It was the slap Richard had expected from her days before, and even as it stung his cheek, he realized that he deserved it. Something about her brought out the devil in him. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew that before he left her and the farm the following morning there was something he needed to hear from her.
“That first day, when I woke up, before I asked you your name, you asked, ‘Is it you?’ What did you mean by that?”
Violet blushed fiercely and turned her face away from him, looking to the grass at their feet. “Nothing,” she answered shortly. “You must have been delirious.”
“No, I didn’t yet have the fever, and I remember clearly my conversation with you and your father. I heard what you asked. What did it mean?” he pressed.
Violet turned and started walking toward the house. “I’m hungry. We should go eat lunch.”
Richard caught her by the arm and spun her around to face him, his curiosity raging out of control. “Did you recognize me? Had we met? Were you asking if I was the prince?”
“Yes, that was it,” she stammered, though she refused to meet his eyes.
“You are lying to me,” he said, surprised that she would be so daring and even more surprised that it mattered to him. Richard took a deep breath and then, using the very voice he used to command lesser nobles to do his bidding, he ordered, “Tell me what you truly meant.”
The wind picked up around them and blew Violet’s hair back from her face so that it stood out nearly straight. Richard felt the wind’s cold fingers plucking at him, but he stood rooted to the ground, waiting for her answer.
Finally, she looked up at him, and her great violet eyes met his. “It’s just a game I’ve played for a couple of years now. Whenever my eyes meet those of a man my age, I wonder if he’s going to be the one I’ll marry. It was just habit. I wondered the same about you, before I knew who you were. When you were just a nameless stranger lying in my bed. I never meant to say anything out loud.”
Richard’s heart began to pound, hard and savage. He leaned closer to stare more deeply into her eyes. His mouth had gone dry. All this time he had been searching the world over for his bride, and this girl had been searching this village for her groom. It seemed impossible that they should have met, but they had. Was it fate?
When he spoke, it was no more than a whisper. “Is it me?” Richard asked. Their faces were only inches apart, and the question shimmered in the air between them. He forgot to breathe, waiting for what she might say. But Violet just stared up at him with eyes that could consume a man’s soul.
Her lips parted, and she seemed about to speak. A sudden shout caused them both to jump. Violet stepped away from him.
Her father stood waving his hat in the doorway of the house.
Richard thought he saw a tear trickle down her cheek, but he realized it was a raindrop when one hit his brow.
“Father Paul must be here,” Violet said, her voice strained. Then she picked up her skirts and ran toward the house.
He followed, watching the sway of her golden hair. What had she been about to say? Somehow Richard had the feeling that he would never know.
Suddenly Violet stopped. He could tell she was staring off in the distance toward the castle. He followed the line of her vision and saw the storm clouds rapidly spreading from that direction. Another drop of rain fell, heavier than the first, followed by another and then another.
The storm came, sudden and unexpected. Violet and Richard barely made it inside before the lightning started. Violet stood at the window, shivering as she stared out into the darkening afternoon.
The priest was tending to her mother, and Sarah seemed worse than the day before. While Father Paul was talking with William, Richard came and stood beside Violet, staring out at the rain.
“Do you care for me?” he asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
“Would it matter?” Violet asked.
He hesitated, as if looking for the right words.
She plunged in, fear and bitterness tugging at her hushed voice. “No, it wouldn’t,” she answered for him. “It’s not about you or me; it’s about kingdoms and treaties and wars and alliances. You said so yourself.”
Richard seemed to have no answer, for he turned away, retreating to the center of the room. Violet could hear her father, the priest, and Richard talking together in low tones, but she continued to stare out the window.
When Violet went to bed that night, she couldn’t sleep for many hours. Everything seemed to be happening so quickly that she couldn’t make sense of it. She thought of the conversation with Richard, about the princesses he had met, and she felt a sharp pang as she wondered which would be his wife. She thought about the kiss, and her lips burned with the memory of it. There was so much to take in. And then there was the storm, so soon on the heels of the first. Violet drifted off to sleep, fear curling around her heart. In the morning, when she awoke, everything had changed.
CHAPTER FOUR
As soon as she opened her eyes, Violet knew something was wrong. The air was cold, and she reached for a shawl as she sat up. Shivering, she wrapped it around herself before shrugging off her blanket and standing up. She found her father sitting at the table, his head in his hands. She glanced around the room. Richard wasn’t there and in her heart, she knew he was gone. Violet’s eyes fell on her parents’ bed, and a chill settled on her as she saw her mother’s still form.
“Mother?” Violet whispered.
Her father looked up at her, and she could see that he had been crying. “There’s nothing more Father Paul can do.”
Tears stung her eyes. “How long?” Violet asked, her voice shaking.
“Could be anytime.”
Her mother stirred, and Violet pulled a chair up next to the bed. Her mother opened her eyes and looked at her. “There’s something you need to know,” she said, her breathing ragged and her face pinched in pain.
