Before Barowalt can explain, there’s a knock at the door. Ella hurries to answer it, and we’re all startled when one of our own strides through the threshold.
“Hallgrave,” Barowalt says, immediately concerned at the solemn look on the knight’s face. “Why are you here? What is it?”
“I wouldn’t interrupt if it wasn’t Lingard business.” Hallgrave hands Barowalt a message and then turns to me. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”
Barowalt’s face shadows with disbelief and then shock. “Impossible.”
My brother folds the message, and then, overcome, he crumples it in his hand and heaves it across the room.
“What’s happened?” I whisper, terror flooding my veins.
The Order of Lingard has one duty—to protect a hunted group of magical beings, and any news to upset Barowalt like this is bad. Very bad.
“Where?” I ask Hallgrave when Barowalt doesn’t answer.
The burly knight looks sick. “Ptarma.”
“Ptarma’s safe…they’ve never…” I set my hand on the knight’s arm. “How many have been…?”
Slaughtered is the correct word, but I can’t bring myself to say it.
Hallgrave clasps his palm over mine. “Twenty-three, Princess.”
I turn away, trembling. There hasn’t been a slaughter this colossal in over three hundred years.
It’s my fault. We were here, tending to this ridiculous promise, a promise that meant nothing to the prince of Primewood, when we should have been there.
“We’re leaving,” I say as I scoop up the note. I look at my brother before I hold it over a candle flame. “Do you need this?”
He shakes his head, and I let the message burn.
Once the note is ashes, I say, “Milly, you’ll come with us. Ella, you stay here. Inform His and Her Majesty that we extend our apologies, but I will be not be marrying their son.”
CHAPTER TWO
A warm subtropical breeze caresses my face as I step down the gangplank. After the two-week sea voyage, I’m glad to be on solid ground again.
In front of me, Barowalt strides down the plank at a brisk pace with a no-nonsense look on his face. The sailors on the pier send him wary glances and avert their eyes when he passes.
I hide a smile and nod serenely as I go by.
The port village of Vallen Harbor is protected on either side by tall, sheer white cliffs. The turquoise ocean slaps at the base of the rocks, creating white foam on the waves. Palm trees dot the sandy beach, but higher, clinging to shelves in the cliffs, needled evergreens grow. Past the beach, brightly-colored wildflowers grow in clusters amongst the expanse of grass.
Here, it looks like summer. It’s impossible to tell we’re nearing the end of the autumn season.
It took several days to find a ship willing to sail us this time of year. The storms at sea can be treacherous, and most ships have already taken to land or sailed far south to Waldren and beyond for the winter.
Milly takes in the scenery, gawking at everything with wide eyes.
I haven’t been to Ptarma in over five years, and I’ve missed my mother’s kingdom. I would be as giddy as Milly if the reason for our visit wasn’t weighing heavy on my mind.
Sometimes, it would be a relief to be as blissfully unaware as she is. Like most subjects of Brookraven, Milly only has a vague idea of what our royal line has been charged with.
Barowalt speaks with Hallgrave on the dock, and we join them.
“Arrange for our things to be delivered to the estate,” Barowalt says.
Hallgrave bows his head. “Your Majesty.”
The knight nods to both Milly and me, and then he makes his way to a group of ship’s men loitering on the pier.
“Stay here,” Barowalt commands. “I’m going to hire a carriage.” He begins to turn and then hesitates, giving Milly a sharp look. “Do not wander off. I don’t have time to track you down today.”
Milly gives him a flirty smile. “Of course, Your Majesty. I would hate to cause you any distress.”
He stares at her, expressionless, and then turns down the street.
Beside me, Milly grins.
I elbow her. “Behave.”
“He’s too easy.”
“There’s a lot on his mind.”
My friend looks at me and pushes a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “You have a lot on your mind as well. How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
Milly rolls her eyes. “Why do you still bother lying to me? We’ve known each other too long.”
