by C. K. Brooke
“One second.” The Crown Prince reached into his jacket and withdrew an impressive pile of parchment. With a small exhalation, he placed it on the bureau, and rested a stone paperweight atop it. For several moments, he merely stood nodding to himself, as though coming to a critical decision. Lucie looked to Geo, who only shrugged.
At last, Dmitri climbed onto the desk and lowered himself through the window. “For being on the ground floor,” he grunted, slipping down, “we’re farther from the ground than one would think.”
They heard him land with a thud before he rose, dusting off his sleeves. “Miss Camerlane?” He outstretched his arms to her.
Cricket calls and whispering locusts invited Lucie out to the night’s air as she mounted the wooden desk. She cast an involuntary glance at the stack of parchments he had left there, but couldn’t make out the runes scrawled across them. Angling her legs out the window, she slid down and into the man’s arms.
He was quick to release her, and the two proceeded to help Cerise, and then Geo. “Right,” sighed Dmitri at last, casting his eyes about the dark lawn. “I have absolutely no idea where we are.”
The four headed across the grounds, led by Geo and Cerise. Lucie did her best to keep pace, until they reached a familiar trench. They stopped, gazing down at the moat. “Guess we’ll just have to swim again,” said Geo, dropping the axe to unfasten his shirt.
Lucie peered into the thick waters and grimaced. How she dreaded submerging back into that sickly, stinking pool. But if it was their only choice—
“Not so fast,” came a snarl behind them.
“Oh, what now?” cried Lucie furiously, swiveling around to discover a Llewesian guard pointing an impressive sword at them. She bore her teeth. These miserable men had had her at their mercy one time to many. She was not about to let yet another of the fools—
Whack.
An ungodly scream assaulted her ears, and the guard’s sword flew into the grass, bloody fingers still gripping it. The guard stood in place, shrieking at the loss of his hand, as Prince Dmitri brought down the axe he’d just wielded.
Geo gaped at his brother. “Thank God I dropped that.”
“Thank God my brother taught me well.” Dmitri handed him back the axe and picked up the Llewesian sword for himself. Lucie nearly vomited as he pried the guard’s detached hand from the hilt.
They glanced down into the moat again, their victim writhing behind them, when a trio of Tybirian knights appeared. The shock on the Crown Prince’s face was tangible. “Aidan? Cardwell?”
“Your Highness!” They bowed enthusiastically.
“But, I thought you were—!”
“Well, well.” Cerise brushed past Lucie, sauntering up to the third knight. “Mr. Wilhelm Wagner.” Her red eyes narrowed.
Sir Will held out his hands, his grin conveying a pang of discomfort. “Cerise, my pet….”
“You owe me,” she hissed, cutting him off. “You think I’d forget a man who walks out before paying his dues?”
“I simply hadn’t the funds at the time, love,” Will whined under his voice, but Geo intervened.
“Whatever he owes you, I’ll match,” he assured the woman. “Consider his debts paid.” He shot Will an irritated look before turning to the others. “What is going on?”
“You’re dead,” Dmitri blurted to the knights.
“Clearly, they aren’t, Dmitri,” snapped his brother.
Lucie placed a tentative hand on the Crown Prince’s shoulder. “It’s sort of an involved story, Your Highness,” she said kindly. “We’ll explain it to you when we have more—”
“The battle ended as soon as the maidservants rushed downstairs screaming that the king had been slain,” Sir Aidan answered Geo. “We’ve examined the body; indeed, Ira is gone.”
“Nice work,” Will muttered out of the side of his mouth to Cerise. The curvy woman only sighed.
“Some of the guards are determined to fulfill their duties to the deaths, but most have surrendered.” Aidan mopped his brow. “At any rate, the drawbridge is clear. You are free to go.”
“How’s Kieran?” asked Geo in concern. “Philip, Graden…?”
Lucie softened as she watched him. In spite of being safe to flee, the prince first wished to ascertain the well-being of his men.
“Fine, all fine,” attested Aidan.