“Don’t try to talk; just rest,” Violet urged. “You need your strength to get better.”
She shook her head. “I’m dying, Violet, and I need to tell you the truth before I do.”
Violet felt the tears sliding down her cheeks. “What is it, Mother?”
“That’s just it,” Sarah whispered. “I’m not your mother.”
Richard’s heart was heavy as he rode up to the castle. He had left in the dark hour before dawn, without rousing Violet. William had seen him off, and he’d left the man with a few coins and the warmest thanks. It had been a cowardly act, but Richard hadn’t trusted himself to say good-bye to Violet.
She was amazing. She was strong yet graceful, intelligent and compassionate. She was everything he would want in a wife and nothing that his parents would accept. “Violet, why couldn’t you have been a princess?” Richard whispered to the wind, wondering if it would carry his words to her.
While it had rained lightly throughout most of the morning, the sun shone weakly in the sky. Richard could tell from the look of the dark clouds on the horizon, though, that it was only a temporary respite from the storm. It looked like he would beat the rest of it as he drew close to the castle.
A cry went up from the watchtower as the guards recognized him and his horse. The sound used to thrill him, but this time Richard squared his shoulders with a groan. He was home, which meant that in a few weeks’ time he would be married off to some useless girl of his parents’ choosing. He touched his heels to Baron, and they cantered into the courtyard.
No sooner had he reined the horse to a stop and dismounted than princesses seemed to pour out of every doorway, calling and waving to him. Amidst the noise and confusion his father suddenly appeared, a smile on his face, and wrapped his arm around him.
“Welcome home, son. I see you’ve found a wife.”
Richard could feel his heart sink. “Which one?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but we’ll figure that out soon enough.”
Richard looked around. He saw the girl whose foot had been bruis
ed by the rose petal. She looked like she was going to faint from the overexertion of the moment. One of the other girls jostled her, and she cried out in anguish. Prince Richard shook his head. All of the princesses vied for his attention except for one. He recognized her from the mountaintop castle. She was so small in stature as to be remarkable, and she stood back from the group, a look of vague interest on her face, but nothing more. Richard sighed. At least she had some dignity, and he found himself hoping she would beat out the others.
“Can we speak in private?” he asked his father.
The king nodded. “Your mother wants to see you first.”
“I’ve missed you both,” Richard admitted. He took a deep breath. “And the three of us need to talk.”
When the three of them were seated in his parents’ chambers, with greetings exchanged and servants dismissed, Richard took a deep breath. “I found the woman I want to marry.”
His parents both looked surprised. “Which girl is she?” his mother asked.
“She’s not here.”
“When do you expect her to arrive?” his father asked.
“Actually, I’m not expecting her to arrive at all.”
“Who is she?” the queen asked, her blue eyes sparkling intently. It was strange—with her porcelain skin, black hair, and blue eyes she looked nothing like Violet, and yet in some strange way he found similarities in them. He shook his head, wondering if because he loved her, he would always see Violet in every woman he knew.
“Her name is Violet. Her father works a farm half a day’s ride from here, and she saved my life.”
“I think you’d better start from the beginning,” the king said.
Richard looked at his father. The king was several inches taller than him, with dark brown hair and a beard that always made him look like a lion. Richard had been told that while he had his mother’s looks, he had his father’s bearing. He took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height before beginning to tell them about the last few days.
When he reached the conclusion, he stood, trying not to betray his agitation over what their response would be. They were both silent for a moment, and then his father cleared his throat.
“Richard, grateful as we are to this young lady and her parents, we cannot allow you to marry her.”
In his heart Richard had known that was how his father would respond, but he couldn’t control the anger that rose in him. “She is a stronger and nobler woman than any of the simpering princesses that are in this castle,” he said.
“That might be, but you know that you have to marry a princess. We need a strong alliance with another kingdom,” his mother said.
“We also need to solidify our position here,” his father said.
Richard wished with all his heart that the old monarchs hadn’t been assassinated. Then he would be only a nobleman, not a prince, and he could have married the girl he wanted.
“I’m sorry,” his father continued. “But it must be a princess. Now that you’re here, the competition will begin tomorrow.”
“And what exactly is this competition of yours going to entail?” Richard asked through gritted teeth.
“Six distinct challenges testing the sensitivity and nature of each princess. The princess who passes all the challenges will be your bride.”
His fate sealed, Richard took his leave of his parents and headed for his room. He was halfway there when he heard joyous barking and turned to see a dog racing down the hall toward him.
“Duke!”
The dog leaped into his arms and licked his face, forcing him to laugh. “I missed you too, boy.”
Together they continued to Richard’s chambers. A giant four-poster bed dominated the bedroom area. Furs covered the stone floors, and tapestries that had been woven commemorating the defeat of Lore graced the walls. He stood in front of the one that depicted the slaughter of the old king and queen. He had often stared at it, the royal family in their chamber, eyes wide in death. To the left, soldiers of Lore were leaving the room. To the right, several people stood grieving: servants, a woman with a child, soldiers. He and his parents featured prominently among the mourners. He turned away; the past couldn’t be changed, and apparently neither could his future.
