Return of the Prince_Medieval Romance

by Elise de Sallier

  Jolted by an unexpected stab of jealousy, Destrian was glad he had met her first, before his charismatic brother had the chance to work his charm on the not-so-hapless maid. Determined to stake his claim, in what form and to what end he wasn’t sure, he sought to repair the damage he had inflicted earlier.

  “I am sorry I frightened you.” He reached for her again, hard-pressed to deny himself, as long-dormant feelings roared to life. She flinched when his fingers brushed the back of her hand, and he reluctantly withdrew. “You have nothing to fear, I promise.”

  “If you say so.” She pushed the mug closer, shooting him a puzzled glance. “But I think you must have hit your head quite hard.”

  “Why? Because I said you were beautiful?” He smiled at the soft, pink blush that stained her cheeks. “Has no one ever told you?”

  Ignoring his question, she turned back to the battered teapot and poured a second serving into an old bowl. It seemed she only possessed one mug, and his smile faded at another example of her impoverished circumstance. Sipping the fragrant tea, a welcome chaser for the bitter herbal brew she had given him earlier, he wondered what manner of tragedy had brought her so low.

  Heaving a sigh, Destrian went to run his fingers through his hair but encountered the bandage she had wrapped around his head. The pounding had subsided to a dull ache, as had the pain in his ankle, both quite bearable and not what was bothering him. Life in the kingdom his father had inherited was far from fair, the lowest members of society having suffered the most under his uncle’s reign. Watching her prepare a meal in such primitive surrounds, it galled him that a lady should be forced to live this way.

  “Thank you,” he said when Eloise passed him a plate with some bread, cheese, and slices of apple. Torn between the desires of his body and the dictates of his conscience, he made a silent vow not to take advantage of her generosity any more than was absolutely necessary. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” he added, imbuing his tone with as much sincerity as he could muster to hide an undercurrent of frustration.

  “You are welcome.”

  Her lips, the ones he had come so close to kissing, curved in an almost smile. Taking a seat on the rickety stool beside the bed, she took dainty bites of her food between sips of tea from the bowl. It wasn’t hard to imagine her dressed in a fine gown eating delicacies in a well-appointed parlour or ballroom. Her hands wouldn’t be rough and stained, nor would there be shadows beneath her eyes . . . unless she had been kept up late the night before.

  Images of the two of them dancing together filled his thoughts, and he scowled at the impossibility. A soon-to-be-betrothed prince did not get to enjoy a public dalliance with an impoverished maid, not if he wanted his potential father-in-law’s support to help end a brutal war.

  “What happened?” he asked, and she raised a gently arched brow.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Why does someone who was ‘once a lady’ live like this?”

  Colour bloomed in Eloise’s cheeks again, and she looked down at her lap.

  “You don’t have to say if you would rather not,” he quickly added, any number of sad and sordid ways in which a lady’s reputation could be besmirched suddenly coming to mind. The outcome of a fall from grace was usually banishment from the upper echelons of society, but he had never considered what that might entail. Banishment to where?

  “I am sure whatever caused your reduced circumstances wasn’t your fault.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” She raised her chin, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. “My father died unexpectedly, leaving someone he trusted in charge of his finances . . . and me.”

  “One who forces a lady to work as a servant? A drudge?” Destrian couldn’t hide his outrage. “Why did you not appeal for a change of guardianship?”

  “To King Althelos?” Eloise shot him an incredulous glance. “My family fell out of favour with him years ago, around the time your father was banished. Papa only managed to avoid a public execution by keeping a low profile and paying exorbitant taxes . . . working himself to death in the process.”

  Destrian’s hand formed a fist where it rested on his thigh. He had heard such stories before, of the suffering his father’s supporters had endured when he and his family, Destrian included, had been forced to flee. Althelos’ wrath had been incurred against them after Cedric had advocated pursuing peace with their neighbour rather than an escalation of the war, a worthy but futile stance.

