by Silver, Ruth
Table of Contents
The Princess
The Mistake
Unburying Your Mistakes
The Disease
The Execution
The Ball
Princess Mara
Changes
Together
Teamwork
Dead Girl Walking
Ruth Silver
Also by Ruth Silver
ABERRANT
MOIRAI
ISAURA
ORENDA
Dead Girl Walking
First Edition
Patchwork Press
Copyright © 2014 Ruth Silver
Cover Image: Depositphotos.com [kevron2002]
Cover Design: Erica Crouch
Editors: Laurel L. Horan, Tracy Seybold, and Sheila Haab
All rights reserved.
eBook edition
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, any events or locales is purely coincidental. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination and are not to be constructed as real.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, with the exception of quotes used in reviews and critical articles. For information address Ruth Silver at [email protected] or visit her website http://writeawaybliss.com for details.
Dedication
For my second family down under. Bronwyn, Wendy, Philip, and Amy.
The Princess
Chapter 1
Ophelia waited until her family was asleep. Her little sister Mara's bedroom sat across the hall in the eastern tower. Mara was the closest, and the most likely to catch Ophelia sneaking out. Her father's room perched at the opposite end of the castle, in the top of the western tower. He slept through anything. Ophelia ditched the golden gown and left it in a heap on the floor, trading it for something less conspicuous. She needed to blend in where she was going. She couldn't do that with a crown atop her head, or the princess outfits she was accustomed to wearing. She didn't want to draw attention to herself.
“Ophelia?” Mara knocked on the bedroom door. She carried a candle to illuminate her way, and turned the handle, walking into her older sister’s room.
Ophelia cursed under her breath and stowed the gown behind the three-tiered changing screen. She hoped Mara was alone. “Come in.”
“You're going out,” Mara said. It wasn't a question. Ophelia was dressed in a bland beige and gray cotton dress. “Not much of a disguise with you wearing the crown.” The older princess lowered her head, and Mara carefully removed the golden tiara, placing it on the nightstand. “Is he really worth it?” She sat down on the edge of Ophelia's bed. Ophelia pulled at the ribbons holding her up-do, causing her red hair to cascade down her back.
“He's perfect.” Ophelia’s smile lit up her face just thinking about him. “Eyes like honey. Hair as dark and rich as the blackest night. Larkin will be the death of me.”
All of fourteen years old, Mara giggled and then threw her hand over her mouth, quieting down. “Don't be so dramatic. You could have it worse. Be like me, afraid to sneak out and get caught.”
Ophelia pushed a brunette strand of Mara's long hair behind her ear. “When I was your age, I wasn't thinking of boys and late-night rendezvous.”
“I wish I looked more like you,” Mara whispered.
Naturally curling, rich autumn hair, like crimson maple leaves, made Ophelia look just like their mother. Ophelia’s pale blue eyes caught all the boys’ attention, not that it mattered; she was to wed Prince Astin. “And I wish I looked more like you.” Ophelia kissed her sister's cheek. “Boys always love girls with a huge heart-melting smile. No one's smile beats Mara Dacre's.”
“When can I meet him?”
“When father won’t have a heart attack knowing I’ve been sneaking out.”
“Tell me about him. I want to hear a story.”
Ophelia sighed. She didn’t have time to tell her sister a story about Larkin, not without being late. However, she couldn’t resist her younger sister’s smile. Thinking of Larkin sped up her heart. “He’s warm, kind—a gentle soul. He helps those less fortunate. I’ve witnessed Larkin pay for a beggar's meal on many occasions.”
“Why would he do that? We provide rations to the poor.”
“Sometimes there isn’t enough. Or they’re too proud to come forward looking for help.” Ophelia dropped a kiss to her sister’s cheek. “He’s a gentleman. You’d like him, if you ever met him.”
“Maybe he’s doing this to impress you?”
