The Decoy Princess

by Dawn Cook

  Garrett leaned close, smug and confident. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes!” my father shouted, beaten. “Yes. She’s there. I swear it. Oh God, you took my May. She’s gone.” His head bowed to hide his eyes, and he slumped.

  Garrett made a satisfied noise and motioned the guard to take the knife from me.

  I took a shuddering gasp of air. My father pulled his eyes up. They met mine from under his mussed hair falling about his face. My only warning was the tightening of his jaw.

  Crying in rage, my father struck at the guards. I broke free of the grip on me at my father’s triumphant shout as he took another’s sword and drove it deep into its previous owner.

  “Run, Tess!” he shouted, magnificent as he fought the Misdev guards in his nightclothes. The softness I’d always seen was gone. He swung and parried, swirled and danced in a pattern of movement and sound given purpose and grace by the grief in his heart. His shouts were thundering vengeance, his blows carried the might of desperation of a loss never to be paid. He stood over his fallen love and fought as if mad, thinking only to assuage the pain in him. Three Misdev guards fell before him, and Garrett’s brow furrowed.

  “Father!” I shouted as a soldier he thought downed ran my father through from the back.

  My father faltered. Horrified, I watched the second remaining soldier swing his sword in a smooth arc to land like an ax upon my father’s neck. His breath escaping in a pained sound, my father reached upward. Blood flowed past his fingers. Face confused, he slumped from the table to the floor. His outstretched hand touched my mother, and he went still.

  “No!” Garrett shouted, his beautiful face ugly with frustration. “You killed him! I needed him alive!”

  “He attacked me, Prince Garrett,” the man whined. “He killed Terrace.”

  “You bloody fool!” Garrett shouted, cuffing him with enough strength to send the man staggering. “He had to verify the true princess’s birth!”

  The man scrabbled backward, standing white-faced and shaking. The guard holding me tightened his grip. Heart pounding, I heard the distant sound of the door opening and feet on the path. Garrett scowled. Pulling me away from the guard holding me, he said, “Kill him.”

  The man who had murdered my father froze. His mouth opened and shut.

  “Sorry, Kent,” the soldier said, pulling his blade. “Better you than me.”

  Kent didn’t even try to run. Falling to his knees, he whispered a prayer, his eyes fluttering closed, unable to watch.

  I turned away, finding my head resting against Garrett’s chest. I tried to shove him away, but he pulled me close. His breath caught as the sound of a sword meeting bone thunked through me. My eyes closed, and I thought I was going to vomit.

  “His death is your fault,” Garrett whispered, his breath moving my hair. “The last one there? He’s dead, too. I can’t use the real princess now. Who would believe me? Everyone who knows who you are is going to die. Congratulations. You’re royalty again.”

  Horrified, I tried to break free. He held me tight, his strength far beyond mine. Sobbing, I stomped on his foot, and when his hand got too close, I bit it.

  “Slattern!” Garrett exclaimed, shoving me at the remaining sentry.

  I landed hard, crying out as the man brutally squeezed my arms. “Damn you, Garrett,” I spat. Garrett’s face showed a dark anger as he inspected his palm. It was his sword hand, and I had drawn blood. “I’ll see more of your blood before I’m dead. I promise you!” The words raged from me, hot in vehemence. I couldn’t look at my parents; I would collapse from the truth.

  Garrett stepped close. Green eyes placid, he drew his arm back and swung the flat of his hand at me. His palm met my cheek with an explosion of hurt so unexpected I almost didn’t recognize it as pain. I reeled and would have fallen had the last guard not been holding me.

  “Keep her quiet,” Garrett muttered as two guards came around the corner. Cheek burning, I gazed numbly at them, trying to make sense of it all. I couldn’t.

  The oldest paused as he took in the carnage, going ashen behind his salt-and-pepper beard. The other gave it only a brief glance. He was the only Misdev guard I’d seen who looked the part, being neither too old nor too young.

  Taking off his overdone hat with long drooping black feathers, he stood beside the prince with a comfortable ease. He wore a black sash about his narrow waist that the other guards lacked, and I guessed he was the captain of Garrett’s guards. He stood a good head taller than the prince, strong and broad of shoulders, in the prime of life.

