The Stolen Princess (Fated Royals Book 1)

by Nikolai Andrew

  She huffed, as if this was all too much trouble. “If she’s seen, that will be the end for us all, do you understand that? You should have killed her on sight, and tossed her body into the moat, you incompetent little inbred.”

  His hand went immediately to his sword. “I’ll do it right away—”

  “You’ll do no such thing! Others may be searching for her already. The last thing we need is to be caught here with the body. Bring her to my private quarters, make sure you aren’t noticed and cover up that birthmark. We’ll deal with her there.” She turned to leave. “And for God’s sake clean up this mess outside the door.”

  “Y—yes, my queen.” In a single stride, he was standing in front of me, roughly grabbing my wrists before he gagged me with a knotted rope. And as the black hangman’s hood went over my head, I was plunged into darkness.

  Bors

  I sat at a tavern in the shadow of the castle, thinking about what the hell had happened. I was stunned at the way they’d seized her from me. The brutality of it, the lack of regard for her well-being. I’d expected more courtesy and gentleness toward her, their future queen, as well as an audience with the king to ensure her safety now and in the future. But we’d received no such treatment.

  I’d imagined at the very least they’d want to know where I found her and what I knew, but then again…maybe not. She was and had always been the prize. No matter if she was a stranger at market day or the lost royal herself, I was nothing beside her. That much, at least, I could never dispute.

  Seated at the bar, I asked the barkeep for another pint of bitter ale. Once he put the mug down before me, I lowered my head and got back to my brooding. I considered the money they’d thrown me in return for Sara. Though I hadn’t bothered to count it, I knew from its weight that it was a serious amount of coin. And yet, even the way they’d done that didn’t feel right—like they were paying me for my silence rather than giving me a reward.

  The money didn’t take the sting out of the hurt I felt. If anything, knowing that the money would have helped to build up the nicest livery in the land made losing her even more painful. If I couldn’t share it with her, if I couldn’t build my life with her, then what was the purpose of any of it? It was of no fucking use at all. A stable full of horses and a life of riches meant jack shit if Sara wasn’t there to share it with me.

  I took a long draw of my ale and wiped my mouth on my forearm. To my right sat a table full of mercenaries. No doubt they’d call themselves “professional soldiers” but I knew the truth.

  They were hard-worn men, all of them. I had seen their type again and again. They’d seen so many horrors in battle that silence without drink was unbearable. They’d grown up fighting and knew no other trade, like a draft horse that only knows how to pull weight. I wondered if I was headed for the same fate now that all those dreams of a quiet life with Sara were gone.

  Perhaps all I could do was keep fighting, hoping that one day someone would end my misery.

  I fucking missed her—her presence, her laughter, her lips, her smell, her sex. I wanted her with me, more than anything. But I couldn’t have her. And, glancing out the windows at the high walls of the castle keep, I knew I’d never see her again.

  I thought of my seed deep inside of her. Wondered if it had found home. The fantasy of riding in and taking her back, her belly full pounded through me like a warriors call.

  It was folly and my heart sank thinking of the precarious position our love had created for us both.

  I downed the pint and tapped the bar for another. I needed to drown my sorrows and I needed to do it quick. So, I slipped a coin from the reward purse and slid it across to the barkeep. His eyes widened as he glanced up at me. “Sir?” he asked.

  “Keep them coming. And don’t fucking water them down.”

  A shitload of pints later, three of the King’s Guard entered the tavern and took seats near the low-burning fire. Though the day had been warm, the spring air turned cold with dusk.

  During my time in the tavern, there’d been no celebrations over the returned stolen princess—no mention of her at all, in fact. It was strange, absolutely, but I knew these things were well above my experience and rank.

  Undoubtedly, there was some official process of disclosing the news to the common folk. But the guards would know about it, I was sure.

  Knowing nothing was fucking agony. So, taking my pint with me, I moved to a table near the King’s Guardsmen to listen to what they had to say.

