I take the sketchbook back and close it. Javid continues to study me. The scrutiny makes me nervous.
Needing to change the subject, I ask, “How do you know Lionel?”
He laughs. “Who doesn’t know of the Mighty Oak of Vernow?”
I frown. “That isn’t kind.”
Lionel has always been self-conscious of his size. As a child he was tall but soft, more inclined to study than fight with the other boys. As he aged, he gained strength and might, but the worries that plagued him as a youth have proved hard for him to let go.
Surprise shadows Javid’s expression. His smile dims and he nods knowingly. “I see.”
“You see what?” I snap.
“You’re in love with him.” He says it likes it’s an enigma—like who could be in love with Lionel?
It’s true not many see his worth the way he is now, but none know him like I do. They weren’t there when I was tiny and timid and all alone—they didn’t see how Lionel the boy would sit with me in that vast library, offering me quiet companionship. They didn’t spend days with him studying rocks and birds by this very pond.
They didn’t hold him when his mother died.
I tuck my sketchbook under my arm. “I have to go.”
“Grace, wait,” Javid says. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t.”
He huffs out a breath, the light of his constant smile on the verge of snuffing out. “I’m sorry.”
I watch him and then slowly nod, forgiving him before I turn away. I only take three steps before he calls my name. I look back over my shoulder.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asks.
“No.”
“What will you do when he marries the Princess of Lauramore?”
I sigh, far past tired of this conversation. “Nothing. My life will stay the same.”
His smile disappears; it falls completely from his face. “You would be his mistress?”
I suck in a breath. “How dare you,” I hiss before I walk away, ignoring his calls for forgiveness.
***
All morning I’ve watched for Javid, hoping to avoid him before he spots me. He doesn’t come. Lionel, too, is absent—not that I expect anything else from him.
What does take me by surprise is the red-haired princess that plops in the seat in front of me. I look up from my transcribing, startled.
She grins at me, her blue eyes bright. “Hello.”
I glance around, wondering if anyone else believes it odd that the Princess of Lauramore is in our library. The other scholars are too intent in their studies to notice she is here.
“May I help you?”
“Are you Grace?”
“Yes…”
She grins even wider. “You don’t sound certain. You’d think you’d know one way or the other.”
I frown. “Yes, I am Grace.”
She studies me and then shakes her head, still smiling. “His Royal Majesty, King Brogan of Vernow, has informed me you will show me the grand sights of Vernai.”
She says his name like she’s poking fun at him—something I consider to be very unwise.
“I will?”
She glances over her shoulder at the archer I saw her with a few days ago.
He narrows his eyes at her and shakes his head slightly. “Pippa, no.”
She gives him a knowing smile and then turns back to me. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”
“You’re Philippa, Princess of Lauramore.”
She cringes. “Please don’t call me that.” I look at her, dumbfounded, and she smiles. This time the look is more genuine. “Pippa, not Philippa—never Philippa. Let’s start over. King Brogan said you are the master scholar’s assistant, and that you would be able to show me around a bit.”
“Me, specifically?” I try to draw up a friendly smile, but all I see when I look at the girl in front of me is her and Lionel.
She nods. When I don’t answer, she sends another questioning glance to her archer. He shrugs and she stands.
“All right, then.” She takes my arm and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s go.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry—go where?”
“It doesn’t matter as long as we get out of this musty library.”
***
Pippa crosses her arms and stares at the statue as if she’s deep in thought. I glance at the nude. What has her so concerned?
“What is it?” I ask, wondering if I really want to know.
Will the princess actually have something thoughtful to say? It hasn’t occurred yet, but miracles have been known to happen.
She frowns. “It may be warm enough now, but what about winter? How horrible for the poor woman to spend an eternity undressed. You’d think the artist could have shown a little more compassion.” She turns to me and laughs. “What’s next?”
My eyes slide to Pippa’s companion—I’ve learned his name is Archer—wondering if he can shed a little light on the princess’s peculiarities. When I catch his eye, he only shrugs.
“We can visit the fountain in the lake,” I suggest.
I’ve never played tour guide before; I’m afraid I’m not very good at it.
“Hmm…” She scans the garden we’re in, and then she looks back at me. “Do you ride?”
“No.”
Her face lights up. “Oh, wonderful! I’ll teach you.”
Before I can object, the princess drags me from the gardens. All of my protests are quickly shot down, and before I know it, I’m standing in front of a lovely—but terrifying—brown mare.
I shake my head. “No, I’m not doing this.”
Pippa strokes the horse’s nose. “She’s darling and very gentle. You won’t have any trouble with her.”
I cross my arms.
Pippa turns her eyes on me, not ready to admit defeat. She crosses her own arms, matching my stance. “You’re a bit stuffy, Grace.” I open my mouth to object, but she cuts me off. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it’s sure to take years off your life.”
“Not as many years as this horse will take when it throws me.”
The horse in question bumps my cheek, nuzzling me. I step away and glare at the beast.
“What is this?” Lionel says from behind me.
I stiffen at the sound of his voice, not sure if I should run away or ignore him.
