by Jeanne Hardt
Unable to help himself, he ran his fingers along her dark hair. It flowed over the pillows. He had always assumed he would desire a fair-haired woman like his mother. How wrong he had been.
He needed to let her sleep, but did not want her to wake and find him gone.
Such a predicament.
A compromise led him stumbling through the dark to her writing table. He managed to light a candle and found parchment and quill. He hoped what he wrote would suffice. As soon as the men of Basilia arrived, the letter had to be sent over. It would prevent misunderstandings that could lead to an unnecessary war.
“Sebastian?”
He glanced over his shoulder and admired his sleepy princess. “Yes?”
She yawned. “What are you doing?”
“Composing a letter to Jonah. I expect he will arrive in two days. I am explaining our situation.”
Still droopy-eyed, she pushed back the blankets, set her feet on the floor, then crossed the room and stood behind him. “May I read what you have written?”
“I just started, but you are welcome to it.” He moved his head from side-to-side, attempting to loosen the muscles.
As if she read his thoughts, she began rubbing his neck, then worked her way down to his shoulders. “Is this helping?”
“Mmm . . .” He groaned with pleasure. “Yes. You have exceptionally strong hands for a princess.”
She bent down and kissed his cheek. “I am glad I can please you in some fashion. I assume you did not sleep comfortably.”
He scooted out his chair and brought her onto his lap. The soft glow from the candle shimmered against her sheer gown. It would be impossible to return his thoughts to the letter. If he were wise, he would put her back in bed, then go to his own chamber to finish the composition.
She lifted the letter and tipped it toward the candlelight.
“Jonah,” she read aloud. “I am pleased to write that my time in Padrida has gone well, and I have indeed found my bride.” She stopped reading and gave him another kiss on his cheek. “Olivia, whom you know I found appealing, is truly the princess whom she wrote of in her letters.”
She stopped and set the parchment on the table. “You told Jonah you find me appealing?”
“Yes. He is not only my manservant, he is my best friend. We discuss many things.”
“I see. And in what way did you describe me?”
“I read your first letter to him and told him of your beauty. But, your words captivated me more than your outward appearance. And Jonah—knowing the ways of men and women—realized even before I became aware, that I was falling in love with you.”
She tipped her head as if contemplating his words. “Does he . . . bring his women when he accompanies you?”
Sebastian finally understood what troubled her. His mention of Jonah’s manly escapades was on her mind. “No. He carried out his activity on his own time, not on mine. And though he once had the reputation of rarely being without a woman, that has changed. He has grown fond of my sister, Allana. She is but thirteen, and he has sworn to wait for her and remain celibate until she comes of age.”
“The poor man.”
“Yes. He grumbles incessantly. However, I assured him knighthood, which will bring him one step closer to Allana. If he can keep himself from women and win Allana’s affections, then we shall call him brother.”
Olivia rested her head on his shoulder. “I shall have sisters. I cannot wait to meet them.”
“Soon. Now then, you should return to your bed and sleep until the sun rises.”
She nodded, then yawned again. “I will read your letter when it is finished.”
He stood with her in his arms and carried her across the room. She weighed next-to-nothing. For such a small woman, she had the strength of a man.
Since he feared he would want to crawl beneath the blankets with her, he chose to give her a safe, unpassionate kiss on the forehead. “If you do not object, I shall go to my own chamber to finish the letter. Then you can sleep undisturbed.”
“Go on to your room.” She pulled a blanket up to her chin. “I shan’t worry about Donovan any longer and sleep without fear.”
He brushed his lips over her head a final time, then crept out her door.
Alwin’s chin rested against his chest and a soft snore echoed in the corridor. Sebastian should have scolded him, but could not bring himself to do it. The guards of Padrida never before had to cope with these kinds of issues. Alwin was exhausted.
They were presently out of danger. Though Sebastian doubted Donovan had died, if he had safely crossed the gorge into Black Wood, he would not dare take the risk of returning to Padrida.
