The Secret Princess

by Rachelle Mccalla

  Prince Luke’s face flashed through her thoughts, and she groaned when she realized how much she’d come to trust him already. She knew better than to trust a royal. Her grandfather had only ever deceived her. But Prince Luke was a Christian. Did his faith make any difference in his actions? Perhaps he might be willing to help her. He’d offered to help her escape. But Bertie’s capture was a sharp reminder of why she could never go with him.

  All her previous efforts to run away had been thwarted by her grandfather. Though the king did not care for her and treated her harshly nonetheless, he kept close tabs on her, either out of spite or because of her value as a learned slave.

  Worse yet, Omar had recently made up his mind to have her. Even if King Garren didn’t notice her missing, Omar would never let her get far from Fier. He’d track her down. If she and Bertie were found among the Lydians, her grandfather would happily use the incident as an excuse to start another war.

  As she’d told Prince Luke, her reasons for staying were complicated. Even she didn’t fully understand her grandfather’s determination to keep her. But she knew the trouble that would follow if she fled. Better that she and Bertie suffer than all of Lydia.

  Evelyn reached the bottom of the stairs in silence. The dungeon was too quiet. Torchlight flickered around the corner; otherwise she might have thought the dungeon empty. Cautiously, she stole a glance into the low-ceilinged space beyond.

  Ropes bound her little brother’s arms behind his back. He lay on his side on the floor, his face turned away from her toward the wall. She stared for a moment, willing the twelve-year-old to move, to breathe, anything to reassure her he was alive.

  Unable to see any signs of life, she took a tentative step forward.

  A heavy hand shot out from the shadows, grabbing her by the wrist, pulling her against the cold wall.

  Evelyn gasped.

  Bertie rolled toward her, his eyes first surprised, then defeated. A rag in his mouth kept him from speaking, but his expression told her he wished she hadn’t come.

  Omar chuckled, his rotten breath uncomfortably close to her face. “Figured you’d come looking for him. You know why he’s here, don’t you? You know he helped the prisoner escape.”

  “Prisoner?” Evelyn tried to sound confused. Her grandfather hadn’t made it widely known that he’d imprisoned Prince Luke, though even the serving girls had figured out what he’d done.

  “Don’t play stupid with me. Now that I’ve got you, we’re going to go wake up the king. He needs to know what you two have been up to.”

  Across the room, Bertie’s eyes widened and he made desperate noises with his throat, but his bonds held him tight. He couldn’t help her.

  With Omar’s grip digging into her shoulder, Evelyn had no choice but to go back up the stairs as he guided her. King Garren always hated bad news. But more than that, he hated being awakened in the middle of the night.

  She was a little surprised that he hadn’t made good on his threat of marrying her to Omar already, though he’d muttered something once about political usefulness, which made her suspect the cunning king hoped to find a match for her that would benefit him more. After all, as the king’s granddaughter, she could technically be considered a princess—but that was only if the king acknowledged her. As always, it would come down to whatever fit his schemes.

  But even her grandfather’s craftiness couldn’t compete with his anger.

  Evelyn turned at the top of the stairs, headed in the direction in which Omar pointed her. She had no choice but to pray with her eyes wide open, watching for any chance to escape. Even as she did so, she prayed silently that Prince Luke would make haste. If her grandfather sent a party after him on horseback, the Lydian prince would need a solid head start to make good his escape.

  Chapter Five

  Luke fled hurriedly through the darkness, the new moon adding little light to the starry sky. He paused where the roundabout trail met the main road.

  Which route should he choose? If he stuck to the road, he could be spotted and recaptured. Garren would surely take greater measures to prevent him from escaping again—either locking him under heavy guard, injuring him or killing him. Luke wanted none of those options.