“Hello, Lionel.” Pippa looks at him warily, as if she’s gaging his mood. “We’re taking Grace riding. Are you acquainted?” She looks back at me. “Grace, this is Prince Lionel—as I’m sure you’re already aware.”
“We’ve met,” I murmur, feeling small and foolish.
“She’s not going.”
I look at Lionel, surprised by how harsh his tone is.
Pippa squares off to him, setting her hands on her hips. “She wants to come. She’s coming.”
Lionel glares down at her. The size difference is almost comical. It’s like watching a mountain standoff against a pixie.
“She doesn’t know how to ride,” he argues.
“I will teach her.”
He turns to me, angry. “Grace, I said you are not going, and you will not.”
More hurt by his tone than I want him to know, I give him a defiant look and pluck the reins from Pippa’s hand. I turn to the princess, ignoring Lionel, and whisper, “You had best show me how to get on this thing.”
CHAPTER THREE
Afternoon Ride
Lionel hasn’t spoken to me the entire afternoon. I’ve spent the better part of the day on top of this awful horse, and all I want to do is go back to the library where I belong.
The weather is pleasant enough, I suppose. If I wasn’t hanging on for dear life, I would like to sketch a few of the clouds, maybe try to capture the light the way Javid does in his drawings. I scowl at the horizon. Thinking of our conversation does nothing to improve my mood.
Pippa matches her horse’s pace to mine. “You seem a little more at ease.”
&
nbsp; I give her a tight smile.
She laughs as she fights with the gossamer layers of her summer gown, trying to coax them to lay nicely—a difficult task since she insisted we ride astride. “How is it you’ve never been on a horse? Have you never left Vernai?”
I haven’t, actually.
“If I ever go somewhere,” I say. “I’ll take a carriage.”
“So you walk everywhere?”
I give her a sideways look. I’m not certain what to think of Pippa. Part of me wants to hate her—to loathe her—but I can’t seem to work up the emotion. The fact that she and Lionel get along like oil and water doesn’t hurt a bit. It doesn’t seem to be her fault, either. He’s condescending, constantly criticizing her decisions and ideas. She handles it with a charming grace I almost—almost—admire, but I can tell it’s wearing at her.
Is it because I’m here? Would he be different if they were alone? Or is this the man Lionel is now, and all this time I’ve been disillusioned into thinking he’s still the boy I love?
Archer joins us, riding on my other side. He looks across me to the princess. “It’s good to keep one’s feet on the ground sometimes, Pippa.”
She narrows her eyes, a playful expression on her face. “But where is the fun in that?”
“Life isn’t meant to be fun,” Lionel says. His eyes meet mine.
I rip my gaze away and focus on the road in front of us. I’m still waiting for the horse to decide she’s tired of me clinging to her back. It’s only a matter of time before she rubs me off on a tree or bucks me over a cliff.
Pippa smiles at Lionel, a definite challenge in her eyes. “If life isn’t enjoyable, what’s the point?”
The words hang in the air, and we all wait to hear what Lionel’s reply will be. Apparently he deems the question too flippant to grace with an answer, and he rides ahead.
After looping this way and that, we’re now well outside the city and are nearing the pond I visited yesterday. It’s beautiful here. Farmland stretches out in every direction. Trees dot the landscape, some growing in little groves and others grouped in large clusters like small woods. The pond is surrounded by one of the latter. Though I would like to stop, we ride past. I take a quick peek to see if there is anyone at the water’s edge.
I don’t see Javid—not that I am looking. But I do want to be prepared on the off chance I need to avoid him.
My legs and back-end are beginning to ache. The pain is not intolerable yet, but I feel it may be soon. From the ground, horses look like sleek, elegant creatures. But once on their backs, you realize they are quite wide. Also, flies seem to be partial to them. The annoying insects don’t mind buzzing about me, either.
For the most part, though, my mare is quiet. Her ears twitch often, but she plods along at a nice, slow pace. Pippa looks like she’s itching to race the wind, but she’s stayed by my side the entire ride, distracting me whenever I become uneasy.
I set my hand on the horse’s neck, giving her a tentative stroke. She’s a good mare, really. Calm and quiet—just as a nice horse should be.
I’m just thinking I may do this again when a big, fat, field snake slithers in the middle of the road. Everything is a blur as the mare rears back, whinnying with fright. I scream along with the terrified horse and grasp hold of the saddle. Then we’re running.
From somewhere far behind me, Pippa yells, “Hold on, Grace!”
Where does she think I’m going to go? I glance at the ground, which is just a whir of colors under the mare’s racing legs. I’m certainly not going to let myself fall off.
I have no idea which way the horse is taking me, but I pray she will tire soon. A snake I can handle; a racing horse I cannot. Suddenly there is a rider at my side, and my reins are tugged away. I keep my eyes clenched shut, not daring to look down. The mare slows.
Lionel leaps from his horse and then pulls me from mine. “Are you hurt?”
I stare up at him.
“Grace?” He sets his hands on my shoulders, his eyes worried.
Pippa and Archer are just behind him, and they pull their horses back.