  “You said you weren’t going to kill them,” the captain said. His eyes lingered on me. I alone was unhurt in the room, the blood on my nightdress and hands clearly not mine. My eyes widened at the man’s audacity.

  “It was your men who did it,” Garrett said tightly. “And I don’t need a king or queen, only a marriage. We have the outer garrisons. In sixteen days, the rest of my men will be here, and we will have the town and harbor. Until then, we will hold the palace and continue as if nothing has happened. Do you think you can manage that—Captain Jeck?”

  My eyes widened in understanding. Garrett was going to pass me off as the real princess. He was going to . . . He was going to kill Kavenlow!

  Garrett flicked his fair hair from his eyes and frowned at the blood on his uniform’s coat. “Have your men managed to find the last of the guards?” he asked as he took it off. Sweat stained his silk shirt underneath.

  “Yes, Prince Garrett.” It was a tight admission, and I could hear Jeck’s frustration for having to take such abuse from someone so young.

  Garrett’s smile made a mockery of his handsome face. “Good. Something done right. Lock them in their own cells. They will be oarsmen when we need them.”

  I stood in shock. My betrothal plans had been nothing but a ruse. Garrett glanced at me and rubbed his bitten hand. “Has her room been searched?”

  Jeck nodded. A part of me noticed his boots were as well-made as Garrett’s, but heavier.

  “Put her there,” Garrett said. “And keep someone outside her door. I don’t care if it’s the Second Coming, there will be a guard on her. Is that clear, Captain?”

  “Yes, Prince Garrett.” Jeck’s tone was heavy with repressed anger. “And the bodies?”

  Garrett had moved to the game board, his breathing slowing as he took in the shifting of the pieces that had occurred. My father’s careful plans to snag me had been destroyed, knocked askew in the slaughter. “Bury them in the gardens,” he said as he tipped a piece upright onto the wrong square. “All of them.”

  My stomach twisted. Buried without markers, without rites.

  “And, Jeck,” Garrett said idly. “Have someone run down their chancellor. He’s headed for a mountain peak called Bird Island.” The prince nudged a pawn on the dividing line to sit dead center on a black square. “When he joins up with a woman with straight, fair hair, I want them, and anyone with them, killed.”

  “Yes, Prince Garrett.”

  My pulse quickened. I had known it, but to hear it said aloud made it terrifyingly real.

  Garrett shifted to the opposite side of the board and reached for a black piece. “Knight takes pawn,” he said, eying me as he removed the piece and set it aside.

  “You’re wharf slime,” I said, knowing I would stay alive only as long as he needed me. “You’re the muck we scrape from the bottom of our boats and throw into the chu pits. Starving wolves wouldn’t eat you. Your insides will be drawn out through your nose. You—”

  Taking three steps, Garrett closed the gap between us. My eyes widened, and I gasped when he pulled his sword. Panicking, I twisted to escape. The guard’s grip on me jerked and went slack. I broke free and ran for the unseen door.

  “Catch her!” I heard.

  I fell, my feet pulled out from under me. Scrabbling violently, I twisted. The heel of my palm struck something. There was a pained grunt, and I was yanked to my feet. It was Jeck, the captain of the guard. The man
held me up off the floor. My pulse hammered, and I froze as his grip bit painfully into my arms. This one would give me twice the hurt if I struggled.

  There was a wet cough from the floor. My gaze darted from Jeck’s eyes to the tiles. I took a frightened breath, unable to look away. The guard had dropped me because Garrett had run him through. The young sentry writhed on the floor, his blood washing the slate tiles as he struggled to rise with little gurgles, finally falling still.

  “He was the best man I had!” Jeck exclaimed in frustrated anger. “Why?”

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” A bright flush hid Garrett’s freckles. “Get her to her room.”

  Jeck held me as Garrett wiped his sword clean and sheathed it. The Misdev prince walked past me without a glance, a frown twisting his youthful face into an ugly mask.

  “Let me go!” I demanded when Jeck pulled me down the path in Garrett’s footsteps. My fingers pried at his grip as Jeck pushed me stumbling through the door and into the hallway. It was quiet, with only one Misdev soldier standing guard. There was a soft shuffle as the old guard followed us out and closed the door to the solarium.