  They talked of soldiering and horses, of new swords and changes in the staffing of the guard. But they didn’t utter a word about Sara, not even in veiled terms.

  Even through the many pints of ale I’d had, I could tell something was amiss. I waited for them to finish one round and then another, so that the drink would help loosen their tongues, then I ordered another round for them and one for myself before I made my approach. When the round of strong ale arrived at their table, they nodded their gratitude and I raised my mug to them in return. “Any word about the stolen princess?” I asked.

  The captain scoffed. “Rumors like that crop up every few years. Pay it no mind.” He rose, slightly woozy with drink, and told the other guards he was going to take a piss.

  Hazy though my thoughts were, I always kept my wits about me. I held my tongue as I watched him leave. Sara was no rumor; I could swear to that.

  Now I turned my focus to the foot soldiers who might be more likely to speak without their captain nearby. I said, “I hear she’s the right age. Has the birthmark even.”

  Their reactions were just the same as their captain’s. They didn’t seem to know that Sara had been returned, or to care about the news. “The child is dead, sir,” said the younger guard of the two. “Mark my words. Been dead for eighteen years. May she rest in peace.”

  The other foot soldier nodded in sloppy agreement. “Aye. ’Tis the truth. And anyway, if the stolen princess had been returned, we’d all be celebrating. Bells ringing. Women opening their skirts.” He looked around, disappointed. “I don’t see any such wonders here, just ugly fucking soldiers with too much ale in their bellies.”

  His companions laughed, but the boy spoke the truth, I had to give him that. The crowd in the pub was as quiet and reserved as any ordinary winter day in late afternoon. My thoughts had been so wrapped up in Sara that I hadn’t even taken the time to notice how strange that nobody seemed to be thinking about her except me.

  I rose and straightened myself out, breathing deep to sober myself up. Then I stepped out into the cold chilly late afternoon, passing the captain as he came back inside.

  Outside, the streets were quiet. The night soil men were beginning their rounds, the whores were starting up their evening trade, but there was no sign of celebration. I splashed my face with the cold water from the drinking trough that stood before the horses, and blinked away the ale.

  Something was wrong, I was sure of it.

  If news of Sara wasn’t everywhere by now, it meant someone was keeping her a secret. It meant King Rowan didn’t know she had returned. It meant she was in trouble.

  I had to find her. There was no time to waste.

  Sara

  When my hood was removed, my surroundings had changed completely. I was in a set of rooms that were as luxurious as they were frigid. I looked out the window and saw there was no glass in the window frames, which were covered with lattice wound through with dry vines.

  From the paintings on the walls, showing blooming summer flowers and sunshine in the fields, I gathered I was probably in the queen’s summer quarters, far away from curious ears and eyes at this time of year.

  The queen sat across the room from me, with a goblet of wine in hand. Next to her at the table sat Bardo, looking pale and concerned. “I told you, my queen, that she was the true stolen princess.”

  “And why, pray tell, was she not turned into pig feed eighteen years ago?” The queen glared at him over her goblet. “I haven’t been paying you to ke
ep her hidden all these years, you stupid man. I’ve been paying for your silence, but now here she is. My biggest problem in the flesh. Alive and well and….” She now turned her gaze towards me. “…unacceptably beautiful. At the very least you could have disfigured her.”

  “My queen,” whimpered Bardo. “I have faithfully discharged all of your orders. It was never clear to me that you wanted her dead.”

  Queen Beatrice rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Do I have to tell you to relieve yourself each morning, you fool? What sort of idiot thinks I’d have wanted her alive? I paid you to do away with her. And I didn’t mean hide her.”

  Bardo babbled away, but as the Queen approached me, his whimpers of protest grew too quiet for me to notice. For a long moment, she stood before me, looking at me with pure disgust and annoyance. Then she took hold of my face and examined me with rough touches, turning my cheeks this way and that. With her thumb she drew down my eyelids, as if examining me for disease. Her fingertips were ice cold and it was enough to make me shiver.