  Still, the road, rough and rutted though it was, would provide him the fastest route back to Lydia. Given the darkness of the night, Luke could waste valuable time picking his way through the thick forest that filled the borderlands between Lydia and the Illyrian mountains. He needed to alert his brother King John to all that he’d learned on his visit. He risked losing precious hours fighting the underbrush or, worse yet, becoming lost in these unfamiliar woods so close to Fier.

  The road ran straight south, skirting the Lydian lands to the east. If Luke stayed on that path, he’d miss the outpost camp where his men were stationed but would arrived more quickly at Sardis, the Lydian walled city that sat at the point where the mainland joined the peninsula of Castlehead. The road would deliver him more quickly to his brother and offer him a hastier escape—provided he avoided detection.

  Wary of the silence behind him, Luke stuck to the side of the road, following the path amidst the thick cover of underbrush that ran alongside it. Soon enough, when Fier lay far behind him and no sound of pursuit had met his ears, Luke gave up trying to force his way through the side thicket and ran instead along the road.

  He reached a muddy place where the path crossed a small stream. There was no bridge here—the stream was not even deep enough to warrant that. Travelers would simply splash through the shallows or, if they wished to stay dry, pick their way across on the many stones that jutted up from the trickling flow.

  Luke paused on one of these rocks and bent to drink. He’d traveled far since drinking the flask of tea Evelyn had brought him. It had been such a thoughtful gift, and one that could have labeled her a traitor if she were to be found out. He wondered at her allegiance. Was it only because of their shared faith that she’d decided to help him? Or did she feel the bond between them that Luke felt so acutely? In stitching closed his wounds, she’d knit the two of them together on a deeper level. He didn’t fully understand it himself, but she was never far from his thoughts, especially now that he’d spent time with her and she’d gone out of her way to help him.

  Luke drank deeply. The memory of Evelyn’s kindness warmed his heart even as the sight before him caused his blood to run cold in his veins.

  This close to the ground, he could see the surface of the path well in spite of the dim light. To his surprise, the road showed signs of heavy travel.

  But why? Who could possibly have passed this way? These lands were Lydian territory now. King Garren’s men would have no cause to travel so far down the road, not since their retreat from the battle at Sardis the previous fall.

  And yet as Luke analyzed the prints more closely, he saw they were all of similar size, belonging to grown men, not women or children. These were not the footprints of random villagers, then. No, though it was too dark for Luke to make out much detail, he’d tracked enough Illyrians in the borderlands to recognize the distinctive shape of the boots of the Illyrian soldiers.

  And the prints were all pointed in the same direction.

  Toward Sardis, Lydia’s great walled city.

  His pulse quickened. Luke ran forward along the road, stopping now and then when a break in the trees provided enough light for him to check the path for tracks. Again and again he saw the prints and wondered at the number of them. At least a dozen men must have passed along the road since the last heavy rain— possibly many more than that, even. In places, the path was heavily trampled.

  Where were they going? Who had sent them? What were they up to?

  Luke ran until a patch of moonlight revealed only smooth dirt. He glanced behind him, but the shadows obscured the road. Somewhere since last he’d paused to check, the Ill
yrian soldiers had left the road.

  But which way had they gone?

  They were still a good ways from Sardis. If the soldiers had headed west again, they’d quickly find themselves back at home among the Illyrian mountains, a perfectly innocent place for them to be. Luke supposed, given the difficulty of travel through the dense woods, it was entirely possible they’d used their old road to access their own lands—a relatively benign breach of the peace treaty, one he would not begrudge them.

  But if they’d left the road to turn east, they’d be deep in Lydian territory and could sneak up on the city of Sardis itself if they traveled far enough.

  Luke panted, tired from his long run through the night. It was too dark for him to try to track the boot prints through the woods, and it would be foolish for him to attempt to hunt down a dozen or more Illyrian soldiers without any men on his side. He needed to alert his brother to King Garren’s activities.

  The Illyrian boot prints might be innocent enough—and Luke hoped for the sake of peace that they were. But at the same time, he wasn’t about to forget he’d seen them. He’d dispatch men to scout out the area, though he wouldn’t personally accompany them.