  It had seemed like a grand adventure, seeking asylum in a distant kingdom, but the reality had been less than idea. As the years passed, and stories of the atrocities occurring in their homeland had reached them, Destrian had yearned to return and see the people freed of both Althelos’ and Carac’s tyranny.

  The thought tightened the knot that had already formed in his belly at hearing Eloise’s tale. At this very moment, his companions could be suffering at the hands of Carac’s men, if they still lived.

  He had made a damned fool mistake breaking off from the group, but Destrian hadn’t wanted their inexperienced party’s first taste of battle to be in the forest. Thinking he could lose their attackers in the maze of trails he recalled from his childhood explorations—the ones he had taken before venturing any distance from home had become too dangerous—he had planned to meet up with the others on the far side of the pass. Now he lay injured, and God only knew what had happened to his companions . . . and his brother. Merek was barely twelve months Destrian’s junior and twice his size, but protective habits died hard. He just hoped they had taken the opportunity he had given them to escape.

  Helpless to alter the outcome, he huffed a breath and refocussed his attention on the girl sitting quietly beside him.

  “It must have been very difficult losing your father and then being forced to . . .”

  “Work as a servant in one’s own home?” she finished for him when he faltered. “It’s surprising what you can get used to when you have no choice, though I must admit, I sometimes wish . . .”

  “For what?” Destrian prompted when a faraway look appeared in her eyes. Shaking her head as if to clear it, Eloise rose and collected their plates.

  “For a more waterproof cloak,” she said matter-of-factly. “Once the danger is passed, I might retrieve yours and see if it’s still serviceable. Unless you want it back, of course?”

  “You are welcome to it.” He tried to hold her gaze, but she busied herself washing their dishes in a bowl on the floor near the fire. “I shall gladly purchase you a new one and anything else you have need of, as well as alerting my father to your situation. Your guardian must be punished and a new one appointed, one who has your best interests at heart.”

  Eloise dropped the plate she was drying. Ignoring the broken pieces, she twisted to face him, her eyes widening. “You mustn’t do that. You’ll only get me into trouble, as my guardian is well within their rights to treat me however they see fit.”

  “I see.” He nodded slowly, wondering how that could be the case. The more likely story was she had run away from an unsavoury marriage and feared being made to return. Not even a king could interfere with a husband’s treatment of his wife. That a young woman might prefer a life of servitude to one of marital abuse was understandable, Destrian supposed, a sick feeling settling in his gut at the realisation he might not be able to help her.

  Letting the matter drop, he watched her perform a variety of chores. It was only after she had scrubbed their muddied clothes, chopped up some root vegetables and what looked like dried mutton and placed them in a pot hanging over the fire, swept the floor using a broom made from twigs, and brought in some more firewood during a slight lull in the rain that she finally sat down to rest.

  He wanted to ask her about herself, to learn more about the girl he feared may have already ensnared his heart. But after her reaction to his offer to intervene on her behalf, he was wary of alarming her further. Hoping to set her at ease, he told her about himself instead, of life in the royal household
from when he was a boy and more recently, in the Kingdom of Angeles. While knitting socks on four thin needles, she listened avidly, asking questions and giving him glimpses into the way her mind worked with her insightful comments. Wanting to keep her engaged, he told more stories, gleaning what he could about her in the process.

  He suspected Eloise’s mother had been a lady-in-waiting to Queen Muriella, her father a courtier, or even a knight, before his fall from favour. Discovering her identity and learning where she lived once he made it to the palace shouldn’t be too difficult—unless she was in hiding and had given him a false name, a distinct and depressing possibility. Acknowledging that nothing could come of his attraction to the girl, Destrian justified his intentions by telling himself he only wanted to help her. He would do it discreetly, so as not to put her in any danger or jeopardise his own responsibilities. It was the least he could do after she saved his life.

