The man hesitated in the doorway and twisted to peer at her over his shoulder.
“Please wait,” she said, surprised at the fervor in her voice.
His eyes widened as he recognized her and knelt. “Princess Leera. I apologize. I did not see you there.”
Leera smiled. At least someone knew how to respond to a princess. “Rise, sir, and tell me your name.”
The man frowned, but he struggled to his feet. “I am Gerguld.”
“Is it true my mother has commandeered your store’s supplies?”
“Yes, Princess.” The man fidgeted and stared at the floor.
“How much?”
“Begging your pardon, mistress, but all of it.”
Leera tapped her foot and thought. The man looked honest to her, and he treated her with respect, unlike anyone else she had dealt with in the last few days. “Are you without any funds to resupply?”
The man wrung his kerchief in his hands. “They’ve taken everything.”
Leera noted his obvious discomfort. She wanted to help and found the urge a little unsettling. From the looks of his faded and patched clothes, his shop must be in a less than desirable location in the city. He definitely did not wear the fine clothing her favorite merchants wore to the castle. As she considered these thoughts, the man backed away, casting a fearful look toward the audience chamber entrance.
Leera paused and listened. The sounds of the rough guards dismissing another supplicant reached her. She grabbed Gerguld’s arm, dragged him down the hallway, and ducked behind a stone pillar before letting go of the man.
He gaped at her, his mouth hanging open.
“Close your mouth!” Frustration and doubt rolled through her. Why this man? Why should she care?
“Where is your shop?”
“In the south quarter. I’m sure nowhere the princess would have visited.”
“You’re right about that. How close to the city walls are you?”
His eyes bugged in surprise. “The walls?”
“Yes. The walls. How close are you to them?”
The man dropped his gaze to the floor and worried the kerchief in his hands. “My shop is on the outer wall.”
Leera smiled. This could be useful. She wasn’t sure why yet, or when, but she feared she might need a discreet exit to the outside soon. The wall was a good location to have an ally. “Do you have a door through the wall?”
“Uh, well, we’re not supposed to have any entrances, ‘cept inside the wall.”
“But do you?” She was shorter than the man, but her continued stare worked on him, even if it hadn’t worked on the guard.
“Yes.” His answer was a bare whisper. He cowered before her.
“He was right.” Leera never forgot her brother Serrin’s suspicions, voiced so many years ago. He told her stories, mainly to scare her, about secret entrances into the city through the walls. Entrances used by thieves and kidnappers bent on capturing her favorite horse or even a young princess.
Serrin’s death may have been the first stone to fall away from her perfect life, but her brother had shared some perceptive insights with her.
“Your Highness?”
Leera turned back to the merchant, her thoughts spinning with ideas. “Who else knows of this entrance?”
“I’ll close it up, mistress. The minute I get back.” He backed away from her with slow careful steps.
“You will not.” Leera advanced on him and grabbed him by the arm. His clothing felt rough and foreign under her delicate fingertips. She sniffed. He didn’t reek of onions or any other horrid smell; his scent was plain, like her maid’s. At least he was clean. “This is vital to the kingdom’s survival.”
Was it? She didn’t know, but it sounded like something a heroine might say in a story.
“Who else knows of this exit?”
The man licked his lips, white saliva sticking to the edges. Leera quivered at the sight of his obvious distress, thrilled to hold such power over him. She shoved her face closer to his. “Who?”
He half-sobbed the words as they escaped from him in a rush of air. “My wife and children. We work the shop. And one of my suppliers.”
She released him and smiled with satisfaction. “See? That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
Gerguld’s hands shook as he rubbed his chin, his gaze darting up the hallway.
“Can they be trusted?”
The merchant’s frantic hand froze on his face. He turned his head sideways a little and scrutinized Leera.
She wondered what he saw in her, and she forced a smile to her face, not a big one, just enough to set him at ease. Her mother had taught her this trick for enticing suitors, but surely all men responded to a woman’s gentle smile.