  Garrett was disappearing around a corner, flanked by two of his own. I twisted, stomping on Jeck’s foot. He grunted, his grip tightening on my arm. I went still. As his fingers loosened, I jammed my elbow into his gut, and his breath whooshed out. “Hold her,” Jeck gasped, and the old guard grabbed my shoulders.

  “Squirmy little thing, isn’t she?” he said, then yelped when I lunged at him, only to be yanked back before I could reach his eyes. The third man laughed until Jeck barked at him to be silent.

  As I fought to get free, Jeck wrenched my arms behind my back and bound my wrists with the black scarf he took from his waist. “Let me go!” I demanded, the pain from my shoulders making tears start. My hands were sticky from my mother’s blood. It felt awful.

  “Hold still,” Jeck muttered, jerking me roughly around and flinging me over his shoulder.

  Outraged, I kicked my bare feet at nothing. Jeck gave a little hop, resettling me as if I was a sack of salted fish. His shoulder cut into me, and I struggled for air. “Get the room cleaned,” Jeck said tersely. “Bury the bodies in the garden. Make it deep enough so the dogs don’t dig them up. I’ve got her all right.”

  “I said, let me—go,” I wheezed, feeling my face redden as Jeck started down the hallway. “Put me down. You’re a coward. A lackey for a spineless, gutless excuse of a man. Garrett is seaweed caught on my boat’s keel. He’ll kill you as quick as that soldier. He’s a cur. A—”

  Jeck turned the corner and shifted me from his shoulder to the floor. I made a tiny shriek as I slid from him, struggling to keep from falling while I found my balance. The hallway was empty, and I pressed against the wall in fear as Jeck stood before me. His arms were as strong and muscled as if he pulled nets all his life. His brown eyes were cold, and his jaw clenched under his closely cropped beard. He smelled like horse, and my mother’s blood on my nightdress stained his shoulder. “Why did he kill my man?” he asked in a whisper.

  “W-what?” I stammered, my fear faltering in surprise. He reached out, and a gasp slipped from me as he pinned me against the wall. The stones were cold on my back.

  “Why did Prince Garrett kill my best swordsman?” he asked again.

  My chin trembled. I wasn’t the princess. If that became common knowledge, Garrett would kill me and use the real princess despite the problems of ill confidence it might instill.

  Jeck saw my fear, and he jerked me up to push me back into the wall again. I bit my lip, refusing to cry out again as the stone hurt my shoulder. The man looked only a few years older than I was. He must be brutal to have gained captain so quickly.

  “Tell me, Princess,” he whispered, glancing down the empty hall. “King Edmund’s second son is reckless. Ambitious, but reckless. I want to get out of this alive. If I like what I hear . . . I’ll let you escape.”

  Hope warred with common sense. Hope won. “Prince Garrett killed him because he knew I wasn’t the crown princess,” I stammered.

  Jeck’s face went still. I felt three pounding heartbeats, and then he breathed, “The real one is on the road from Bird Island. The devil takes my soul. Who else knows?” I said nothing, and he shook me until my head snapped back. “Who else?” he demanded.

  “The chancellor and the real princess,” I blurted, frightened. I waited, hope making me hold my breath. He shook his head at my unspoken question. Despair took me. He wasn’t going to let me go. “No! Please!” I begged as he bent, grasping me about the waist and flinging me over his shoulder again.

  I cried and cursed, filling his ear with the foulest language I had overheard on the docks. He ignored me, not even puffing as he climbed the two flights of stairs to my apartments. There were two unfamiliar guards outside my room, and one held the door open. Jeck flung me onto the floor of my sitting room. I cried out as I hit the rug. The door slammed shut. Sobbing, I twisted and squirmed until I got my bloody, sticky hands free.

  “Coward!” I shouted, flinging an empty pitcher at the door before I even rose. It shattered into six pieces. Running to the door, I locked it from the inside. I spun, looking over the empty room that was now my prison. There was nothing in it to help me. Giving up, I flung myself onto the couch and cried.

  He had killed those I had called my parents. He was going to kill Kavenlow. And I was helpless to do anything about it.