  Her lips twisted in disgust. “She looks like her mother. One glance at the little slut and her father would know the truth in an instant. Thank God for all those other imposters, making this one easier to deal with.”

  “My queen—”

  She turned her back on me and approached Bardo once again. He fell silent at once and swallowed so hard and so painfully that I heard the gulp from across the room. “Who else knows about her existence? Who else knows the truth?”

  “The family I placed her with, that’s all, I swear it. My queen, if you’ll just allow me to—”

  “I suppose I have no choice but to believe your word on that. My guards will deal with them at once. As for you, you dirty little toad, you have been my extortionist for long enough,” the queen said to him. “But that time is over. The secret has been revealed and your value to me is gone.” With a snap of her fingers, she turned away and two of her guards seized him.

  Poor Bardo didn’t stand a chance, and the guards left him in a garroted, dead heap in a matter of seconds.

  For a long moment, it was as if time stood still. Until the queen turned to me, looked me in the eye… and snapped again.

  The guards came for me this time, like wolves going in for the kill. Though I was bound and gagged, I squirmed from my chair and wriggled desperately across the floor. I tried to keep my throat and neck shielded, for they seemed fond of slitting throats and I would not allow them to have easy access to mine.

  I screamed against my rope gag and kicked them hard. I felt my shoes connect with a stomach, a jaw, perhaps even a groin, and they fell back.

  For a moment, I was left alone on the floor, while they regrouped.

  “Of course, she’d be a fighter,” said the queen, exasperated and impatient. She downed her wine and rose from the table. “Perhaps it’s better if I’m not here as a witness, just in case. Find me when it’s finished, but do it right this time. If anyone finds her body, I will make sure they find yours next.”

  With that, she turned and departed, leaving me alone with the two guards. I screamed with all my might, but gagged as I was it came out as little more than a mumble, and I was met with a punch that sent my senses reeling and silenced my cries. The guard that had hit me placed his foot on my chest and made a shushing motion above me.

  I stared up at him with my chest heaving, trying desperately to catch my breath, confused about why he wasn’t finishing the job. Though I could not grasp the full scale of what was going on with the queen and her plans for me, it was clear that the guard wanted to give the impression, at least, that he had done away with me as the queen had asked, and the realization dawned slowly: he was an ally.

  Had Bors sent him, somehow, to rescue me? Or was he loyal to King Rowan and ready to save my life? The punch he’d delivered had been hard, but then it would have to be if he was trying to make out that I was dead.

  “It’s over,” he said over his shoulder. “Must have caught her just right.”

  There was a moment of hesitation. “We’ll take the body to the south entrance, dump her in the sea.”

  “I’ll do it. You get back to the watch. Last thing we need is anyone starting to ask where we are.”

  “The queen said—”

  “Do you really think I’m going to make a mistake with this? Queen Beatrice would have my head. No, leave it with me. Trust me, nobody will find the body.”

  I tried to keep still as the moments passed, then heard the door shut, and the guard helped me to my feet, guiding me to the very chair where the queen had been sitting.

  “Thank you,” I said as he unfastened my gag, my hands trembling as I searched his face for any sign of who he might be. I was barely able to trust that he wasn’t trying to poison me as he poured me a glass of water, then a goblet of wine, removed my bindings and motioned for me to drink.

  “You must be thirsty,” he said, and his voice sounded concerned. Kind, even.

  But as I drank, he caressed my hair, then my cheek, and my collarbone, in such a way that I knew exactly what he wanted. There could be no mistake.

  “I’ve always wondered what’s so special about royal women,” he said. There was something unnerving about the way he spoke, the hush of his voice, the feel of his touch on my skin. “I’ve always had a theory that royal pussy is especially tight.” He twirled my hair around his finger as I turned my face away. “I suppose you wouldn’t know. So I’ll have to investigate for myself. I’ve always wanted to fuck a royal…”

  “Please,” I begged, searching for anything nearby that I could use to defend myself.