He looked around and thought about the long year that he’d been gone. So many things he had seen and done, and yet here he was again, seemingly no wiser or bolder than when he had left.
I should have forced the priest to marry Violet and me. If I had brought her home as my wife, there would have been nothing my parents could do. For one wild moment Richard thought about slipping away and going back to her. Slinking away like a cur in the night wasn’t exactly courageous, though.
He was tired. It had been a long journey, and his head ached as though to remind him that he was still recovering from his injury. He sank down on his bed and wondered what new horrors awaited him in the coming weeks. Duke just whined and licked his hand.
Violet stared at her mother in disbelief. “Why would you say such a thing?” she asked, wondering if the illness had affected Sarah’s mind.
“Because it’s the truth, and it is long past time that you knew it.”
Her father rose from his chair and came to stand behind Violet. He put his hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at him. “Your mother is speaking the truth.”
“Are you my real father?” Violet asked.
“No, but I couldn’t love you any more if I were.”
“Then who are my parents?”
“We’re not entirely sure,” he said.
Violet stared at one and then the other in disbelief. “Was I a foundling? Did you discover me in the forest like some fairy child?”
The idea was absurd, but no more absurd to her than the thought that the people she loved so dearly were not her parents.
William sighed deeply and then sat on the edge of the bed. He took his wife’s hand in his, and together they looked at Violet.
“Seventeen years ago we were at war with Lore,” William said.
“I know. The Feasting is when we celebrate our victory.”
“For many months it wasn’t certain that we would win. The turning point of the war came during one of the fiercest storms anyone could remember,” Sarah said.
A storm. Of course. For one wild moment she wondered if maybe it wasn’t her fortunes alone that were tied to the tempests, but those of the entire kingdom.
“Assassins entered the castle in the middle of the night under the cover of the storm and murdered the royal family as they slept,” William said.
Violet nodded, still not sure where they were going with the story. “And the outrage brought on by the atrocity was what spurred the people of Cambria to ultimate victory.”
“Yes,” William said.
“How does any of this relate to you not being my real parents?”
“In the hours before dawn, before anyone knew what had happened at the castle, we were woken by someone pounding on the door,” Sarah said. She paused and coughed a couple of times, each one sounding more painful than the last. She finally stopped, but her eyes were watering, and there was blood on the kerchief she was holding.
William squeezed Sarah’s hand, the pain in his eyes almost unbearable. “It’s okay, Mother. I can tell it.”
Sarah nodded and closed her eyes for a moment as if to gather her strength.
“A woman was standing outside in the storm,” William continued. “She had a baby with her, a little girl less than a month old, with the most beautiful violet-colored eyes.”
Violet began to shake.
“The woman said her name was Eve and that she was your nurse, and she begged us to take you in, to keep you safe, and to never tell anyone where you had come from. She said that men might come looking for you, to kill you. We offered you both shelter from the storm. You were so tiny, so helpless. We agreed to take care of you, but Eve refused to stay and was gone soon after. She promised to return when it was safe, if she
could. We never saw her again, though.”
“And did men come looking for me?”
“Yes. They were soldiers of Lore. They claimed that they were looking for a kidnapped child. They tried to pretend they were Cambrians, but we knew they were not. The men arrived not an hour after the woman had left.”
“And you told them that I was your child?”
“We did indeed, and they believed us and left. The next day we had word about the tragedy at the castle, that all the royal family had been killed: the king, the queen, two young princes, and a baby girl three weeks of age. There were rumors, however, that the girl’s body wasn’t found.”
Violet gasped. “A baby girl! That could have been me.”
“We have loved you and raised you as our own. But we have long suspected that you were the infant princess, saved by a nursemaid and hidden from all.”
“Is this true?” Violet asked, turning to look at her mother.
Sarah nodded and then reached out her arms and folded Violet into an embrace.
“Why are you telling me all this now?”
“We should have told you years ago, but we were selfish, afraid we’d lose you,” William said.
Violet began to weep. “That could never have happened.”
“When the war was over, we were afraid how the new king and queen would react if they discovered the rightful heir was alive. They might have taken you from us, or worse.”
A chill danced up Violet’s spine. Had she escaped death and never known it?
“But now you must go to the castle,” Sarah said, her voice weaker.
Violet shook her head. “I don’t want to be a princess or a queen. I just want to be your daughter. The king and queen have gotten along fine all these years. There’s nothing I could do for them, nothing I could offer.”
“It’s not them that we’re thinking of,” William said quietly.
“The boy loves you,” her mom said.
Violet blushed. “He barely knows me.”
“He knows enough. It’s possible to fall in love all in a moment. Your father and I did,” Sarah said, smiling gently at her husband.
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