  Five

  Standing before my vanity mirror in my outer room, I tugged my skirt down over my narrow hips to try to make the hem meet the floor. The gray dress I had on was too short, but it and my red underskirt were the only things I could put on without Heather’s help. My eyes closed at the reminder of her. I hoped she was safe with her young man beyond the walls. The front gates weren’t visible from my window, but what I could see of the grounds looked normal, as did the streets. It seemed as if no one was even aware the palace had been taken over.

  Slumping, I sat on the chair before the mirror with my elbows on the vanity—waiting. The night air pooled in my room, making goose bumps. I didn’t care. Pulling my gaze up, I found my eyes red-rimmed and miserable-looking in the light from the fire. My stomach growled, and I turned away, angry that my body went on while my soul had died. Earlier today, I’d thrown the meal the Misdev guard brought me out the window lest it be poisoned. In hindsight, I probably could have chanced it. Garrett needed me alive until he was sure Kavenlow wouldn’t be showing up with the real princess.

  “Kavenlow,” I whispered harshly, feelings of betrayal making my shoulders tense. He had known I was a foundling and never told me. The chancellor had been more available than my parents, in essence raising me as he filled my days with diversions when no one else had the time. And his devotion had been a lie, I thought bitterly. I had trusted him, loved him as a second father. I couldn’t be angry with my parents. They were dead. The blood pounded in my head as I held my breath. I wouldn’t cry. It had taken me all afternoon to stop the first time.

  Hand shaking, I reached for my brush. My day spent wallowing in self-pity had left my cheeks blotchy and my hair a tangled mat. I welcomed the sporadic jabs of pain as I yanked the brush through my curls. It reminded me I could feel something other than grief and betrayal.

  My reflection gray from the dusk, I began methodically arranging my hair. It seemed likely I would be dining with Garrett; I had a few extra preparations. Sniffing in a very unladylike manner, I piled my curls atop my head, binding the topknot together with a black ribbon. I wished I had a black dress to match it. Gingerly letting the arrangement go, I pulled my hairpin cushion close and plucked one of my decorative darts from it. I glanced at my door before I touched the flat of it to my tongue. Immediately it went numb. Satisfied the venom was still potent, I tucked the needle into my topknot.

  I had never defended myself with my darts before, but I knew firsthand what the venom did to me. Kavenlow had spent the last seven years conditi
oning me to it until I hardly noticed when I accidentally pricked myself. The convulsions and nausea had been frightening and painful until I passed out, leaving me ill and weak for days until my body developed the ability to throw the poison off quickly. Even now my left leg turned sluggish when I was tired. I had risked death every time. More proof I was an expendable pawn even to Kavenlow, bought to keep the real princess safe. Angels save me, I was a fool.

  I continued arranging my hair, finding only four needles from yesterday were still good. The last had chipped and gone dry. I threw it into my sitting room fire, nudging the remnants of my nightgown stained with my mother’s blood into the flames. I had tried to wash, but with only a small pitcher of water, I still had a tacky residue on my hands and legs. I refused to look at my trembling fingers, knowing ugly black stains still lingered in the cracks of my skin.

  Jaw gritted to seal away my grief, I closed my empty jewelry box. Garrett’s guards had looted my room, finding not only my jewelry but also my bullwhip, the knife under my pillow, the handful of unadorned darts I used for practice, and the rope I used to sneak out my window when the moon was full and I wanted to walk in the garden.

  I stood before the fire and fingered my dart pipe, wondering if it might be recognized as a weapon and lead to my hairpins being confiscated as well. Unwilling to chance it, I snapped the wooden tube in half and threw it into the fire. I’d have to get close enough to scratch Garrett. I didn’t think it would be a problem. I was sure he would be here soon—gloating.

  An unexpected pain prompted me to close my eyes. They weren’t my real parents, I told myself. They used me, bought me in the village like a horse or dog. But even as I thought it, I knew whether bought or born, I had been their child. And they had loved me.

  My throat closed in on itself, and I forced myself to breathe. Garrett had killed them. Tonight, I would return the favor, sending Garrett’s body back to his father with my regrets, blaming it upon the assassins who plagued us. Kavenlow might suspect what had really happened, but I didn’t care. The tears pricked, seducing a headache into existence as I refused to cry. I had thought Kavenlow loved me. It was all a lie. Everything.