Geo looked relieved. “Very well. Tell our boys to raid the stables, seize Wintersea’s horses, and meet us on the road. We’re getting a head start.” He swatted his brother’s arm. “I want to spirit this bloke out of here at once.”
“As you wish, sir,” bowed the knights, and departed them.
THEY ARMED THEMSELVES WITH ALL the Llewesian weaponry they could pilfer before crossing the drawbridge in record time. At last, Geo, Dmitri, Lucie and Cerise reached the path from the fortress, only to intersect a crew of ladies on horseback.
“Cerise,” greeted the aging woman in front, whose hair was stacked into a hive-like shape. Geo recognized her as Madame Hollie. The two young women who’d diverted the guards on their first attempt to infiltrate Wintersea were also present. “Vi and Astrid suggested we might find you here. We grew concerned when the hour was so late and you’d still not returned.”
Cerise thanked them. “Any chance we can spare a pair of horses for my friends? They’ve more than compensated me.”
Madame Hollie motioned for a duo of girls in back to vacate their animals. They did, and climbed up to share their companions’ saddles. Cerise took hold of the creatures’ reins and led them to Geo.
He opened his mouth, intending to summon Lucie to ride with him, but stopped short. Lucie was still Dmitri’s fiancée, wasn’t she? How untoward of him to steal her out from under the man, and insist upon riding with her back to Tybiria. Sure, Geo and Lucie were lovers…but Dmitri didn’t know that. And after everything his poor brother had gone through, how could Geo tell him? And what would be the consequences if—?
Cerise interrupted his worries with an unexpected peck on the cheek. “Pleasure doing business with you.” She joined Madame Hollie upon her spotted horse. “I’m sorry it couldn’t have worked out between us,” she teased. “But you understand.”
Geo smirked. “I’ll be in touch, Cerise.”
“I know you will.”
Madame Hollie clicked her tongue, commanding the steeds to lift their hooves, and her girls rounded down the gravel path. A few lifted their hands in farewell.
Geo cleared his throat. “Dmitri, how about you and Lucie share this one?” He stroked the dark mane of the stallion before him. Without awaiting a response, he selected the other, and mounted it alone. He couldn’t wait to distance himself as far as possible from Wintersea. He wagered Dmitri felt the same—amplified one thousand-fold.
They rode down the path, finally putting the fortress behind them. Within the next few hours, the knights caught up, riding Llewesian steeds. They cheered in victory, disregarding the late hour, and began the journey home. As he rode between the princes, Sir Aidan relayed the story of the Atasi’s rescue of the fallen knights in the moons past, for Dmitri’s benefit.
“Eventually,” said the knight, “when the tribesmen suspected an old passage of lore might actually exist, and could even lead straight into Wintersea, we planned right then to free you ourselves, Your Highness. But we took several wrong turns and were lost underground for days.” Aidan nodded at Geo, then Lucie. “Yet, good thing we arrived precisely when we did.”
“Amen,” murmured Lucie behind Dmitri, and Geo looked away. He knew it wasn’t her fault, but the sight of her arms around his brother’s waist perturbed him.
Trekking across Llewes with the army resulted in a surprisingly more efficient experience. For one, they traveled at longer intervals, and on an organized schedule. They also had little to fear when crossing through villages this time; news was qu
ick spreading that King Ira was dead, and no one was willing to challenge his conquerors.
It was late one of their final evenings on the road when they made camp, and shared the rations they had acquired in town. Will was entertaining Lucie with one of his outlandish stories, and Geo closed his eyes at the sound of her laughter. How it brightened his soul. If only he could be the one to make her laugh like that, forevermore.
He reopened his eyes guiltily, resting them upon his brother. Dmitri sat by his lonesome beneath a mammoth pine tree, gazing into the flames of the bonfire. He had been unusually quiet the last many days, riddling Geo with a sense of loss. What had happened to his lighthearted brother in that prison? What sort of scars must the fellow be suffering?
Coming to a decision, Geo rose and went over to him. “Mind if I join you?” he asked.
Dmitri shook his head.
