by Dawn Cook
My threatened tears vanished at the sound of a key in my lock. I spun, frightened, as Jeck strode in unannounced. Past him in the torchlit hallway were two sentries. He tucked the key into an inner pocket. “Your Highness,” the imposing, square-shouldered man drawled, and my heart pounded.
“Knock before you come into my rooms,” I demanded as I wiped the back of my hand across my eyes. “I may be a prisoner in my own palace, but I’m still the princess.” I took a false strength in that he would have to treat me as such even though he knew the truth.
“My mistake,” he said and smiled. It looked like an honest reaction, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. His gaudy hat with the excessive drooping feathers was missing, and I thought he looked better without it. “Prince Garrett has requested your presence for dinner,” he continued, standing with his hands behind his back at parade rest. “I’ll carry you if you refuse. You may want to walk, though. He’s undoubtedly going to propose, and you’ll want to look your best.” He hesitated, his brow furrowing. “Don’t you have anything nicer than that to wear?” he asked.
My mouth dropped open—part anger, part embarrassment. “Perhaps if the Misdev dog gave me my court, I could manage a decent appearance,” I said stiffly. “Tell him if he wants a proper princess, he will have to supply me with the trappings. He should check with his guards first, seeing as they stole my jewelry.”
A smile quirked the corners of Jeck’s mouth, then was gone. “Prince Garrett has your baubles,” he said. “Tell him yourself.”
He reached for my shoulder, and I jerked back. Annoyed, he reached out again, gripping my shoulder with a painful strength through his soft leather gloves. My affront that he dared touch me warred with common sense, and I did nothing as he turned so the guards in the hallway couldn’t see his face. “I also found a knife under your pillow, darts, a whip, and enough rope to tie down a bull,” he murmured, a blatant question in his soft voice and brown eyes. They were the color of earth in the candlelight, with flecks of gold. “It’s unusual for a princess to know the art of defense,” he breathed, sending a loose strand of my hair to tickle my neck.
“But I’m not a princess, now, am I?” I whispered, my heart pounding as I shrugged out of his grip.
“So I’ve been told.” A wary tone had darkened his voice, and he rested his hand upon the butt of his sword as he gave me a visual once-over. “Out,” he demanded.
I draped the same black scarf that he had used to tie my hands with earlier over my shoulders like a shawl of grief, blew out my candle, and went before him. The way was darker than usual, with only every other lamp lit. We passed no one as Jeck and two sentries escorted me through the silent passages, and it felt cold. I walked beside Jeck, wondering why he asked the two sentries to slow when it was obvious I was having trouble keeping to their pace. He knew I wasn’t the princess. Why did he bother with any kindness?
I was getting the distinct impression that Jeck didn’t care if Garrett succeeded in his plans to take my mother’s lands or not. It seemed as if Jeck was waiting, riding the waves until he knew which way the wind was going to shift. Waiting for Garrett to make a mistake?
My mind whirled as we passed from the corridor into the formal banquet hall. It echoed with a high blackness, but a warm yellow light spilled into the spacious room from the small dining room between it and the kitchen. Jeck took my elbow, his grip tightening when I tried to pull away. “Stop touching me,” I demanded, and my face burned when he outright ignored me.
We entered to find the room empty but for the long table. There were only two chairs—one at either end instead of the usual three clustered in the middle—and a wave of grief almost buckled my knees. With more grace than I would’ve credited him, Jeck guided me to a chair and made me sit before the elaborate place setting. I was too upset to be amused that I didn’t have a table knife. And sitting with my back to the archway to the kitchen instead of the hearth made me uneasy.
“I’ll stay,” Jeck said to the guards who had accompanied us. He shifted a step away from me and fell into a parade rest. “I want Olen as Prince Garrett’s escort, then you’re relieved.”
The two sentries left the way we had come. Looking over the familiar room, a pang of heartsickness settled heavy in my middle. This was where I had eaten most of my meals with my parents. The room had no windows but was bright with oil lamps. Sitting between the kitchen and the large banquet hall, it served as a staging area for food on the occasions we had a large function. There was a fireplace we used in the winter. Right now the ugly black hole of the empty hearth was hidden behind one of the ceiling-to-floor tapestries that softened the room.