  “Cooperate with me, behave like a good little bitch, and I’ll kill you quick when it’s over.” Now he slid his dirty hand down my chest, toward the hollow between my breasts. “But fight me, and I promise that you’ll die in pure agony.”

  Agony or no, the thought of his hands on me was unacceptable. I shoved him away from me. “I belong to only one man,” I snarled. “And it isn’t you.”

  He seized me by the hair, and I shrieked with pain. Then he pushed me down on the table and tried to pull my skirt up while also shoving down his britches. But I had not spent the last eighteen years doing needlepoint while wearing too-small corsets; I was strong and I knew it.

  And so, with every ounce of strength I had, I fought him. I kicked him and bit him and dug my fingers into his eyes. Everything and anything I could do to defend myself, I did. We battled across the room and I finally got the upper hand, shoving his head through one of the wooden lattice screens.

  The window was narrow and the broken lattice was sharp and uncomfortable around his head, but I knew it wouldn’t hold him for long. I realized I was going to have to take his life to save mine. As much as that thought repulsed me, I knew it might be my only chance at freedom and I had to take it.

  And so, without one more instant of hesitation, I grabbed his dagger from the sheath on his calf and drove it sideways into his neck, grateful that I didn’t have to look at his face as he died.

  Bors

  I hustled up the wide, cobblestone street that led to the front of the castle, steeling myself for any trouble that might come my way. Above me, I heard a commotion and looked up, drawing my knife as I did in case I should need to defend myself. But I was not prepared for what happened next. A man’s head protruded from a window, soft warm light surrounding him.

  He hollered and tried to work himself free from the narrow opening but before he got the chance, someone stabbed him through the neck. The effort of the stab was accompanied by a roar, the noise of someone in the heat of battle, spilling blood to save their own. And I would have known the sound of that voice anywhere.

  Sara.

  Holy fuck, it was Sara. I felt her fear run through me as she screamed.

  “Stay where you are,” I yelled up at her. “I’m coming to find you!”

  “Bors!” She screamed in reply, her voice trembling with fear but tinged with hope at my arrival. “Help
me!”

  “I’m coming. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  There was a pause, then a crash, and her voice came from further away. “No!” She screamed. “Hurry Bors! Someone’s at the door! I can’t hold it!”

  I broke into a run, taking a deserted alleyway to avoid the well-guarded front entrance of the castle. If there was treachery within the walls, whoever was holding Sara captive had to have loyal guards among those at the front entrance. Going that way would be too much of a risk. For once, I was damned grateful to have had so much experience and battle-readiness behind me.

  Every castle had dozens of hidden side entrances for non-nobility to use—some small, for washerwomen and the like, and others much larger, for ox-carts that carried food and supplies. In war those entrances would be barricaded and guarded, but in peacetime, like now, they would most likely be unattended. I just hoped that whatever betrayal had put Sara in danger was limited enough to make entrance to the castle possible still.

  I was right. I found a small wooden door near a row of empty milk pails. With a thrust of my shoulder, I forced the lock and muscled my way through. Ascending a narrow, dark staircase, I burst into a stone hallway, lit with rows of torches both left and right. Guards were posted on both sides, and they came at me with blades bared and crossbows drawn.

  “The stolen princess,” I pleaded, dropping my knife. It would do no good against them anyway. “She is in danger. I have to help her.”

  The guard nearest me flipped up his armor faceplate, and I recognized his face at once. Seamus. A fellow member of clan Mackay that I’d fought with at the Firth, albeit many years ago, before he attained such a lofty position within the royal guard.

  Beside him, two other familiar Mackay faces emerged from behind their armor; I didn’t know their names, but clan kinship was a guarantee of loyalty.