Geo lowered himself onto a patch of grass beside him, and drew an eyeful of the night sky. “Ah. I see why you like this spot. You can see the stars so very clearly.”
“Can I?” said Dmitri absently, still staring into the fire.
Geo cleared his throat. He detected something swollen between them, weighty and impermeable, as though Dmitri harbored as many secrets as Geo did. The concept was altogether alien; the brothers historically kept little from each other.
Well, it was time to empty the first stone from his sack, so to speak, and alleviate some of the burden. Geo took a breath. “Oy, Dmitri…I owe you an apology.”
Dmitri looked at him.
“A massive apology.” Geo leaned against the pine. “It should’ve been me locked up in that prison.”
“No, it shouldn’t have,” muttered Dmitri, eyes returning to the fire.
Geo blinked. “Yes,” he argued, “it should. Because I think I was the one who killed Prince Weyland. Not you. I fired your arrow, remember?”
“We shot at the same time.” Dmitri waved him off. “Who knows who struck the kid?”
Geo fell silent as firelight danced across his brother’s empty expression. As always, Dmitri held nothing against him, did not blame Geo for his plight. Geo knew he ought to be grateful, but couldn’t help feeling disturbed at how little the other man seemed to care.
“Well,” Geo exhaled, “if it was my arrow, I’m sorry.”
Dmitri shrugged. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”
Oh, but there was. They sat in silence as their friends, on the other side of the bonfire, played card games and compared battle scars, oblivious to the two heavy-hearted princes. Many times, Geo considered telling Dmitri about Lucie, wondered how to articulate their relationship, and debated over exactly how much to tell him. Each time, the words dissolved on his tongue. After all, what could he say to his only brother, who sat at his side, already looking so lost and forlorn? ‘Oh, by the way, while you were wrongfully imprisoned for a murder that I most likely committed, I went ahead and fell in love with your fiancée, and she professed her love for me too’? The idea seemed beyond cruel.
He watched Lucie across the fire, her lips wrapping into a smile as she listened to a joke from Philip. Geo had never felt more torn. The more he loved her, the deeper he betrayed his brother. He would have to come to a decision, and soon. Only, he knew not the price of his confession…or his silence.
DMITRI AWOKE TO A BLINDING sun and yammering men. He squinted, reaching for his spectacles. The soft grass and woven Atasi blankets were certainly more comfortable than the rigid prison cell floor had been, but he was still adjusting to the change. Every so often, he expected to find himself back in the tower, as though he’d only imagined his escape.
Another morning of washing in cold stream water, folding and repacking supplies, and mounting his horse with the girl, Luccia, to continue the strenuous ride south. It had been so long since the prince had last seen the outdoors, inhaled fresh air and heard the sounds of birdsong, that the sensations were overwhelming. He galloped among the knights in a daze, still shocked that he’d made it out alive, yet somehow deeply saddened, even so.
It was Pavola. She dominated his dreams and every waking thought, her parting words devastating him more with each recollection. Dmitri ached. How had he permitted things to end in such a way? And where was she when he’d gone to her chamber? Was she all right?
Were he alone, he would weep. He had lost his only love, forever. As it were, he was surrounded at all hours by his brother, their many men…and his fiancée.
The term felt foreign to him, as did the young woman, whom Dmitri barely knew. But she had gone after him, a complete stranger, much to her own endangerment. The woman was obviously goodhearted, and had her hopes fixed on marrying him, as was rightfully arranged between their families. Dmitri didn’t think he could handle the guilt, nor could he reward such bravery by snubbing her unjustly. Especially considering that Pavola would be well on her way to West Halvea by now, and he would likely never see her again.
Still, his heart did not belong to Luccia, and he was unsure if it ever would. Could a broken heart truly be healed? Or could it only be patched with distance and distraction, until trained to beat to a different rhythm?
Either way, Dmitri did not wish to be placated. He wanted to mourn, to wallow. At least it would serve as proof that he’d experienced real love. It had concluded badly, but it had happened. He’d not deceive himself. He could fool everyone else—indeed, it appeared he should have to. But his love for Pavola would ever remain, quietly stored away in a secret compartment of his heart reserved just for her, which he’d allow no duration of time to penetrate.