I watch the palm fronds sway in the light breeze. Nearby, a child runs along the rock-dotted shore. She tosses a stick to her small dog, and the people nearby smile at her with affection.
“I feel I’ve disappointed her,” I finally answer.
“Your mother would have wanted you to marry a good man.” Milly sets her hands on her hips. “She wouldn’t have truly wished you to be with the Prince of Primewood if she’d known what a scoundrel he’s become.” She pauses, and a smile twitches at her mouth. “An incredibly handsome scoundrel, though, isn’t he?”
I let out a breath and allow myself to laugh. “He has this smile…”
Milly lets out a longing sigh. “And his eyes…”
“But let’s not forget the fact that he loathed the very idea of marrying me.”
My friend’s smile drops, and it’s replaced with irritation. “Then he’s a fool.”
“His loss, right?” I say, attempting to smile again.
“You don’t need him anyway.” She stands straighter and motions to the street Barowalt just disappeared down. “Not when you have all of them tripping over themselves to serve you.”
And there they are—Brookraven’s elite knights, my Order of Lingard. Seven men stride forward, Barowalt at their head. With chain mail shining in the bright Ptarmish light and standing as tall as oaks, they’re an impressive sight. Each man is handsome, young, and strong—every one of them.
Milly sighs and fans herself. “I just want one or two. You can keep the rest.”
I let out a short laugh. “You only want one, and seeing as how he’s my brother, he’s all yours.”
“Honestly,” she scoffs. “How can a girl be expected to choose? Just look at those rippling muscles.”
It feels good to release the darkness welling in my heart for a moment. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. The men are close enough now we must hold our tongues.
One of the knights breaks from the group and steps forward, saying to Milly, “Look who the sea washed up.”
She grins. “Miss me, Rogert?”
“Always, my lady.” Then the chestnut-haired lord turns to me, and his expression becomes solemn. He drops to his knee and lowers his head. “We’ve failed you, Your Highness.”
I set my hand on his shoulder, giving him permission to rise. “Let’s not dwell on our losses but focus on what must be done.”
He stands and nods. One by one, my seven knights stand before me, kneeling in greeting. Several of them have been away from Brookraven on missions, and I haven’t seen them in months.
These men are my family, my friends, but our reunion is bittersweet.
Several villagers look at us with awe, wondering who we are and what we’re doing in their sleepy town.
After the greetings are over, Barowalt turns to me. “They’ve been waiting for you. Asher’s at the estate.”
That’s nine men, including Barowalt. Hopefully it will be enough.
I turn to Rogert. “Are we expecting any more?”
Rogert shakes his head.
“Did you leave your posts adequately covered?” Barowalt asks.
“Yes, we believe so,” Rogert, who’s designated himself as the group’s unofficial spokesman, answers.
“Perhaps,” I say. “But we thought Ptarma was covered, and look at what happened here.”
I don’t say it to be harsh, but it’s true. We must be more vigilant from this point on.
***
“I hate it when you dress like that.” Milly lounges on a settee, looking bored.
Giving her a wry look, I slide my sword in its sheath. “You try sparring in a gown.”
“Why must you? Can’t you let Barowalt deal with whatever it is we’re here about?” She sits up. “I want to explore…find a cute fisherman to spend the afternoon with.”
I slide a knife in one of my knee-high leather boots. “No one’s stopping you.”
Milly pouts. “I don’t want to go by myself.”
“You won’t be by yourself.” I grin. “You’ll have the fisherman to keep you company.”
Sighing, she clasps her hands in her lap. “Let me come with you. Let me in on your very secret, very important Guild of Handsome Knights.”
My smile drops. “Don’t belittle it.”
“I’m not.” She rises to her feet, her expression earnest. “I just don’t want to be in the dark anymore.”
For some reason, I hesitate, and her eyes widen with hope.