“No.” She’d been around Larkin long enough to know what was real and what wasn’t. “He barely can afford his own plate. He’s taken on additional responsibilities to pay for our nights at the tavern.”
“Why don’t you pay?”
“He’d never allow it.” Ophelia refrained from telling Mara that she’d lied about her name and that she was the princess of Casmerelda. It was something Ophelia should have told Larkin, but she’d waited too long. Now it complicated matters. She’d fallen in love and feared she’d lose him.
“Do you love him?” Mara asked.
Ophelia smiled brightly. “Almost as much as you.”
“Have you kissed him yet?” Mara was full of questions tonight.
“Maybe.” Ophelia’s cheeks flamed at the admission. She wasn't supposed to be kissing other boys. Although her heart was tied to Larkin, in less than a year she would marry Prince Astin Stafford. A nice enough guy, but that didn't mean she loved him. He was always polite and asked permission from his parents before he did anything. In some ways, Ophelia despised that about Astin. He didn't have a mind of his own. Her parents had settled with an arranged marriage when they were young for the sake of the kingdom, but that wasn’t what she desired. Countless times she had contemplated running away, but where would she go? She couldn't hide forever.
Mara grinned, leaning forward at the edge of the bed. “Is Larkin a good kisser?”
Ophelia opened the trunk at the foot of her bed. She rummaged through for a moment, pulling out a dark blue cloak. The leaves had been falling fast, and winter was coming soon. She secured the ribbon around her neck and tossed the hood up over her head. She bent and dropped another kiss to her sister's cheek. “He's an amazing kisser. Now get out and go to bed!”
Mara whined, “I will, after I watch you leave.”
Ophelia rolled her eyes. No sense in arguing with Mara. She wouldn't rat Ophelia out for sneaking out of the tower and down to the city streets. Mara had known about Ophelia slipping out to meet Larkin for over a year. Ophelia unlocked the window and pushed the heavy glass upward. It squeaked, but no one ever came to check on her. Perhaps the guards knew what she was up to and didn't care? Or maybe they were too busy playing cards and gambling their night’s pay.
She swung one leg and then the other out the window, sitting on the ledge. “Leave it cracked for me to get back in.” She crawled out onto the nearest branch. Using the moonlight to see, she carefully climbed down the tree. Ophelia glanced back at her bedroom window. Mara stood, candle in hand, waving to her older sister. Ophelia waved back before dashing through the darkened streets away from the palace.
She navigated the dirt paths and pulled the cloak tighter around her petite frame. Ophelia shivered. She had quite a walk, and tonight was colder than the last time she’d met up with Larkin.
“You look like an icicle.” Larkin laughed. “It’s really not that cold. I’m surprised you’re not used to this, working out in the fields.”
“It’s different,” she li
ed to him. She didn’t have a good excuse and hoped Larkin wouldn’t press the issue. What was she supposed to say, that she was Princess Ophelia and lived like royalty? He’d look at her differently.
His coat hung open, unbuttoned; the cold never seemed to get to him. She slid her arms around his waist, taking in his warmth. He smelled of toasted almonds. Her stomach grumbled, not that she had any reason to be hungry.
“We should go inside where it’s warm,” he suggested.
The tavern offered a wood-burning stove always heavily loaded with firewood.
“Yes, please.” Ophelia nodded eagerly.
Just thinking about him and the warm fire inside kept her extremities from burning cold. In the distance, she could see the tavern and a man standing outside. It had to be Larkin. He always waited outside for her. He had jokingly insisted that he wanted all the other patrons to know she was taken.
“You're late.” Larkin feigned annoyance when she approached.
“Sorry, I got out as quick as I could. My sister wanted to chat before I left.” Ophelia wrapped her arms around Larkin's neck, pulling him into an embrace. She dropped a chaste kiss to his cheek and felt her lips sting. “It's cold tonight. Can we go inside?” She shivered and rubbed her hands together to keep warm. Ophelia could smell firewood burning from inside the tavern.
