by Jeanne Hardt
Donovan.
How different would it be to kiss a real prince?
“Your Highness . . .” Soft knuckles rapped on her door.
It was too late for Daisy to be awake. Truthfully, everyone should be in bed, including her.
She quickly tucked the letter beneath her pillow, then covered herself with a robe and crept to the door. “Who is it?”
“Rosalie. Please, let me in.”
Olivia flung the door open.
Rosalie pushed passed her, holding one hand to her mouth. Her red swollen face told Olivia she had been crying again.
Olivia shut the door and locked it. “It is not wise to leave the ladies’ chamber. If mother wakes—”
“I care not. I had to see you.” Rosalie erupted into a fit of tears. “I do not know what to do.”
Olivia took Rosalie’s hand and led her to the bed. “Sit and dry your eyes, then tell me what troubles you.”
They sat in their familiar spots. Even though Rosalie was crying, it comforted Olivia having her there. Just like before, speaking as friends.
Rosalie panted, until she had stopped crying, then used the sleeve of her nightgown to wipe her face. After a long silence, she looked directly at Olivia. “I am with child.”
Olivia stifled a gasp, not wanting to add more distress to her troubled friend. If Rosalie sensed her fear, she would no doubt erupt again. Olivia opted to give her hand an encouraging pat, then she held it tight. “All will be well.” She prayed she had sounded convincing. “How long have you known?”
“I suspected it before being sent to the queen’s service. Now, I am certain. My flow has not come in nearly two months. Recently, I have had difficulty retaining my breakfast.”
“Does the queen know?”
Rosalie’s eyes popped wide. “No, Your Highness! I fear what she might do to me when she sees the swell of my belly. When she asked of my illness, I told her my stomach has been troubling me. She asked no further questions.”
Olivia held her tongue. The queen was her mother and she could not speak against her. Yet she hated that everyone feared her. Somehow, Olivia had to help Rosalie.
“Did you tell Dane your suspicions?”
Rosalie’s chin quivered. “No. I cannot. I am not permitted anywhere near him.” She squeezed Olivia’s hand and penetrated her with her eyes. “Please? Will you tell him for me?”
Doing this would cross a fine line. The queen had ordered them apart. However, there were no commands keeping Olivia from speaking to Dane. Of course, it could mean encountering Donovan. And how could she even look at the baker now, knowing he had a history with her mother?
Her life had become a series of complexities.
“Yes. I will let him know of your condition.” Somehow, Olivia had spoken the words, but saying them troubled her even more.
Rosalie lunged forward and wrapped her arms around Olivia, taking away her breath. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
As Rosalie released her, the warm smile on her face made it all worthwhile. Yet the instant she left the room, Olivia’s spirit plummeted. She simply gazed into the darkness.
Desire to sleep had vanished. Her mind tumbled around thoughts of how she would go about accomplishing the deed, while keeping her mother at bay.
Chapter 13
It had been silly for Olivia to think she needed to journey to the outside world for adventure. Padrida had plenty to keep her occupied. Perhaps a little too much.
Not only did she have to cope with a man who professed his undying love to her—and whom she was told by her trusted friend wanted to kill her—but now she had to defy the queen and make all possible attempts to reunite her best friend with the brother of said man.
Maddening . . .
She selected the plainest, most unattractive dress in her wardrobe, then made her way to the home of the baker. Talking to herself seemed to help. In her mind she played out every possible scenario and hoped for the best. That being, finding Dane at home alone. Something highly unlikely.
Her ugly brown dress barely fit. She had filled out some since it had been made, but at least it fully covered her bosom.
She glanced down at herself and shuddered. Hopefully, her mother would not see her, and as soon as Olivia returned home, she would probably burn the horrid thing.
The baker’s small cottage sat closer to the castle than most. Never before had she found it odd. Knowing her mother once loved the man, why had her father not insisted it be built far away? On the other side of the forest? Or, maybe in the gorge itself?