Jeck stood with a relaxed tautness, his well-honed body held still while thoughts unknown occupied him. I watched his square jaw alternately tense and relax, and I wondered if he would leave when Garrett came so I could kill the Misdev cur with no interference. “Are you the captain of Garrett’s guard?” I asked suddenly.
Jeck shifted, seeming surprised that I had broken my silence. “I act in that position.”
“What else do you do?” I persisted, hearing the lack of completeness in his words.
“Keep him alive when he does something foolish,” he muttered.
Nodding, I shifted my empty wineglass to the proper side of my plate. He was charged with Garrett’s safety just as Kavenlow had been charged with mine. Garrett had said he was acting without the blessing of his father. Perhaps Jeck might be open to working against Garrett’s interests in order to maintain his king’s? Starting a war with your neighbor is not undertaken lightly, and embarrassing if your son does it without your knowledge.
“Jeck,” I said, hesitating as I fumbled for the proper term of respect. “Captain,” I added. “I don’t have the luxury of time to be delicate. Are you King Edmund’s man, or his son’s?”
There was a creak of leather as he looked at me, then away. “You are a nosy woman.”
My boot tapped silently under my skirt. “I won’t sit idly by and let Costenopolie fall to Prince Garrett,” I said as I turned the plate so the pattern was right side up.
Jeck made a puff of amusement. “Prince Garrett’s chances of success are excellent. And you have overestimated your reach, Princess. I’m charged by my king to protect his son. I’ll kill you before I let you harm him.”
It wasn’t a boast—it was a simple statement—but I was too drained to be afraid. My eyes rose at the soft cadence of boots in the banquet hall. Garrett entered, accompanied by the old sentry from this afternoon. Three men, I thought as the older man took up a position behind Garrett. I had four needles—two of which would be needed to kill Garrett. The odds were not slanted enough in my favor.
I was shocked to find myself thinking Garrett looked all the more handsome. He entered the room with a poise and confidence that hid the ugliness of his true nature. His fair hair had been slicked back, and his jawline was firm. Moving with a predatory grace, his every motion screamed of his comfortable expectation of supremacy. But then I noticed his riding boots gave him more height than he deserved. And when he met my eyes with a cold distaste, my impression of him reversed from a powerful man to a spoiled child.
Garrett’s brow rose mockingly as he took in my subdued attire and black shawl. He had changed into a more decorative uniform. Gold glittered from his sleeves and collar, and I wondered if they were my father’s adornments. Yes, my father, I thought as grief pulled my eyes down. My entire life was a lie, but they had been my parents, and I would have my justice.
“Princess Contessa,” Garrett said with no emotion. He went to the far seat, not bothering to take my hand in greeting as I deserved and so denied me the pleasure of kicking his shin. “How gracious of you to join me for dinner,” he added as he shook out his napkin and sat.
I let mine lay where it was. I had no intention of eating, starving though I was.
“Olen, tell the cook we’re ready,” Garrett prompted irately, as if his sentry should know the niceties of p
olite dining as well as how to split an opponent with three strokes. My pulse hammered as the old guard went into the kitchen passage behind me. Two men; four darts. Olen would be back. I had to get Garrett alone. My foot under my dress jiggled nervously.
“Silent?” Garrett said, and my eyes flicked to his. “Good,” he said as he poured a glass of wine for himself. “Stay that way.”
I stilled my foot. “You are a cur,” I said softly, knowing my words would carry in the small room. “I’m going to send you home in a box. There will be holes for flies. By the time you get to your father, he will see as clearly as I the maggots that infest you.”
Garrett sipped his drink, his amused gaze going from mine to Jeck’s. The captain shifted himself closer to me. His leather-gloved hand rested upon his sword hilt.
“I like you better silent,” Garrett said.