Technically, as the only remaining female in our family’s line, the Order of Lingard is mine to lead, though I’ve transferred most of the responsibility to Barowalt. I’m the head, but it’s mostly a show for tradition.
And Barowalt would be displeased if I showed up at the meeting with Milly in tow. Not only is she completely worthless for the task ahead of us, but she’d distract the knights.
“Milly, I can’t—”
I’m interrupted by a knock at the door. I stride across the room to open it.
Barowalt stands in the hall, looking irked. “You best change into a gown. The Ptarmish court found out we’re here.”
I groan. “Already? We haven’t even had a chance to speak with Asher, and I haven’t picked up a sword since we left Elden.”
My brother walks into the room. “Well, then, you best make it quick. Aunt Camilla is expecting us for dinner.”
Pursing my lips to keep myself from voicing my less than pleasant thoughts, I nod. “Fine. Round the men up, tell them to gather in the courtyard for a quick meeting.”
Barowalt raises an eyebrow. “Yes, Your Highness.”
I smack him on his rock-hard chest. “Don’t mock me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He holds up his hands in surrender.
I crack a smile, and he returns it.
“So…Ptarma?” I finally say.
Barowalt shakes his head. “Of all the places for an attack, I never dreamed it would be here.”
“How are they doing?” I ask.
“They wouldn’t meet with Asher. They’re waiting for you.”
I suspecting as much. “When can we visit them?”
“Soon.”
That, at least, is a relief.
After shooing Barowalt out the door, I strip out of my trousers and change into a gown. Since Ella isn’t here, and Milly insists on making the laces too tight, I choose a front-cinching gown I can tie without assistance.
Feeling slightly sorry for myself, I toss my sword on the bed.
Milly nods, approving. “That’s so much better.”
Giving her an ornery smile, I say, “That might be. But I’m not taking the knife out of my boot.”
She rolls her eyes and flops onto the settee. “Come get me when it’s time to leave for the Ptarmish court.”
***
“Audette, my darling.” Aunt Camilla draws me into a tight embrace.
I return the hug, pleased to see her even if I’m not pleased to be summoned so soon. She smells overwhelmingly of floral water and the ingermint she uses on her arthritic knuckles.
My grandmother’s sister holds me at arm’s-length and purses her thin lips. “What is this news I’ve heard of you running away from your wedding?”
In a most unladylike move, I gape at her. How could she possibly have heard of that yet?
Sensing the question in my expression, she narrows her eyes. “The sailors like to talk, child. And I have a network you wouldn’t believe.”
I laugh, startled by her answer. “I assure you, it was a much more sensible move than you might have been led to believe.”
“Hmmm.”
My aunt lets me go and then totters toward Barowalt, who looks at her with something akin to fear in his eyes. I bite my lip, trying very hard not to laugh.
Her Majesty, Queen Clara of Ptarma, steps forward and takes my hands. “We’re so pleased to see you, Audette.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty, for your hospitality.”
Next to the queen, King Edlund beams at me. “Look at you! You’re all grown up.”
I smile at my mother’s distant cousins, trying to keep my mind in the great hall and not brood over the situation we’ve come to attend.
Clara loops her hand through my arm and walks me down the hall. “You look so much like your mother.” She squeezes my arm and blinks several times. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“It’s been a long six months.”
The queen stops. “You’re welcome here, you know that, don’t you? For as long as you want—stay forever if you like.”
I look at my feet. “You’ve also heard about the disaster that was supposed to be my wedding.”
She smiles. “You have Ptarmish blood in your veins. We make hasty, rash decisions, but our gut instincts are rarely wrong.”
And my gut instincts told me to kiss Irving in the hall. What does that say?
Clara continues, “I tried to convince your mother to betroth you to handsome Javid, but he went and found his own bride a few years ago.”
I smile at the couple she motions to. I remember Javid, now the Duke of Marfell. He’s several years older than I am, but his wife looks to be closer to my age. She’s pretty, tall, and demure, and she’s all smiles as the couple speaks with Milly.