On any other day, she would have loved coming here. There was nothing more appealing than the smell of freshly baked bread. And on the days he made sweets . . .
“Stop,” she grumbled to herself. Her thoughts were bound to get her into trouble.
Since this cottage was not only the baker’s home, but also the royal bakery, she need not knock. She pushed the door open and walked in.
The main room was the baking chamber, with two enormous stone ovens. The walls were lined with large oak tables, where the baked goods sat to cool and be sorted. Once ready, they were delivered to the castle or picked up by commoners.
Unlike the tales of old, there were no coins exchanged in Padrida. Everyone did their part, and traded provisions. The royal household was always given the best of everything, and the remains were distributed among the people.
Because of the threat of rain, the inside ovens had been lit. On hot days, the baker used similar outdoor ovens; otherwise his cottage would be unbearably warm.
He had his back to her. The moment the door creaked, he craned his neck and almost dropped the piece of stoneware in his hand. Like Donovan, he was a handsome man, though he had aged poorly after the death of his wife. Deep lines encircled his eyes, and his once-dark hair had turned solid white, just like his garments.
“Your Highness.” He stumbled over his words and set the baking dish aside. “H—how may I help you?” He wiped his hands on a cloth, then dabbed at his brow.
“Good day, baker.” She gave him her best smile. His uneasiness made this even more difficult. “I am looking for your sons.” No need to specify which one and raise suspicion.
“Oh.” He gulped and scratched his head, staring at her awkwardly.
She stood firm. “Is something wrong?”
“Forgive me.” He shifted his gaze to the floor. “Has anyone ever told you how much you favor the queen?” Slowly, his head lifted. He appeared to be forcing himself to keep his eyes off her.
If only he had not brought up her mother. “Yes. Many people have said the same. But her eyes are different from mine.”
“And the color of your hair.” He pointed at her head.
She needed to change the conversation. “Sir, are your sons about?”
He nodded, then his shoulders dropped, and his eyes filled with sorrow. “I sent them for apples to make pastries for the evening meal.” This piece of information could not be what caused his distress.
She took a step closer to him, drawn in by his dismay. “Are you unwell, sir?”
The man shook his head, then looked her in the eyes. “Why did Sonya . . .” He slapped a hand to his mouth. “Forgive me. I meant, the queen.” He gulped. “Why did Her Majesty punish Dane for Donovan’s indiscretion?” Tears pooled in his eyes.
The man seemed timid, but acted bold. Royal commands were not to be questioned, though Olivia often wondered why. If unjust, a command should be challenged. The baker deserved an answer, but what could she say? After all, he had already lost so much.
She pulled her shoulders back and folded her hands in front of herself. “The queen was protecting me. She believed it would hurt me to have the brother of the man who betrayed me near the castle. And because she had to dismiss Justine, she felt Rosalie was a trustworthy replacement. Once in her service, the queen chooses whom she wishes her ladies to . . . consort with.”
Her words seemed cold and empty, and the expression on the baker’s
face confirmed it. Tears trickled down his skin. “May I speak boldly?”
“Of course.” She agreed, yet her heart resided in her throat.
“If Your Highness can find it in your heart to forgive my son, I would have you know he truly loves you. He was foolish to stray and has paid a horrible price. I do not understand why you seek my sons, or why the queen permits it. If your purpose is to reconcile, then I shall be pleased.”
“I seek them . . .” Her mind spun. “That is, I need them to instruct me in archery. Both your sons excel at it and my skills are poor.” Could she have thought of anything more ridiculous?
“So, you do not wish to reconcile?”
She licked her lips and swallowed the stone lodged in her throat. “I am unsure. Donovan has sworn to prove his love, but you must understand, my heart has been torn by his dalliance.”