* * *
Sebastian signed the letter as the morning sunlight beamed through his window. He should be tired, but anxious energy pushed him on. He needed to meet the others at the wall.
On the way there, Alwin joined him. Valen stayed behind and kept watch at the back door. When Alwin and Sebastian reached the wall, they found Korvin already there. The young guard had a new fondness for adventure. It showed in his wide-eyed excitement.
“You see!” Korvin pointed to the center of the bridge. “It is still there!” He handed Sebastian his spyglass.
Sebastian pressed the instrument to his eye and peered through. To his relief, the black cloak fluttered in the breeze.
Almost instantly, Sebastian’s stomach knotted. Had the other guards seen what he had? The fabric was not stuck to a board as if ripped from Donovan’s body, it had been tied securely around a post.
He had intended for them to see it. He would have no other reason to remove it. And if Donovan had fallen to his death, there would have been no opportunity to tie the cloak.
Damn him . . .
Even though he assumed he would not see a body, Sebastian leaned over the wall and looked into the deep ravine. The river seemed small from here, but the rush in his ears indicated a large-flowing body of water. Rough, jagged rocks lined the sides. A body could not sustain such a fall.
And yes, the river would have the strength to wash him away. Unfortunately, Sebastian’s entire being screamed that Donovan had come nowhere near the base of the canyon. Most likely he stood hidden on the other side—watching them—and laughing under his breath.
“Shall we proclaim his death, Your Highness?” Alwin asked.
Sebastian’s throat dried, and he had to choke out his response. “Yes. We all heard his screams, and the cloak is evidence of his presence on the bridge. We shall not see Donovan again.” Everything he had said had been true, except for the confirmation of Donovan’s death.
The most important part.
* * *
Olivia woke, smiling. She had forgotten what it was like to have a night of peaceful slumber.
She flipped over and buried her face into Sebastian’s pillow, then breathed deeply. His manly scent increased the rate of her heart.
The feel of his arms around her remained fresh. They had come so close to fully expressing their love and desire for him kept her tingling.
She giggled and wriggled on the bed. She would never tire of Sebastian and she had not even experienced all of him.
Yet.
She sat up and clutched the pillow to her belly. Last night could have ended much worse.
The thought brought her back to her senses, and she quickly dressed. She wanted to see Sebastian, but she needed to look in on her mother. Though Olivia felt blissfully happy, her mother’s depression weighed on her heart. The poor woman needed her—something Olivia thought would never happen.
She took the time to brush her hair, but left it hanging loose. Without Daisy—or anyone for that matter—to braid it, this was much easier. Besides, she noticed the way Sebastian had stared at her when she left it flowing over her shoulders. His eyes had warmed. She believed it would please him to see her this way.
When she arrived at her mother’s chamber, she thought it odd Gerard was not guarding the door. No one stood watch.
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Olivia crept into the room.
“Lady Eloise?” Her mother’s lady lay on the queen’s bed.
Eloise popped upright, then hopped from the mattress. “Forgive me, Your Highness.” She smoothed her dress and primped her hair.
“Where is the queen, and why do you lie on the royal bed?”
Eloise held a hand to her heart. “The queen is with the king, Your Highness.”
Olivia was happy to hear it, but it did not explain Eloise’s presence. “And why are you not in the lady’s chamber?”
This question appeared to be more difficult to answer. Eloise fidgeted with her gown and stared at the floor. “The . . . oh dear . . .” She whimpered. “The Lady Margaret asked me to leave. She is entertaining a guest.” She slowly lifted her head, cowering as if expecting a reprimand.
“I see.” Some things need not be explained further. After all, she had entertained a guest last night as well. “Thank you for your candor.”
Olivia left the poor befuddled woman and returned to the hallway. As she neared the door of the lady’s chamber, Gerard crept from the room and into the corridor. He stumbled the instant he saw her, and his face turned as white as the sheets he had likely been entwined in.