  No, he’d given his word to Bertie that he’d help the boy and his sister escape. So whether Evelyn wanted to leave King Garren’s household or not, Luke would do what he could to fulfill his promise.

  * * *

  Evelyn’s thoughts raced as Omar guided her up the stairs to King Garren’s chambers. She thought about trying to escape his grasp, but with her brother still bound in the dungeon, she didn’t dare do anything rash. They’d only take out their anger on Bertie if she did.

  Bertie. Her heart ached at the thought of him. That he’d been caught trying to visit the tower only made matters a thousand times worse. She shouldn’t have mentioned to her brother that she wanted to visit the tower. No doubt that’s why Bertie had returned there—either looking for her or concerned for the prince on her behalf.

  Too soon Omar pounded on the wooden door to King Garren’s chambers. As she’d anticipated, her grandfather was furious about being awakened. He threw open the door and blinked at them in the sudden light from the torch Omar still carried.

  “What are you doing with my granddaughter?” The king, to Evelyn’s relief, directed his initial anger at Omar.

  “The prisoner has escaped.”

  “Escaped! Did you sound the alarm?”

  “I caught these two helping him escape.”

  “These two?” King Garren, an experienced liar himself, quickly spotted the obvious hole in Omar’s story.

  “The girl and her brother.”

  “What about the prisoner?”

  “He escaped.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” King Garren pulled Omar’s hand off Evelyn’s shoulder and thrust it back at him. “You caught them helping him escape, but instead of recapturing the prisoner or sounding an alarm, you brought me my granddaughter?”

  Omar looked sincerely surprised at the king’s reaction. “The last time she disobeyed, you told the girl she’d have to marry me if she defied you again.”

  King Garren narrowed his eyes. “I’m not going to reward you for letting the prisoner escape!” He looked back and forth from Evelyn to Omar, the ugliness of his thoughts reflected on his face. “Don’t you recall the terms of the peace treaty? We’re not supposed to engage in any acts of aggression. That means not locking up a prince on a diplomatic visit. If that stupid prince goes running back to his brother and tells him what we’ve done, he could bring both of the empires down on our heads. We don’t need to draw any attention to what we’re up to or they’ll find out about the mines and we’ll never get that land back.”

  While her grandfather spoke, he shuffled back into the room and lowered his voice, drawing Omar and Evelyn inside the chamber after him. Evelyn listened to his words, but her eyes roved the room in the flickering firelight from Omar’s torch. She wasn’t allowed in these quarters—if her grandfather hadn’t been groggy from being awakened and distracted by his anger at the prince’s escape, he’d never have let her inside.

  She spotted the jewels her grandfather had stolen from her lying near his crown. The signet ring, the brooch, the medallion—all were gifts Garren had given to Evelyn’s grandmother Mathilde when he’d married her. Mathilde had borne him a son, Rabertus, and they’d lived together as a family for several years until Garren had traveled to his homeland and found the Illyrians in rebellion against his older brother, who was then king.

  Garren had sided with the rebellion, killed his brother and married the widowed queen, abandoning Mathilde and Rabertus without a word. Rabertus had run away in search of his father and fallen in with bands of rogue outlaws, who’d taught him many things Evelyn wished her father had never learned. It wasn’t until Rabertus was a grown man with children of his own that he’d found the Illyrian kingdom of the Dometians and returned with the signet ring that proved his parentage, along with the other valuable treasures.

  But Garren had denied Rabertus any standing in his household, instead sending him on quests to prove his worth, always favoring his much younger son, Warrick, borne to him by his second wife, the widow of the brother he’d murdered. Evelyn’s father had recruited a band of outlaws and launched many successful campaigns, extending Garren’s borders and bringing him wealth.