When his whole posture shifted, shoulders relaxing and chin rising so he met her gaze, she interpreted it to mean yes.
“Good.” Leera laid a gentle hand on his arm.
He jerked in surprise.
“Gerguld, I believe we can be of use to each other.”
Dragging him behind her, she sought out an empty room. When she pulled him inside and eased the door shut behind them, he glanced around in surprise. “Mistress. My lady. I shouldn’t be here like this.” His hands worked the kerchief again. “If your mother’s guards find us…”
He was right, of course, but she needed to speak with him for only a moment. She stalked across the room and stood where the light cast a beam across the floor. Her hair always glistened like an angel’s in such light. At least, that’s what her mother said.
Arms crossed, she studied him up and down. “Gerguld. I won’t keep you long.” She glanced toward the door. “And I’ll ensure your safety when you depart.”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Tell me about your store. What you sell, what other stores border it, where the door to the outside leads.”
He was nodding until her last request. Then the fear she’d seen when the guards dragged him from her mother’s presence returned to his face.
“Never mind the outside door,” she said, amazed at how his shoulders relaxed or tensed based on her words. “Let’s start with the store’s goods.”
“General merchandise, mistress. Food, clothing, weapons, building supplies.”
She couldn’t have found a more perfect ally if she’d gone in search of one. If she needed a quick departure, he offered the means and the supplies once he restocked.
“Will this help?”
Gerguld’s eyes grew huge when she dropped a few gold coins into his hands. He fell to the ground and soaked her slippered feet in kisses and tears.
The coins meant so little to her. She had never thought about the value of her money. It bought her rare glimmer cloth and other beautiful things. The meager amount she gave him would have covered the cost of only one fine outfit.
“Princess. My lady. I can stock my shop two times over with this. You are too kind.”
After the man left, Leera marched back to her mother’s audience chamber, lightness in her step.
Afraid of her mother’s spies discovering his restocking efforts, she had ordered Gerguld to wait at least a week before buying any supplies. “Only buy in small quantities to begin with,” she had ordered him.
Her caution gave her pause. Was her mother truly the enemy? She would know soon enough.
She paused, straightened her dress, and walked into the audience chamber.
Leera stood inside the entrance, her spine straight, her shoulders back, and waited to be recognized. To her left, she heard the snickers of the soldiers but ignored them.
Her mother sat in whispered conference with Sarx. A young man of about twenty stood off to the side behind Sarx. He wore the royal blue and gold of Elwar’s royalty. She frowned. Who was he, and why did he dress in such a way?
He was attractive, but unlike anyone she had ever seen. His skin had an olive hue, and dark hair curled to his shoulders. Even from this distance, his bright green eyes shined in an unusual c
ontrast to his darker skin. The man spotted her first, and a pleased smile bloomed beneath his full mustache. When he leaned over and spoke to Sarx and her mother, Leera stared at his well-defined muscles, rippling beneath his close-fitting tunic. Although he was of average height, not much taller than Sarx, his muscles tricked the eye into believing him taller. Leera had noticed the same effect with Pultarch’s physical appearance. She caught the man staring at her as she waited, his gaze not dropping when she met his, and she gasped at the flutter that erupted in her stomach.
“Ah, Leera, my princess, you have chosen to return to our world.” Her mother’s musical voice interrupted her thoughts. “Come here and join us.” She beckoned to her with smiles and dimples. Leera hesitated, fighting the urge to run into her mother’s arms. They reached for her, but were those arms as safe as she once thought? She approached with decorum, but hope flooded her heart.
Queen Quilla rose and grasped Leera’s hands within her own. “Are you feeling better? You look refreshed. There’s even some color in your face.” She stroked her daughter’s cheek with a dove-soft hand. “Doesn’t the princess look well?” Queen Quilla turned to Lord Sarx, who bestowed a smile on the both of them.