“How is she?” Pippa asks.
He turns fully to the princess, and his concern morphs to anger. “I told you she shouldn’t have come!”
“I’m fine,” I manage to say.
He whips back. “Next time you will listen to me!”
I shrink away, startled. He’s never yelled at me before.
Pippa is off her horse in a flash. Before I realize what her intentions are, she’s ripped me away from Lionel. She wraps her arms around me as if she is shielding me with her petite frame. It would be laughable, except it’s simply not.
“Don’t yell at her!” She turns back to me, her eyes full of worry. “Are you all right?”
I nod, and I try to look at her instead of Lionel. Anger rolls off of him in waves.
“You can ride back with Archer,” Pippa says.
I glance at the man, wondering if he will mind the offer. He gives me a reassuring nod. Lionel looks livid at the suggestion, but what difference does it make? He’s already upset.
“All right,” I agree, knowing none of them will let me walk back.
Archer helps me up. “It’s important to get back on.”
“I thought that was only if you fall off.”
He laughs. “It’s the same idea.”
We ride for a while before I finally ask, “Why did the king send Pippa to me?”
Archer is quiet for a few moments, mulling the question over. “Your king is not kind,” he says. I nod, hoping he’ll continue. “Perhaps he was hoping to remind you of your place.”
I glance over my shoulder. He knows the truth of my heart; it’s in his eyes. “What are you saying?”
Archer sighs. “You and I are the same. I am Lauramore’s master archer, and you are being trained as a master scholar. We’re of a similar station in that we’re higher than the lower class but lower than nobility. We are often with them, and we can admire them—” He nods to Pippa and Lionel, who are arguing ahead of us. “But we can never be with them.”
“You sound like you know from experience.”
I take his silence as an affirmative answer. I think his words over. They leave me feeling unbearably sad.
“So what do we do?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “There’s nothing we can do.”
***
When Pippa announces she’s going to retire for the afternoon, I am more than happy to leave her be. I’m almost out of the stables when Lionel catches up to me.
“What were you thinking?” His voice is stern, but it’s nowhere near as angry as it was earlier.
I glance around. The servants are used to seeing us together near the library and in the gardens. Here, where I’ve never ventured, curious eyes watch. Their expressions make me uneasy. They look as if they are assuming Lionel has cornered me for a fleeting amusement.
I shake my head, not answering him, and turn away. He catches my arm. It doesn’t hurt, but the contact startles me. My eyes instantly scan those around us. They stare, not bothering to hide their avid interest.
Lionel follows my gaze, and his body tenses in anger. “Have you not enough to do that you loiter about? Unless you want your wages cut, I suggest you keep busy.”
The observers quickly disperse, and soon we are alone.
“You needn’t be so harsh,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“I almost think you want people to fear you.”
His expression, which was almost amused, changes to irritated. “If I don’t demand respect, I will never receive it.”
It’s his father’s way, and I can’t deny its effectiveness. In wealth, power, and influence, King Brogan is a great king. But his way is not Lionel’s.
“You are so worried you will fall short,” I whisper. “But you’ve never considered you may be so much more.”
He shoves a long curl behind his ear and huffs
out a breath. “This is the way it’s been done in Vernow for centuries upon centuries. I will not be the king who brings it all crashing down because my child-hood love thinks I’m not kind enough to the servants.”
My mouth parts, surprised.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he all but growls. “We’ve danced around it long enough.”
Still, I can’t find words.
“And don’t tell me you don’t feel the same way.” He shakes his head and steps forward, his forehead knitting with thought. “You constantly stare at me like a doe in a hunter’s sights, blinking your beautiful eyes, chasing all rational thought from my mind.”
I step backwards. I can hardly breathe. Never has he spoken to me like this. Never.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he says. “You had to know she can never compare to you. I certainly didn’t need to be reminded of it for an entire afternoon.” He leans down, and for a fleeting moment I think he may finally kiss me. Instead, he steps back, his face hardening. “We’re done, Grace.”
I blink at him, so startled by the abrupt change that I don’t comprehend his words. “Done? What does that mean?”
“You and I are finished.” His expression hardens, and there’s anger in his eyes. “Yes, I love you. I have since I first saw you crying in the library’s upper window when Master Rynsten took you in.” He tugs a strand of hair over my shoulder and runs his hand down it, none-too-gently pulling me closer. “I love your beauty and your poise and your absurd standards. I love the way you hum while you’re drawing, and how you so carefully form every single letter in your writing.”
Tears sting my eyes—not because of the beautiful words, but for the hateful way he delivers them. He makes it sound like I am a disease that has crept into his life. Like I’ve poisoned him.
He tugs my chin up, forcing me to tilt my head to look at him. “Is this what you wanted? To bring a future king to his knees? To prove you are woman enough to make me doubt my duty?”
“No—”
I flinch when his chin grazes my jaw. I clench my eyes shut, unable to look at him like this, afraid he’s going to kiss me—something I wanted more than anything moments ago, but now would do almost anything to escape.
Grace of Vernow: An Eldentimber Novelette (The Eldentimber Series) Page 2