“It's not that cold.” He breathed in a whiff of autumn air. “It’s not even winter yet. Come on.” He opened the door and led her into the warmth of the building. Music blared from the four musicians playing near the door. They looked cold, bundled in brown and black coats with thick scarves, as they sang to the crowd. The floor vibrated from the patrons dancing.
“Are you going to dance with me tonight?” Ophelia asked, stepping further inside, away from the cold draft of the door. His warm liquid honey eyes always mesmerized her. She held his hand as they moved further into the crowd. No one recognized her as Princess Ophelia. Out here, she was just Leila. None knew her father was King Philip, or that she was next in line for the throne. She reveled in being anonymous, slipping into the crowd, and pretending to live as one of them, a commoner.
“If I agree, will you finally let me meet your family?”
Ophelia scrunched her nose, trying to come up with an excuse. Nothing came to mind. “We've talked about this. My father doesn’t want me seeing anyone.” Ophelia wouldn't risk his life.
“What about your mother?” Larkin pressed the issue. “Surely, she can help sway him?”
“Maybe if she wasn't dead.”
That stopped Larkin in his tracks. “I'm sorry, Leila. I had no idea.”
How could he have known? She'd never told him her mother had been Queen Marie. Had he known she was the princess and heir to the throne, he’d have known the brutal details of her mother’s murder. Although Casmerelda was a small and relatively young kingdom, everyone knew of the queen's death.
Shouts erupted from inside the castle walls. Ophelia’s eyes shot open. The clank of metal against metal caused a shiver to course down her spine. She froze, unable to move, and uncertain what was going on.
“Ophelia!” Her mother rushed into the bedroom, a candle in hand. Swiftly she shut the door behind her. “Get under the bed!”
“What’s going on?” Ophelia’s bottom lip trembled. Never in her life had there been a breach within the castle walls. It wasn’t possible that someone could be invading, could it? Her parents had forced her to learn the art of being silent. It wasn’t easy for a young child to master. She struggled with her laughter during the practice sessions. Ophelia was confident this wasn’t a game.
“Don’t come out until I tell you to, all right?” Guards rushed through the hallway. Boots pounded on the floor, causing a slight rumble. “Hurry.”
Ophelia quickly fell to the floor and slid under the mattress. She held her breath and didn’t move an inch. Through wide eyes, she watched the door creak open. From beneath the mattress, she cringed as brown boots covered in dirt walked into the bedroom.
“Philip!” her mother screamed at the top of her lungs, calling for her husband, the king.
Ophelia didn’t move, hiding in the darkness beneath the bed. The man turned and walked out. Her mother stood quietly, not saying a word. The young princess opened her lips, about to ask if it was safe to come out.
Two sets of black boots stormed the bedroom. “In here!” called a gruff voice.
“Please.” Her mother’s voice quivered.
Ophelia shut her eyes, but it didn’t diminish the putrid stench of the men or the sound of their heavy breathing. Her stomach turned. Where was her father? Where were the guards? Someone had to come soon, didn’t they?
“Where’s your daughter?” the man asked. Ophelia felt queasy. She recognized the voice, it was one of the newly assigned east wing guards.
“You’ll never touch her!”
She heard a scuffle and then a muffled cry. Ophelia covered her ears but opened her eyes to see her mother’s dead body staring blankly back at her.
Ophelia swallowed the memory and the feeling of anxiety rising in her chest. “Can we please talk about something else tonight?” She didn't want to fight with him.
“Of course, Leila. Let me buy you a drink.”
Larkin shuffled over toward the bar. Ophelia watched Larkin with fascination, remembering the summer before when they’d met on the bridge.
“Is this seat taken?” the young man asked her.
Ophelia sat on the stone bridge, her feet dangling from the side. “It’s all yours,” she said. She wore a beige dress and dark blue cloak, letting it cover the top of her head. It wasn’t a cold evening, but she was trying to be inconspicuous.