  Itching to reach across the small space between them and run his fingers down the curve of her cheek, he ignored the fact that staying away from her was going to be nigh on impossible.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Destrian’s words trailed away, and his eyes fluttered closed, no doubt needing rest after his ordeal. Resisting the urge to watch him sleep, no matter how lovely he was to look at, she stood and stretched her tired muscles.

  She still couldn’t believe he had called her beautiful. The man might be heir to the throne, highly educated, and possessing a level of wealth and position she could only dream of, but she feared he was a tad daft. Busying herself with checking on their supper, she conceded the fall and knock to his head were likely to blame, though he had seemed quite lucid when talking about his life, his stories both witty and enlightening. Flattered by his interest in her opinion, she feared she may have disclosed more than she should about her past. Not that it mattered. Years had passed since her father’s fall from grace, any connection she had to their old life now a distant memory.

  The thing Eloise recalled most about visiting the palace when she was a girl, was how lovely her mother had looked in her regal gowns, with the jewels her step-mother now wore—or had been forced to pawn—adorning her graceful neck. After her mother’s death, and with tensions in the palace rising, her father had left her behind when he was about the king’s business, cared for by a bevy of servants. Later, when he had been busy ensuring their survival, he had worried about his only child, mistakenly assuming she would be better off with a step-mother and step-sisters to keep her company.

  Heaving a weary sigh, Eloise crouched down by the fire and tasted the stew she had prepared for Destrian’s and her supper, adding an extra sprinkling of dried herbs. Rising unsteadily to her feet—the events of the long day taking their toll—she gave in to the temptation to look at her reflection in the fragment of mirror. Some of the servants had mentioned her growing likeness to her mother, and she wondered if that was what he had seen. Her hair did look nice down around her shoulders, softening the angles of her face. A hint of a smile touched her lips, as she tried to remember the last time since she had looked in a mirror for any reason other than to make sure nothing was out of place, no smudges marked her cheeks, or locks of hair had come loose from the plain, scarf-covered bun she was required to wear. Placating her step-mother, a thankless task, had become force of habit over the years, anything to avoid another scolding, painful slap, or missed meal.

  In hindsight, Eloise wondered if she had overreacted to Destrian’s offer to intercede on her behalf. When Althelos was king the idea would have been unthinkable, but Cedric was purported to be a good man, just, not a war-monger like his brother.

  His son certainly seemed nice.

  Heat rose in Eloise’s cheeks, for the umpteenth time that day, and she rued her fair skin and the futile attraction that fluttered in her stomach. Unable to resist the urge to look his way, she concluded “nice” was a wholly inadequate description of the man who lay sleeping in her bed. His hair had dried in a haphazard fashion, the locks curling behind his ear and drawing her gaze to the auburn stubble shadowing his angular jaw. She was pleased to see some colour in his cheeks, not because of any foolish desire to caress them with the back of her fingers—though desire it she did—but because it was a sign of his recovery from the effects of his fall. Chewing on her lower lip, Eloise couldn’t deny the reason she was fascinated by the shape of his mouth was because she kept recalling the moment he had almost kissed her.

  But he hadn’t.

  Because he was nice and had misinterpreted her response as fear . . . which is what it should have been. Anything else was fraught with danger. Even if he had been true to his words and had no intention of harming her, the man was soon to be betrothed to a princess, their marriage vital to the alliance that could see peace restored. That he didn’t seem happy about the idea was no concern of hers.

  As for his petitioning for her to be assigned a new guardian, Eloise dismissed the idea with a shake of her head. Her father’s fortune, what hadn’t been plundered by the king’s tax collectors, had been all but squandered by his widow. If he had lived more than a few months past his wedding, he might have discovered the true nature of the woman he had married and taken measures to protect Eloise’s inheritance. But Gloria had kept her greed and spite well hidden, and now it was too late. A new guardian would have nothing to guard, other than Eloise’s virtue, which would soon be sold to the highest bidder. Echoing Destrian’s words from earlier, she agreed that a choice would be nice, but the odds of that happening were minimal, regardless of who was responsible for making the decision.