  Still Rabertus was never accepted by his father and died an outlaw, unacknowledged. And while all of the king’s household knew Evelyn and Bertie were Garren’s grandchildren, they treated them with no more respect than any other slave. The king withheld the jewels that rightfully belonged to Evelyn and her brother, instead forcing them to work long hours of hard labor to pay back their father’s supposed debts.

  Precisely what those debts were Evelyn had never been told. It had something to do with her father’s activities as an outlaw and the crimes he’d committed in his efforts to win Garren’s approval. In her grandfather’s hypocritical way, he held against Rabertus the very assignments he himself had given him.

  “Go, then! Find the prince and bring him back—alive or dead, I care not which this time. If we can’t hold him as a hostage, we must at least eliminate him as a threat, especially now when he could use his imprisonment against us.” The king shoved Omar back down the hall.

  The head of the night watch disappeared around the corner, taking the light of his torch with him.

  Evelyn stepped after him into the corridor and stood still to the side of the doorway while her grandfather muttered angry words to himself. She didn’t dare move for fear of drawing attention to herself. To her relief, a moment later King Garren slammed the door shut.

  She’d been forgotten. She could only pray Omar had forgotten her brother, as well.

  Hurrying back down the stairs, she paused in the kitchen just long enough to stoke the fire and light the rag wick of a clay lamp. Then she tucked a knife into the band of her apron and protected the fragile open flame, guarding it with her hand as she crept as quickly as she dared down the stairs.

  As she’d hoped, Omar had left the dungeon door ajar in his haste. Bertie lay all alone on the dungeon floor, forgotten. She rushed to his side and pulled the gag from his mouth, then placed the clay lamp on the floor while she hastily sawed through the bands that held him.

  She’d expected her brother to be angry, but he didn’t say a word, worrying her. When she finally cut through the last of the ropes, she warmed his cold hands in hers, drawing him closer to the lamplight. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m cold.” Bertie shivered horribly, and Evelyn realized he’d been wearing only the thinnest, most raggedy clothes as he lay in the dank chill of the dungeon.

  “Let’s get you upstairs by the fire.”

  The lamp went out as Evelyn helped her brother up the stairs, got him situated by the fire and heated wate
r for tea to warm him from the inside. But the fire had burned low and Bertie still shivered, so Evelyn slipped into the great hall and found the bearskin Prince Luke had presented to King Garren. The great furry pelt was so lifelike everyone seemed afraid to touch it, and it remained in the spot where the prince had left it.

  Evelyn tugged the heavy thing back to her brother and wrapped it snugly around him. “There, now. Better?”

  “I hate Omar.” Bertie sniffled and swiped at his cheeks. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? Is Grandfather going to make you marry him?”

  “Not yet. Not unless he brings back Prince Luke, alive or dead.”

  Bertie shuddered visibly. “I like Prince Luke just fine. I hope he doesn’t kill him, for your sake and for his. Oh,” the boy moaned, “it’s all so helpless anyway. We should run away back to Frankia.”

  Her brother’s words didn’t surprise Evelyn, who’d heard him express the desire to return to their homeland too many times to count. As always, she reminded him, “We haven’t got any means to support ourselves along the way. We wouldn’t make it far before Omar caught up to us, and then I’d surely be forced to marry him.”

  “If we could find what Grandfather did with the dowry treasures—”

  “I saw them.”

  “Where?”

  “Inside his chamber.”

  “When were you allowed in there?”

  “Just earlier when Omar dragged me up there. Grandfather has everything on a side table behind the door, along with his crown and everything else he keeps private.”

  “If we could sneak in—”

  “Don’t!” Evelyn wondered if she should have kept the location of the treasures to herself. But then, her brother deserved to know. He had just as much right to them as she did, and if anything happened to her, she might not get another opportunity to tell him. “Promise me you won’t. If the jewels go missing, Grandfather will guess we were behind it. He’ll marry me to Omar for certain then, and who knows what he might do to you.”