The Crown Prince could scarcely believe his eyes when his companions pointed out the castle in sight, just another day’s march down the slopes. They were almost home. Although, he wondered if it would still feel like home. Somehow, he feared nothing would feel the same again.
The following afternoon was a blur of trees and woodland paths, clouds and grasshoppers and sunlight. The horses stank and swished their tails, and Dmitri sat silently in the leather saddle with his betrothed, barely listening to the knights’ banter. It had never felt stranger to see the spires of the castle looming closer as the sky shifted to a balmy dusk, and the horses trotted onto the cool, fertile grasses of home.
His escort trumpeted and huzzah-ed, and Dmitri recognized Kellan, Roc and the others as they emerged, flabbergasted, from their posts. His reception was a haze of shouts, cheers, confusion, bowed heads, and bent knees. The prince was dizzy as he and Luccia were helped down from their horse with far more assistance than necessary, and ushered indoors by an unrelenting entourage brimming with countless questions, fussing and chatter. Dmitri wished to cover his ears against the amplification of the voices echoing off the limestone walls and marble floors as he entered the castle. He hadn’t realized how fatigued he was until that moment. As he endured the tearful, suffocating embraces of his mother and father, he suddenly desired nothing more than sleep.
Eternal, numbing sleep.
THEIR RECEPTION WAS OVERWHELMING, TO understate the matter. After so much freedom and openness on the road, Lucie felt smothered by the swarm of staff and servants fretting over her and the princes.
“Miss Camerlane,” gasped the maids, in a tizzy. “We thought you’d been abducted, too!”
“Nay,” Geo announced to the room at large, “she went after the Llewesians herself, and helped rescue the Crown Prince. She ought to be decreed a national heroine.” His gaze latched onto her, and Lucie stared back.
He appeared to wish to say more, but decidedly closed his mouth, stepping away. Lucie could only whisper his name as she was swept by a gaggle of maids, who clucked about alerting her father and returning her home. Geo did not watch, only turned, his shoulders slack, and disappeared through the crowd.
Lucie felt like crying as the king and queen interviewed her briefly, ensuring that she was all right and had not been harmed, before ord
ering a carriage to chauffer her to Backshore, with accompaniment. When the transit was prepared, the castle guards gently guided her outside, and helped her into the vehicle. Lucie peered out the windows, searching hopefully for a last glimpse of Geo. Alas, he was nowhere to be seen.
Her heart lodged in her throat as she watched the castle shrink behind her. The road curved around the long lake, its shadowy waters dotted with peaceful swans. Somehow, it seemed larger to her than she remembered. Perhaps she’d grown accustomed to the intimacy of the small, shallow pools in the Atasi’s caverns, and had forgotten just how much distance truly existed between her and Geo.
She looked down at the carriage floor, resting her chin in her hands. Things would not be the same without his daily companionship. Would he act upon the love they had professed, down in the dungeons of Wintersea? It wasn’t her place to say anything; she was powerless. But the prince could appeal to his parents, couldn’t he? Was it not too late?
Perhaps it was, though. She stifled a sniffle, glum. She had been lifted from the castle—and from Geo—against her will, as if by an uncompromising tide. The manner in which she was made to ride home in silent compliance, and proceed with the plans that had been laid out before her, only reinforced the strength of the system she was up against. She and the prince were outnumbered by a dynasty, a nation. They were required to do what was expected of them.
Still, she couldn’t picture a future as Prince Dmitri’s wife, ever kind though the young man was. And worse, she hated more to imagine Geo marrying another girl. Reeling from the thought, she glanced up to realize they were just arriving home.
The horses slowed, and Lucie took a moment to appreciate the momentary calm. She waited as the guards opened the carriage door and helped her out into the evening air. Up the brick path they walked her to the manor’s front door, past the garden trellises climbing with ivy and vines, and had barely administered their knocks when the door swung open. Lucie braced herself for the next round of excitement as the staff erupted before her.
