentle press of her fingers against my shirt—but in the dark, with our sight hindered and our other senses heightened, I feel it all the way to my core.
10
I lie on the hard mattress, my hair wet and tangled, thinking of Rhys. As he instructed, I set the lock and wedged the table between the door and the bed. I didn’t get a good look at the huntsman tonight. He waited for me to finish my hasty bath, and then he told me to go inside.
I had hoped he would offer to walk me to my room, but he didn’t…and it felt forward to ask.
I’m not entirely daft. I know meeting him like this is a coincidence that should make me wary of the man…and I am. But at the same time, he does have the habit of showing up when I need him. My emotions are at war with each other—is the huntsman trustworthy, or is he someone I should avoid?
Should I worry that he seems to be following me, or should I be grateful?
And is another chance meeting enough to make these assumptions? Perhaps it’s a fortunate coincidence and nothing more.
However, Rhys basically pointed out that it’s more than that. He told me himself that I shouldn’t trust him. But why would he warn me if that were true? None of it makes sense.
Another thought occurs to me: What if he knows who I am?
I gave him too much that first night. I told him my real name, and I cried over the loss of a loved one. Anyone with half a mind could put it together, especially if he recognized Gage.
“You are a fool,” I whisper to myself, rolling over in the hard bed.
So, if that’s the case, what does he want? Is he hoping that by staying close, protecting me when needed, he might be compensated? Or is he simply a concerned citizen of the kingdom, worried his future queen might find the same fate as her brother?
Does he want the crown?
I laugh out loud at that last thought, a shocking sound in the dark, quiet night. If Rhys is trying to woo me, he’s doing a poor job of it. Half the time, he acts like he thinks I’m ridiculous. The other half, it seems he wants to scold me.
My mind keeps jumbling in knots, and nothing makes sense. I won’t think of Rhys any more tonight.
As I lie here, in this strange, sad room, unable to find sleep, my thoughts shift to home. Unfortunately, since that night in the meadow, crying comes easily now. Tears run down my cheeks, soaking the pillow.
I miss my familiar bed and my family and Braeton—oh, I miss Braeton so much.
And it’s selfish, and I hate myself for it, but I don’t want to be here. In this little room, my excitement about the adventure ebbs, and I feel as though I was cast out, sent away. I don’t even have Ember—she’s been relegated to the stable.
On top of all that, I’m worried about Gage. Rhys said it was only a sleeping draught he was given, but my cousin is in his room alone, and I couldn’t lock the door from the outside. I don’t know what Rhys did to Evan, but what if the innkeeper’s son were to sneak in and exact his revenge on my unconscious cousin?
The thought chills me. I immediately sit up, tossing the covers aside, and wipe my face.
I’m not going to lie here all night worrying about the one thing in my control.
“Ooof,” I groan, rolling over, covering my eyes.
“What are you doing on the floor?” Gage demands from above me.
I crack one eye open, scowling at him. He nudges me in the ribs with his foot once more, and I swat him away.
“You’re welcome,” I say testily, sitting up.
“For what?”
“For making sure no one sneaked in during the night and stuck a knife in your chest.”
I stretch my back, whimpering. The floor is so hard—harder even than the bed in my room across the hall, and I didn’t know such a thing was possible.
Gage wrinkles his brow, trying to bring back a memory of the night before. I turn so my back is against the door and draw my knees to my chest, watching him.
When he realizes half his night is missing, his face goes dark. “What happened?”
“Someone slipped a sleeping draught into your drink.”
“Why?” He says the word a little too evenly.
It’s a bit chilling.
I prepare myself, knowing he’s going to be livid in a moment. “It seems the owner’s son was hoping to catch me unchaperoned at an inconvenient moment—wait!” Gage is already standing, nearly stepping on me as he attempts to throw open the door. “Someone took care of it.”
Gage pauses with his hand on the doorknob, looking down at me. “Someone? Someone who?”
“Oh…” I look at my knees, making a hasty decision. “I didn’t see his face. It was dark. But I spoke with him a bit, and he assured me he dealt with the situation.”
“You have no idea who this man was?” he demands, incredulous.
I can’t tell my cousin about Rhys—I know how bad it looks. I give him a helpless shrug and say, “I want to leave today.”
With a longsuffering sigh, Gage steps away from the door and lowers himself onto the bed, yanking me up so I’m forced to sit next to him. “What are you hiding from me?”
I think back to last night, to the dark, suffocating bathhouse. I remember how scared I was, how my heart raced. I felt so helpless.
“I just don’t want to be here anymore—please, let’s leave.” I take a wavering breath. “I know I’m all right, but my mind keeps picturing what could have happened if it hadn’t been all right.”
Growling, Gage wraps his arm around my shoulders, yanking me close with all the tenderness of a true brother, jostling my bones. “Shall I kill him?”
I let out a soft laugh and jab him in the side with my elbow. “That’s not funny.”
“It wasn’t a joke.”
Slowly, I turn to face him. “Gage. No.”
He stares at me for several moments, his jaw twitching. Finally, he relents. “Let’s go.”
Twenty minutes later, we’ve collected our things, and we’re walking down the hall. I’m so ready to be away, I’m practically running. Just as we’re about to start down the stairs, Evan reaches the top. We all freeze, staring at each other.
Evan forces a smile, not quite looking at me, and bows his head as he walks past. Gage stands next to me, anger rolling off him in waves.
<
br /> “Are you sure I can’t kill him?” he asks quietly.
I’m ashamed to say I think about it for a moment before I sigh. “No.”
“Have it your way.” Gage drops our bags at his feet and walks down the hall, growling out Evan’s name.
I hold out my arm, opening my mouth to call him back.
Evan turns just as Gage swings. His fist collides with the young man’s face, and Evan stumbles back and falls against the wall. He stares at Gage, his eyes wide with terror, his hand covering his bleeding nose.
Gage turns back to me, fisting his hand several times as if it smarts. “There. Now we can leave.”
11
“You’re going to have to cut your hair,” Gage says from across the table, watching as I fight the knots with my brush.
I’ve never had to tend my hair myself, and I have no idea how to braid it. When it’s loose, it falls to my waist, which isn’t terribly practical when you’re riding. The wind whipped it about today, creating a right fine mess.
“Absolutely not,” I say through clenched teeth.
We reached the large village of Talton a few hours ago, right before dusk, and we’re staying at one of Father’s newly acquired properties in the middle of a busy residential square. It’s neither large nor small, grand nor shabby, but somewhere perfectly in-between.
It’s far more comfortable than the inn.
“It looks painful,” my cousin says.
“Don’t talk to me right now,” I snarl. “I have a strong, irrational desire to throw the brush at your head.”
Gage chuckles and helps himself to one of the scones he bought when we arrived.
We stumbled upon an interesting revelation earlier—neither of us knows how to cook. Not a little, not at all. Here soon, we’ll have to venture into the village to find a place to eat supper.
“There.” I smack the brush on the table after conquering the tangles. I eye my cousin, thinking, and he leans back.
“What?” he asks, sounding a bit nervous.
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