Sarx bowed at the waist and placed a kiss on the back of Leera’s hand. “Your Majesty, she is as lovely as you.”
Leera recoiled at his words. Normally, she enjoyed fawning praise over her beauty, but Sarx’s glittering eyes appraised her in a disturbing way.
The sound of shifting feet reminded the three of them of their surroundings, and Leera noted the few remaining supplicants straining to observe their interaction. “Taren,” Quilla addressed the strange, green-eyed young man. “Dismiss them. I will not receive any more today.” She turned to Leera. “Come. We have much to discuss.”
The princess allowed her mother to lead her into the small, but plush, room behind the audience chamber. Several candelabra burned brightly, flooding the room in a soft glow. Strewn around the room were couches and chaises covered in thick, luxurious, golden velvets and fluffy blue cushions. The carpet sank beneath her feet and cradled her every step. Leera blinked in surprise at the transformation of the room. Her father had kept the room stark and austere. Her mother’s touch was evident in the opulent furnishings.
Noting her surprise, Quilla smiled and patted a chair beside her. “Come sit. Isn’t this so much more to your liking than the cold, bare room it used to be?”
Leera sat and felt her body sink into the softest, most luxurious cushion she had ever touched. It felt magnificent, and she relaxed into its embrace.
“I believe she approves, dear Frank.”
Leera started. Since when did her mother call Lord Sarx by his first name and refer to him as dear? She watched in shock as the man settled in next to her mother and placed a familiar arm behind her.
“Yes, Quilla, I believe our lovely princess will come to enjoy her privileges as heir to the throne.”
Leera scrambled to sit forward, but she found the embrace of the cushions difficult to escape. She floundered for a moment, and then Taren, entering the room, rushed to assist her. “Uncle, Your Grace, you mustn’t let the princess struggle so against your comforts.”
Leera flushed at his touch but noted how he addressed Sarx. She should have known he was related to the one man in Elwar she disliked. As if he knew her thoughts, Taren knelt before her and bowed his head. “Forgive me, Your Highness. We have not been introduced, but I could not bear to see you swallowed by these instruments of softness.”
She stifled a giggle and turned expectant eyes to her mother who had been watching this interchange with keen interest.
“Princess Leera.” Lord Sarx smiled upon her. “I would like to present my nephew, Taren. His mother, my sister, is a baroness in the kingdom of Lisseme.”
Leera extended her hand to the young man and smiled as he took it formally and bowed low over it. His moustache tickled her fingers as he placed a chaste kiss on them. “It is a great pleasure to finally lay eyes upon you, Princess. I have heard rumors of your beauty, but they are all false.” He smiled as she straightened and frowned at him. “You are far more beautiful than any words can describe.”
The words fell on her ears in a welcome rush, but somewhere in the back of her mind, a warning flashed. Something Lord Sarx had said a moment ago should concern her, but Taren was quite a distraction. Up close, he was exquisite. How could he be related to Lord Sarx? Obviously, he had not inherited his looks from his uncle.
She shook her head and tried to recall what Sarx had said.
“My dear, you look befuddled. Have you had too much excitement for one day?” Quilla smiled down on her.
At the queen’s words, Taren jumped up and retrieved a water goblet from a table. He leaned toward Leera. “It’s only water, not my father’s vintage wine, but a cool drink might refresh you.”
Leera took it from his hands. A charge of desire rushed through her arms when his fingers brushed hers. She sipped the water and eyed the three of them over the edge of the goblet. She needed to get her wits about her if she was going to discover what was truly happening in the kingdom. What was it Sarx had said? Something about the heir?
She slammed the goblet onto the table, water sloshing over her hand. Taren jumped back and cast an anxious look at his uncle. Sarx and Quilla straightened, and their kind dispositions evaporated as they watched her struggle to stand. Taren reached out to assist her, and she slapped his hand away.
“Whatever is the matter?” Quilla asked.