“Y-Your Highness,” he stammered. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Gerard.” Olivia smiled as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Grinning, she continued walking down the hallway to the king’s chamber.
After Donovan’s dismissal, the Lady Margaret needed a man who would genuinely care for her. Gerard would never cast her aside. Everyone needed someone. Guards and ladies were no exception.
Roderick stood at the entrance to the king’s room. Olivia wished her father had stopped trusting him.
“Your Highness.” Roderick smiled and bowed.
Having no respect for the man, she did not return the courtesy and kept herself free of expression. “Are my parents within?”
He smirked. “Yes, Your Highness, but I would not advise disturbing them.” He leaned in and raised his brow. “Do you understand my meaning?”
She understood, yet still wanted to see for herself. Roderick may have very well killed both of them while they slept.
“I understand.” She looked him straight in the eyes, unwavering. “Your caution is noted. I wish to make certain they are well.”
A deep moan coming from her father’s chamber stopped her. Undeniably filled with pleasure, a similar sound followed it, although higher in pitch. Heat rose into Olivia’s cheeks, and she shifted her gaze to the floor.
“As I said, Your Highness.” His sardonic air made her cringe. “It would not be wise to disturb them.”
“I shall return later.” She whipped around, not caring to see his satisfied grin. Even so, she had to endure his sniggers.
She quickened her pace and moved into the corridor that led to her bedchamber as well as Sebastian’s. Surely, he would be awake by now and perhaps even had the opportunity to go to the bridge.
If they were fortunate, she hoped he had seen Donovan’s body smashed and broken on the jagged rocks. Never before had such a wicked thought come to mind, but it could not be dismissed. She wanted Donovan to have died a long-lasting and painful death.
When she found Sebastian’s room vacant, she hastened to the postern gate.
Valen stood watch, faithful as ever. He straightened his posture upon seeing her and nodded a greeting. “Good morning, Your Highness.” His happy expression lit the corridor.
“Good morning. Have you by any chance seen Prince Sebastian?”
“Yes, Your Highness. I left him at the wall.” He leaned in as if speaking to a child. “Donovan’s cloak hangs from the bridge.”
“Yes. I heard.” She gestured to the door. “I need to see it for myself.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” He quickly obliged and let her through.
Even from a distance, she recognized Sebastian’s stature. His royal air seeped through every part of his being. He carried himself tall and proud with shoulders back and head held high. The epitome of a future king.
He chatted with Korvin, all the while motioning toward to the bridge. She rushed over to him.
“Good morning, Your Highness,” Korvin said, seeing her first. His boyish grin flattered her, but everyone in the kingdom knew of her commitment to the prince.
Wide-eyed, Sebastian faced her. “Olivia?”
She dipped her head at Korvin. “Good morning, Korvin. And yes, Sebastian, I am here. I wish to see the cloak.”
Korvin waved her closer and pointed. “There. In the center.”
Why her heart suddenly raced, she could not explain. She stepped close to the wall. So near that the cool of the shaded rock penetrated her skirt. The fluttering black fabric waved at her like a sadistic banner taunting her with long, wiggling fingers. Without a doubt, it was Donovan’s.
Sebastian put an arm around her. “As you see, there is no need to worry about him any longer.”
She lifted her eyes to meet his. “Did you find his body?”
“No,” Korvin jumped in. “The river washed it away.”
“Any blood? Or other bits of clothing?” Her heart thumped. Harder and harder.
Sebastian rubbed his hand down her arm. A touch she believed was meant to soothe and ease her worries. “No, but that is to be expected. Between the rush of the river and wild animals that may have feasted on his remains, it is not surprising to find no trace of him.”
She wanted to see blood. Fragments of his bones. Something. Anything. She gazed again at the cloak. At least she had that.