“Your father will thank me,” I predicted. “He sent you to marry into my family’s blood, not destroy it. He won’t like you altering his plans.” Garrett’s pale face colored, and I guessed I had found a sore spot. “Second sons are always a problem,” I added, and he clenched his jaw. There was a scuff behind me, and I stiffened as Olen returned.
“It will be a few moments, Prince Garrett,” the guard said as he took up his spot again.
“Good.” Garrett’s once-beautiful green eyes were ugly, and his smooth cheeks were red with anger. “I’ve something for you.” He rose from his chair and set his napkin aside. My stomach tightened as he approached, and my fingers trembled at the chance to dart him. My eyes flicked to Jeck. He was watching closely, and I forced my breathing to slow.
Garrett took a handful of green, purple, and silver from his pocket. I recognized the familiar sound of sliding stones and metal as jewelry. I held deathly still as Garrett went behind me. I stifled a shudder as my scarf slid from me like water to make a black puddle upon the floor. He draped a necklace in its place. Green and purple stones so dark as to be almost black decorated it, making an obscene show of privilege. It was extravagant and heavy with wealth. My proposal gift. “That’s for you,” he said as he stepped away. “Now we can wed.”
“Why a wedding?” I said, refusing to look at it. “You have what you want.”
“By force,” he admitted as he resettled himself in his chair. His elbows went on the table, and he leaned forward, looking entirely reasonable and pleasant. “I want it legally, as well. I won’t leave an opening for my father to take my kingdom to add to his own. I will prove to him that I’m more worthy than my brother. Once the rest of my men get here, I will secure your ships and harbors. You will be coronated shortly after that, followed by our marriage.”
“Then my death?” I said caustically, though I was shaking inside.
His face was sickeningly indifferent. “That’s up to you.”
“My parents are dead,” I said, making my words harsh so I would feel nothing. “Do you think no one will notice?”
“Oh, I expect them to.” He picked up his table knife and idly balanced it upon the tip of a finger. “I have their crowns, and that is what makes a sovereign.” He smiled. “That and one’s birth. But you know all about that, don’t you? The survivors are the ones who write the history books. What does it matter to the common man who sits on the throne?” He set the knife down. “No one will care, Princess, as long as the goods keep moving.”
Disgusted, I undid the necklace’s clasp and threw the jewelry across the room. It hit the floor in a pile of glittering stone and metal. The old sentry behind Garrett shifted. Jeck never moved, quietly watching. Thin lips tight, Garrett rose to retrieve it. “How long you live after we consummate our marriage is up to you. There will be no children. You won’t be allowed to carry them to term.”
He paced the length of the table to me, his anger hidden but for the sharpness of his steps. Jeck was poised as Garrett replaced the necklace. I kept my hands in my lap with a white-knuckled strength. I’d never dart all of them. I had to get Garrett to make them leave.
“If you are troublesome I’ll feed you to your dogs,” Garrett whispered in my ear from over my shoulder. “Be agreeable, and I’ll simply treat you like one.”
My breath came and went. Anger, I thought, my hands beginning to sweat in their tight grip. Garrett was reckless when he was angry. If I could make him angry, he would want to remind me I was a guttersnipe. He couldn’t do that properly unless the sentries left, especially his more valuable captain.
The beginnings of an idea set my heart to hammer. I waited until he sat down and took up his wine before I yanked the necklace off, snapping through the clasp. It reached the wall this time. There was a crack of a jewel breaking.
Garrett’s face reddened. “Gutter trull,” he snarled, standing so quickly his chair scraped against the stone floor. “You broke it!”
“Princess,” I insisted, making the word as imperialistic as I could. “Put that on me again, and I’ll toss it into the harbor’s chu pits the first chance I get.”
“It would suit you better then, wouldn’t it,” he said, his perfect hair shifting out of place.
“Look at you,” I mocked. “Coming to the table smelling of horse and with dust on your boots. You’re nothing but an unwanted extra son to be sold for your father’s gain.”
“Shut your mouth!” he cried, his refined voice harsh.
“Don’t speak to me in that tone,” I demanded. “I am Your Highness or Princess.”