“Do I know you?” he asked, trying to get a look at her face as he sat down beside her. He let his legs hang from the side of the bridge also.
“I doubt it.” Hesitantly, she turned slightly to face him and was surprised by his looks. As children they were taught that beauty was only in royal blood, but Ophelia was questioning much of her upbringing. He was quite handsome. She felt lost in his eyes of liquid amber, unable to pull her gaze away. She couldn’t let him know who she was. Her mother had told her they’d once considered naming her Leila, but Ophelia was a stronger name for a queen. “Leila.” She held out her hand.
“Larkin.” He smiled, and his eyes twinkled. Perhaps it was the reflection of the sun setting and the water down below. “I swear you’re familiar.”
“I doubt it.” Ophelia couldn’t let him know who she was. She’d sworn to herself that she wouldn’t tell anyone, for fear that she’d be kidnapped. It wouldn’t be the first time greedy men kidnap a princess for ransom. She’d heard the tales growing up, and they scared her. Though not enough to keep her from venturing past the castle without guards.
Larkin stared at her, and then turned to face the last few rays of the sun as it dipped below the horizon. The pink and purple haze danced across his jaw and up his cheek line. Ophelia tried not to stare, but it was impossible. “I know where I’ve seen you before.”
“You do?” She swallowed a knot forming in the back of her throat. He couldn’t know who she was; she’d be in a whole lot of trouble if anyone found out.
Larkin nodded, sure of his response. “Yes, the market. I’m positive I’ve seen you there. Buying produce or fish, something.” He grinned. “Am I right?”
“Maybe.” Ophelia smiled. “Why didn’t you speak to me sooner?”
Larkin shrugged, frowning. “You were with someone, probably?”
“My family.” Ophelia nodded. “I’m sure I was with my father.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She did frequent the market. At times, she went with her sister and a dozen guards. Other times, she accompanied her father, King Philip. Anxiously, she swung her legs back and forth, the shoe on her right foot slipping off and splashing into the stream. “No!”
“It’s just a shoe.”
Ophelia was about to open her mouth to protest, when Larkin stood and walked toward the edge o
f the stone bridge. The shoe sunk beneath the murky surface. He climbed down the side of the bank between stone and grass, jumping in as he reached the edge. “Be careful!”
Larkin dove down, while Ophelia watched from above. She held her breath, waiting for him to reappear. Becoming light-headed, she opened her lips, exhaling, and let the air fill her lungs again. “Larkin?” Her voice trembled. Had something dragged him under?
He caused quite a splash, breaking up through the water. “Is this it?” he asked, soaking from head to toe. The river may not have been wide, but it was deep.
“Yes! Thank you.” It may have just been a shoe, but she borrowed it from Sophia, her maid, without her knowledge. The princess might have had tons of nice clothes, but commoner clothes were harder to come by.
Larkin swam to the edge of the bank and climbed out. A few minutes later, he joined her back on the bridge. The stars had come out and peppered the night sky. “For you.” He handed her the wet shoe.
“Thank you.”
“You can thank me with a drink at the tavern and a dance.”
Ophelia raised an eyebrow. Was he serious? She was to marry Prince Astin Stafford. Of course, Larkin had no idea, because he thought she was Leila. What harm could one night out cause? “You expect me to buy?”
“I did save your shoe.” Larkin grinned. “I’m kidding. It’s my treat.” He offered his hand, helping Ophelia to her feet.
“Handsome fellow you got there.” She didn't recognize the voice. She turned her head upward and saw an older gentleman, gray scarf wrapped around his neck, matching his graying hair and beard. She found it odd, considering they were indoors and the wood burning stove heated the tavern.
“Larkin?” she asked and glanced back at the bar. “Yeah, he's pretty amazing.”
The older man studied her for a long moment and sighed. He reached out for her hand, gently grazing the skin on the back of her wrist. “It was nice meeting you. Have fun tonight; you both deserve it.” He backed away and disappeared into the crowd.