The baker reached out his hand, then drew it back and bowed his head. “I understand, Your Highness. It is a pain not easily overcome. But I beg of you, if you cannot forgive Donovan, please help Dane. He is a good man and has been true to Lady Rosalie. They had hoped to marry when she reached her eighteenth year. And now . . .”
He need not say it. She had become chained to the queen’s skirt. And though her shackles were invisible, Rosalie was no less a slave.
Olivia rested her hand on his shoulder. Something compelled her to kiss his forehead. “I shall do what I can for Dane. I promise you that much.”
He blinked away tears and bobbed his head. A timid smile lifted his lips. He placed a pastry in a cloth napkin and handed it to her. “It has cream filling, just as you like it.”
Her own tears threatened. Many unsaid words hovered in this small cottage.
She thanked him and rushed out the door. As she was leaving, she could have sworn he said, “So much like your mother.”
All the way to the orchard, thoughts raced through her mind.
She devoured the pastry in only three bites. It stirred thoughts of the baker and her mother. Perhaps she had been more like Olivia when she was young and becoming queen changed her. Hardened her.
Had she actually been pledged to the baker, or had things not gotten that far? Undeniably, the poor man still cared for her.
Her thoughts shifted to Donovan. His father had said he truly loved her. No one knew a son better than a father, but Donovan may have fooled him as well. Yet even if Donovan truly loved her, Olivia doubted she could erase the memory of his face pressed to Justine’s bosom.
She tightened her fists.
As much as she hated that image, this venture was not about Donovan. She had come for Rosalie. Donovan need not know of her condition, so Olivia had to get Dane alone. How she would separate the brothers was another matter.
Row after row of apple trees covered an acre of land. Olivia started at one end and worked her way through, constantly searching.
She stopped to pick a perfectly ripe apple that begged to be eaten, then heard them in a distant row. She was about to move toward them, when she caught her name in their conversation and decided to listen.
“I tell you, she is exactly like her mother,” Donovan said. “Even when Olivia is queen, you will never have Rosalie. Women use their power to toy with us. They pretend to care for men, but only want to control us—lead us around like puppets.”
“No,” Dane said. “Rosalie told me Olivia is kind.”
“Kind?” Donovan chuckled. “Has she made any attempts to reunite you with your lover? No, she has not. She cares nothing about you and Rosalie, merely about herself. Poor, poor, Olivia.” He let out another obnoxious snigger. “Everyone is laughing at her. They know she does not have what is needed to keep the interest of a man. She treated me as a toy, but never played. I went to someone who would.”
Olivia struggled to breathe. She slumped to the ground and leaned against an apple tree. For the briefest moment she had hoped the baker’s words were true. This hurt more than any indiscretion.
She closed her eyes.
“You told me you intend to be king,” Dane said. “How will you accomplish it when you despise her?”
“Despise? You misunderstand me, brother. I find her appealing and useful. I have already begun wooing her back to me. To my good fortune, she is unwise and trusts whatever I tell her. And when she names me as suitor, we shall marry.”
“And you will be a prince.”
“Yes. For a short time. When the king dies, she shall be crowned queen and soon after, I will see to it I am king.”
Although it pained her, Olivia kept listening. She had to know Donovan’s intentions.
“I still do not understand,” Dane said.
A sharp smack made her jump.
“Ouch!” Dane yelled. “Why did you hit me?”
“Because you are a fool. I told you my intentions. Have you so soon forgotten?”
“You said you would rid yourself of Olivia, but you speak as if the king himself is on his deathbed. He seems quite healthy. It could be years before he passes the throne to Olivia.”
Olivia leaned over, pushing her ear in their direction. Donovan had dropped his voice and became harder to hear.
“Years?” Donovan hissed. “No. Not with my brilliant plan.”
Olivia’s heart pounded so hard, it resonated in her ears. She took slow steady breaths to calm it, needing to hear whatever they said.
“Do you know of tannin root?” Donovan said. “It grows wild in the forest.”
“Yes. I am aware of it.”