  Unless . . .

  Drawn closer to the bed, an idea formed in Eloise’s thoughts, one she had no right to entertain but that could not be easily dispelled.

  Chapter 4

  Eloise sent Destrian a nervous smile when she realised he was awake, his sleepy gaze following her actions as she dished up their supper. Her plan was improbable, the mere possibility causing her hands to shake.

  “You’re cold.” Sitting up, he removed the small quilt from around his shoulders. “Here, take this.”

  “No, that’s all right.” Averting her gaze from his bare chest, she gestured to where she had draped her shawl over the back of the chair. “It was dampened when I went out to fetch the last of the wood, but it’s almost dry. The rain had stopped, but the branches kept dripping, I’m afraid.”

  “The last of the wood?” He glanced towards the half dozen small logs stacked beside the fire. “You don’t have a stockpile?”

  “I normally do, but I let it run down.” Embarrassed to be caught short, Eloise ducked her head, though the situation was hardly her fault. After her last trip, she hadn’t planned on coming back to the cabin until the following spring, but her stepmother had refused to listen when she had argued it was too late in the season.

  “The truffles are still fruiting, are they not?” Gloria had countered, a fact Eloise could not deny.

  “If it snows, I could be trapped.”

  “Oh, stop being so melodramatic. The first snow storm isn’t due for another few weeks.”

  “But it could come earlier, and the storm season has already begun.” Eloise had taken a risk continuing to plead her cause, her stepmother unlikely to see reason when there was money to be made. Sure enough, she had raised her hand.

  “Enough excuses, you insolent girl.”

  Eloise had stood still to receive the slap that accompanied the hateful woman’s words, knowing that any attempt at evasion would only bring worse punishment.

  “If your father had not left us to fend for ourselves, I would not be forced to endure the indignity of having to engage in trade.”

  “My father didn’t leave us, he died.” Eloise had ground the words between her teeth, biting back the ones she would have loved to add. That his estate would have provided them a perfectly adequate living if Gloria didn’t insist on living so high on the hog.

  “The result is the same.” Her stepmother had sniffed. “My g
irls require the finest gowns for the king’s ball if they are to attract wealthy, noble suitors. The prince might soon be spoken for, though nothing has been announced, so he could be enticed by their beauty. Regardless, he has brothers and cousins, any one of whom is sure to look favourably on two such lovely creatures.”

  Eloise had attempted to hide a snort behind a pretend coughing fit, but Gloria had eyed her shrewdly.

  “Don’t worry, my dear, you won’t miss out on the joys of matrimony. But whereas your nuptials will ensure I am kept in trinkets for a season, the alliances my daughters make will ensure my future. You cannot expect them to wear gowns that have been seen before. I need those truffles, and you will not return until you have gathered enough to cover the seamstress’s account . . . though I won’t have you dilly dallying. Is that clear?”

  “Perfectly, ma’am.” Hiding the fists her hands had formed in the folds of her apron, Eloise had gone to prepare for a sojourn in the forest she was aware would be cold, damp, and potentially dangerous. She had tried to plan for all contingencies but hadn’t counted on being required to provide refuge to a prince. And not just any prince. She could only imagine Millicent’s and Winifred’s fury if they found out she had not only met the prince before them but that he had almost kissed her. Of course, they must never know, or Gloria would see she was soundly beaten for putting her reputation, and those of her stepsisters, at risk.

  Ludicrous as it seemed to Eloise, being forced to spend days alone in the forest didn’t count. Regardless of the fact that, as a servant, she lacked both chaperonage and adequate protection, her stepmother was quite insistent Eloise must remain a virgin until she wed. While one’s reputation could be fabricated, purity was verifiable and quite the selling point. If Gloria learned Eloise had spent time alone with a man, days and nights alone, the consequences would be dire. Although not as dire as if they ran out of firewood and the heir to the Kingdom of Varianda froze to death on her watch.