She could still hear Donovan’s voice hissing in her ears and could feel the edge of his blade pressed to her throat. Though a mere pinprick, the spot had not stopped stinging. “Sebastian?” She rubbed across the tiny injury. “Will you walk with me?”
“Of course.” He excused himself from Korvin, then led her silently away.
She took the lead and headed across the meadow and through the courtyard. As they passed commoners, they received numerous smiles, bows, curtsies—everything fitting for a royal couple. Her people were at ease and acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Children laughed and skipped about following their mothers. A puppy scampered by, chasing a boy. All seemed well, so why did she find it difficult to speak?
Sebastian remained quiet. His silence indicated he wanted her to begin their conversation. Even now, he understood her moods.
They continued walking until they reached the forest. The beauty of the day warmed them. Bees hummed as they flew in and out of the honeysuckles and squirrels skittered up the trees.
She finally found her voice. “Is it not beautiful?” Mindlessly, she continued to rub her throat.
“Yes, it is.” He pulled her hand away and stepped closer. “I was not aware he had injured you.” His eyes affixed on her neck. “You swore you were unharmed. I am sorry for this.” He touched a finger to the spot, appearing more pained than he should have been over a simple wound.
She took his hand and kissed it. “Worry no more about it. I shed a mere droplet of blood.” She moved away from him and crossed to a large oak. “I love Padrida. Nearly every memory I made here was good, until recently. With the exception of my unrest, my thoughts were happy. Yet moments ago, I wanted nothing more than to see Donovan in a bloody heap at the bottom of the gorge. How can that be good?”
“He hurt you.” Sebastian moved beside her, but kept his hands to himself. “And you know the pain he caused went far deeper than the cut on your throat.” He studied her face. “Are you still certain you wish to leave Padrida? Though the outside world may appear inviting, it holds many dangers. When you step outside your walls, you expose yourself to risk.”
She pointed at an old log, and they sat. She had not meant to make him question her desires and took hold of his hand, cradling it close to her heart. “You of all people know risk comes to us everywhere. Even within the protection of walls. And yes, I want
to leave more than anything. But, I love my people. If I go with you to Basilia, what will become of them when Father is too old to rule?”
His fingers brushed along her skin. “I have been giving that some thought. I imagine you and I will soon have children.” He gazed deeply into her eyes.
Her body broke into a sweat, simply from the way he looked at her. “Yes?”
“Your father is well and I believe has many years remaining. By the time he is ready to relinquish his throne, perhaps one of our sons will be old enough to rule.”
“One of our sons?” She giggled. “How many do you hope to have?”
“As many as we are blessed with. However, I may have the fortune of my parents and give you but one, and the rest will be daughters.”
She raised her chin in the air. “Then one of our daughters will reign over Padrida, as I had been destined. Why not carry on here with a queen?”
Instead of answering her, he cocked his head, then pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh . . .” His brows drew together. “Can you hear that?” he whispered.
She froze, straining to hear. Far off, a sound arose—completely foreign to the typical forest noises.
A woman crying.
Sebastian took Olivia’s hand and lifted her to her feet. They walked cautiously toward the sound.
As they neared the woman, she did not stir. She sat on the forest floor in a plain tan dress, with her bare feet sticking out beneath the fanned fabric of her skirt. Her long, black hair cascaded toward the leafy ground. Consumed with grief, she obviously could not hear them. She kept her head against her knees and did not look up.
No other woman in Padrida had hair like hers.
Lady Justine.
It tore into Olivia’s heart to see her this way. With Donovan dead, of course she grieved.
Olivia knelt beside her and gently touched her arm. “Justine?”
Her head inched up and she sucked in air; gasping between sobs. When her eyes met Olivia’s, they fearfully widened, and she scooted away. “Your Highness?”
“Do not be afraid. I will not harm you.” Olivia had no idea what to say to her. It would be a lie to tell her she felt sorry her lover had died. So how could she give comfort?