“When boiled, it produces a toxin deadly enough to kill a man. It will stop his heart.”
“Who are you going to poison?”
“The king, of course. At times, I swear you do not have a brain in your head.”
Olivia clutched her chest. This was worse than she ever imagined. She dared not keep it to herself any longer and tell her father.
“Then what?” Dane asked.
“Well, once he’s dead, Olivia and I will be blissfully married. I shall enjoy comforting her for a brief time, then a short while after she is crowned queen, a mysterious accident will end her reign. While gazing at those birds she loves so much, I shall send her to join them. She will finally be able to fly.” Donovan chuckled in a way that flipped her insides.
She wanted to vomit.
Though she needed to leave at once, she sat frozen to the ground. Fear kept her there. Her sensibility told her if she let on that she had heard everything, he might not wait to throw her from the wall.
“What of Lady Justine?” Dane asked.
“I shall continue to see her. She offers more than I imagine Olivia ever could. The woman can do indescribable things.”
“So, you would have two women?”
“Yes. I have before and rather enjoy it. It spares me from boredom.”
“Who was the other woman?”
“Lady Margaret.” Donovan’s voice rose with pride, and the more he spoke, the sicker Olivia became.
“You bed two of the queen’s ladies?”
“Yes, but I found Margaret tiresome. Unlike Justine. I thought a woman with fiery red hair would keep my interest, however I was mistaken.”
“Donovan?” Dane’s voice squeaked. “You have never bed Rosalie, have you?”
Donovan let out a hearty laugh. “God, no! She has no bubbies. I want a woman I can grab hold of. Everywhere. What you see in her is beyond my comprehension. But listen to me now, and listen well. Unless I become king, you shall never have her. I alone can bring her back to you. If you love her, tell no one of my plans. For if you do . . .”
“Yes?” Dane’s voice shook.
Olivia strained to hear, but could not make out Donovan’s response. Even so, she had heard more than enough and pushed herself from the orchard floor. She stopped the instant she realized their footsteps were coming her way.
She dropped to the ground and plastered herself against the trunk of the tree. She then bowed her head and tucked her hands into her sleeves. Her brown skirt
blended into the surrounding earth. Hopefully they would not pass close, and she would remain unseen. If they happened to find her, she could pretend to be asleep.
“I swear I will not tell a soul,” Dane mumbled.
They walked in the line of trees beside her. A full row separated them.
“A wise choice,” Donovan said. “Now, take these apples to Father.”
“Where are you going?”
“To see Justine, of course. Talking about her has given me the urge.”
“Even under punishment, you are able to see her? It does not seem fair. I would give anything to be with Rosalie.”
“Then help me carry out my plan, and you shall have her.”
Olivia popped one eye open and watched them walk away. She let out a relieved breath, but did not move. Afraid Donovan would turn around and find her, she stayed pressed against the tree. Until all grew quiet, she would remain.
And then, the king would be told of their plans.
Chapter 14
The hour for the evening meal had almost arrived, when Olivia finally felt confident enough to move from the orchard. Still sickened, and with no appetite, she had no desire to eat. She went directly to the king’s chamber.
His guard, Wittek, stopped her and stood in front of the door, with his arms folded across his chest. Aside from Roderick, Wittek was the strongest of the king’s men, and easier on the eyes than Roderick. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, you may not enter.”
“Why? I must see him.”
“The king is ill. The royal healer insisted no one be admitted. Especially you and the queen.”
Her heart raced. Had Donovan already carried out his plan?
No.
If he had spoken truly of his intentions, he had to marry her first.
“I have to see him. My issue is extremely urgent.” She took a step toward Wittek, attempting to pass him.
He stopped her with a firm hand. “I have my orders, Your Highness. You may not enter.”
Roderick appeared from the long corridor and stood beside him. They glared at her and kept their hands on the hilts of their swords. Would they run her through to keep her from becoming ill? She appreciated loyalty, but this was ridiculous.