Garrett crossed the room in tight strides. “You two, get out,” he said to the guards, but his eyes were on me. His fingers were trembling, and his freckles were lost behind his red face.
My pulse raced, and I worked to keep victory from my eyes. “Second son,” I goaded. “Worthless but for what a woman can give him.”
“Leave us,” Garrett said through gritted teeth. “I have a few words of love I wish to speak to my bride, and I am—shy.”
Olen edged to the door, but Jeck stood firm. Garrett took his murderous eyes from mine. “I said leave!” he demanded.
“Prince Garrett, I’m against this. She is—”
“A woman!” Garrett said, spitting the words. “Get out.”
“This is a mistake—”
Garrett stiffened. “Get—out,” he repeated. “Don’t contradict me again.”
A muscle near Jeck’s eye twitched. I stiffened as he moved, not to the door, but to me.
“What are you doing?” Garrett exclaimed as Jeck took a cord from his pocket and began binding my unresisting hands in my lap.
“Securing her before I go, Prince Garrett.” His words were clipped and seethed with frustration. I could smell his sweat of repressed anger as his one hand gripped both my wrists.
“Get out!” Garrett shouted, cuffing the larger man. His raised voice brought a Misdev guard from the kitchen, looking awkward wearing an apron in his new role of cook. “I don’t need a woman tied up before me. Get out before you’re whipped!”
I shivered, though the anger in Jeck’s eyes wasn’t directed at me. The cord slipped from my wrists and disappeared into Jeck’s pocket. The guard from the kitchen eased back into hiding, and the old sentry stood uncomfortably by the archway to the banquet hall.
“Prince Garrett,” Jeck said flatly, “my apologies.” He turned on his heel and left with Olen going first. I didn’t watch him leave. I couldn’t. If Jeck recognized the victory in my eyes, I knew he would risk a whipping and stay. The sound of Jeck’s thick boots was loud in the banquet hall, and I swore I heard the painful thump of something, or someone, hitting the wall.
“His father was a farmer,” Garrett said scornfully. “The breeding always shows.”
“Oh,” I said lightly. “Your mother ran on all fours, did she?”
Garrett lunged, grabbing my arm and pinching it painfully. “You may want to shift your grip higher,” I taunted, ignoring the hurt. “Most of my dresses show my arm there. It would be a shame to leave a bruise for everyone to see.”
“Beggar’s get!” h
e said, yanking me out of my chair, and forcing my back onto the table. “You’re my play-pretty,” the prince said, his beautiful face ugly. “Nothing more. Irritate me, and I’ll hurt you. Even a queen is alone from time to time, and you will be alone more than most, stupid woman.”
My eyes narrowed, my arm a flaming agony where he was gripping it. “Are you through?” I said, and his green eyes became choleric. He yanked me up. I reached for a needle. I jammed it into his chest.
Garrett stumbled back, releasing me. “Slattern!” he cried, plucking out the dart and throwing it to the floor. “I’ll beat you myself for that!”
I scrambled sideways along the table as he grabbed for me. But his stance wavered. Face ashen, his hesitated. He met my expectant expression in horror, realizing the needle was more than decoration. His mouth opened, and he clutched at his chest. He made a strangled moan. I watched, shocked and horrified at how fast he crumpled to the floor.
Heart pounding, my gaze darted from one empty archway to the other. How much time? I thought as I knelt by the convulsing prince. “You’re a Misdev dog,” I whispered, knowing from experience he would remember everything until he passed out. “You’re foolish and ambitious, and your father will thank me for ridding him of such a dangerous combination.”
“N-n-n-n-n,” Garrett stammered, his eyes rolling back and his limbs jerking. Foam caught at the corners of his mouth. He was terrified, and rightly so. Not knowing if you would be able to stop jerking long enough to take a clean breath was enough to make one insane. I wiped the sweat of remembered fear from my hands, glad when he passed out, his limbs going slack and still.
“Cur,” I muttered, feeling ill as I rolled him over so I could see his shoulder. Pulling another needle from my topknot, I lifted his collar. I’d take his life as easily as a rabbit’s.