Here, at court, my radiant friend is in her element.
“Here’s someone you have not met.” Clara waves to a man and woman who stand toward the edge of the group. “Kent, Giselle.”
The two, who look like they were quietly arguing, are somewhat startled to be addressed.
“Audette, you know my nephew, Prince Kent. He and Aldus just arrived back from a hunt this morning.”
I give my cousin a polite smile.
“This is his lovely bride, Giselle.” Clara turns toward the couple. “Giselle, this is Her Highness, Princess Audette of Brookraven—a dear cousin of ours.”
Kent’s closer to Javid’s age, probably six or eight years older than I am. Giselle appears to be somewhat younger. She’s in an immaculate dress that makes me glad I changed. Her hair is dark and thick, and her eyes are a warm, rich brown.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness,” she says, offering me a small curtsy.
I can’t place her accent.
Clara and Edlund’s son, Aldus, joins us as I greet Kent’s wife. Ptarma’s crown prince is tall with brownish-auburn hair that shines copper in the late afternoon sunshine that streams in through the windows. Like his father, Aldus is warm and friendly, and I’ve always liked him despite our six-year age difference.
“Hello, cousin,” he says, giving me a friendly bow. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Just as I’m about to answer, an announcement is made from the entrance of the hall.
“His Royal Highness, Irving Windom the Third, Crown Prince of Primewood, is here, seeking an audience with His and Her Royal Majesties,” the guard calls out, his face expressionless.
“From Primewood?” Edlund says, surprised. “Well, of course, he’s more than welcome. Send him in.”
My stomach lurches, and I blink, feeling disoriented. Surely, the prince is not here. He would have had to have traveled to Triblue and procured a ship the same day we did.
But I can’t deny it’s Irving when he strides in the room. There’s a warm smile on his face, and he scans the hall, looking to address the king and queen personally, I presume, but his eyes lock with mine. He looks handsome and roguish,
and my breath catches.
His warm smile vanishes, and in its place is a look so full of irritation that I almost take a step back.
Milly slips to my side.
The room has gone still. All watch the silent exchange, and I’m sure most wonder why the mood has suddenly turned tense.
Irving gives Milly a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, my lovely betrothed.” His gaze slides to me. “Or is it?”
My heart beats at a frantic pace. His hair is wind-blown from the ride to the castle, and his trousers are dusty. He wears a sword at his side, and it makes him look rather dashing.
How unfortunate that I finally find a man that makes me weak in the knees, and he’s a knave.
“So which one of you is Audette?” Irving motions between me and my lady-in-waiting and gives us a tight smile. “Just out of curiosity, you know. It would be nice know which one of you left me at the altar.”
CHAPTER THREE
Drawing my courage, I’m about to answer when Barowalt steps between us, blocking Irving from my view.
“You are not welcome to speak with Princess Audette or her lady.” Barowalt’s hand drifts to the hilt of his sword.
“King Barowalt, I presume?” Irving asks, undeterred. “I’d just like to know which one is your sister.”
Barowalt makes to take a step forward in challenge, but I clasp his arm, drawing him back.
“It’s all right,” I say to my brother. “I’ll speak with him.”
Obviously more keen on the idea of running Irving through with his sword than chatting, Barowalt mulls it over. Finally, he steps aside.
Though it’s an intimate gathering, dozens of eyes are trained on us, making me feel like I’m on display.
Irving doesn’t look surprised when I step forward. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to speak first.
“Let’s go into the hall,” I say.
He looks like he’s going to say something clever and then changes his mind. With a flourish of his hand and a tight smile on his face, he motions me ahead. Before I step out, I glance at Milly over my shoulder.
She widens her eyes, asking me what I’m going to do. I very subtly shake my head. I have no idea.
Audette of Brookraven (The Eldentimber Series Book 4) Page 2