“What did dear Frank mean when he called me the heir to the throne? Is Kiffen dead?” A cold fear swept through her.
Quilla’s mouth formed a tight smile, and she darted an angry look at Lord Sarx. “No, my dear. We have heard nothing of your brother’s plight.” She paused and pulled a frilly handkerchief from her belt. Dabbing at her eyes, she said, “One can only hope he is alive.” Quilla sobbed into the handkerchief, and Lord Sarx rushed to comfort her.
Leera crossed her arms. “Since when do you weep for my brother? Do you really think I will believe this feigned mourning?” She stalked over to her mother. “Where is your widow’s grief? That I might believe. But for Kiffen. No, Mother. The two of you despised each other.”
Quilla shoved Lord Sarx away and jumped up in Leera’s face. “How dare you speak to me in such a tone! I am queen, not just your mother. I have responsibilities, and if you do not see me mourn, do not assume I don’t. If you only knew.” She placed the back of her fingers over her mouth but dropped her hand immediately. “No, I will not ruin your cherished memories of your poor, departed father. Just remember, I am the monarchy now, and you are the only heir.”
Leera quailed beneath her mother’s onslaught. Never in her life had she been on the receiving end of her mother’s sharp tongue. Kiffen, Adana, even her father had suffered from these tongue lashings, but not Leera. Suddenly, she felt small and wanted to disappear back into the fog that had been her existence over the last few days.
“Your Majesty, if I may suggest?” Taren took a small step, placing him slightly between the two women. They turned their gazes on him, Quilla’s glittering anger, Leera’s fighting desperation. “A short walk in the fresh air of the gardens might revive the princess’ spirits.”
Quilla retreated a step and considered his suggestion.
“My nephew would make a perfect strolling companion for her, Quilla.” Sarx laid a familiar hand on Quilla’s arm. “Now is not the time to address these pressing issues. Our lovely lady has only just returned to us from her own mourning.” For once in his life, Lord Sarx made sense, Leera thought, although she resented his reference to her as “our lovely lady.”
Moments ticked by, then Quilla threw her hands up. “Of course. Go enjoy the flowers before they all die.”
Leera let Taren lead her from the room, but she frowned at her mother’s comment. What an odd way to refer to the gardens. Just before the door closed behind them, she heard Lord Sarx say, “They w
ill make a perfect couple. My nephew, King of all Elwar!”
She looked sideways at the young man, but he showed no sign that he had overheard the statement. Oh, he was beautiful. Marry him? Become Queen of Elwar? She stumbled over her feet at these thoughts, and Kiffen’s face loomed in her mind.
* * * * *
Chapter 14
Samantha stood beside the map in the Central Tower. The markers placed on the board represented Kiffen’s and Kassa’s best guess as to the locations of their allies and enemies. Adana’s View looked heavily armed unlike the Border Keep. Her eyes drifted along the line indicating the river flowing east from the keep. Somewhere along the banks of that river, Adana and the giraffes camped. Should she inform Maligon, yet? Or should she wait for more information?
A shadow fell across the map and she jerked upright, surprised to find Kiffen facing her, a pleased smile on his face. Unlike most men, he approached quietly. Where had he learned that?
She batted her lashes a few times, feeling foolish over the flirtatious action, and smiled at him. He nodded back, a blush creeping up his neck to his jawline.
Her smile turned true.
“King Kiffen, have you news of the queen’s location?”
He shook his head and leaned over the map and pointed to a spot along the river. “I believe she is in this vicinity.”
Samantha slid along the edge of the table until she stood within a breath of him. She leaned her body forward, brushing her arm along his side, placing her hand over his. “Here?”
He jerked upright and took a step back.
It came so easily. Maybe she should have tried this with Linus after Montee dropped him for the title of First Vision. A sour taste washed over her tongue at the memory of her friend’s complicity. Instead, she smiled and turned to face Kiffen, leaning her backside against the table. It was so easy to unnerve him. Linus might have been a different story.
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