by Jody Hedlund
Tears stung the back of my eyes. Why was Father being so stubborn? Was he thinking again of how poor we were and that I deserved more than this kind of life—something he oft lamented? As much as I’d tried to accept everything they’d taught me about duty and being a princess, I didn’t want or need anything beyond what I already had.
“I know you don’t like my decision now,” he said, “but I pray one day you’ll see the wisdom in it.”
Mother drew near, her arms open wide to console me, her expression tender and compassionate. “Emmeline, sweeting.”
If I allowed her to hug me, I wouldn’t be able to stay strong. I’d crumble and cry and do as she asked. Instead, I needed time to think, to come up with a new plan, to gather my wits together. And I couldn’t do any of that here. I had to get away.
I fumbled with the latch and swung the door open. Before Mother could enfold me in her arms, I backed out of the cottage, nearly falling in my haste. Hurriedly, I righted myself, spun, and began to run.
Chapter
2
Rex
At another anguished scream from our prisoner, I gritted my teeth. On the edge of our camp and surrounded by my toughest warriors, the captive dangled by his arms from a rope looped over a sturdy branch of an oak. His feet were only inches from the ground, but not close enough to give him any relief from the rope pulling his arms from their sockets or rubbing his wrists raw.
Stripped to his drawers, he writhed, his back and chest displaying the welts from the glowing red iron Magnus was using to torture him. So far, our prisoner had endured the pain without giving away anything. Sooner or later he had to divulge the information we wanted . . . or die.
“Tell us what you know about Princess Emmeline,” Magnus said again as he had already numerous times.
The man lifted his chin defiantly, the same response he’d given us since we’d strung him up an hour ago. We’d been lucky to find him. In fact, I’d almost lost his trail on several occasions. But when he’d circled around and headed toward his small rebel search party, I’d cut him off. He’d put up a decent chase, but he’d been no match for my speed or skill.
Magnus pressed the hot iron to the prisoner’s lower back at the tender spot in the middle. The man immediately arched up in another scream worse than any of the others. I hated the sound. More than that, I hated the torture we were inflicting. But I knew of no other way to get the information we so desperately needed.
We’d been searching for the lost princess for many a fortnight, nigh onto months. None of our leads had amounted to anything. None of the people we’d questioned knew of a young woman who was coming of age. None could supply us with any helpful clues.
Now our time was running out. The soldiers bringing fresh provisions yesterday had informed us that ships carrying Queen Adelaide Constance, her rebel army, and Norland’s forces were sailing south toward Delsworth.
Not only would we soon be under attack from outside the kingdom, but it was also possible that malcontent citizens from inside the country would rise up to fight with Queen Adelaide Constance. Thus, the king and his advisors believed my marriage to Princess Emmeline would help appease the masses. The king even held out hope it would prevent Queen Adelaide Constance from attacking altogether.
I swallowed an angry oath. I was failing not only myself but also my vow to the king to find the princess. After spending years working hard to become the best elite guard in the kingdom, I couldn’t fail now. Not when the king trusted me to find this last princess after others had fallen short of capturing her sisters.
As the king’s firstborn son and heir to the throne, I’d waited many long years in Warwick for him to call me back to Delsworth so I could show him how capable and dedicated I was and that I was worthy to succeed him someday.
This was my chance. And now I had to finish the job. Even if it meant torturing one of the rebel scouts.
At least I could take comfort from the knowledge I wasn’t the only one having difficulty finding Princess Emmeline. The queen’s rebel search party was apparently experiencing trouble too, for we continued to have sightings of their harpy eagle which meant they hadn’t yet called off their quest.
If the queen’s people were still looking for Emmeline, then most likely the princess hadn’t escaped yet to Norland. She remained lost somewhere deep in the heart of the thick forest in a place that was practically impossible to find.
Magnus glanced at me, his eyes gleaming. My younger brother was taking too much pleasure from his task of attempting to extricate information from our prisoner. Time to relinquish the job to someone else, no matter how much Magnus pouted.
“Let Dante take over,” I ordered.
Magnus didn’t remove the iron from the rebel’s back. “Why?”
I crossed my thick arms over my chest and braced my feet apart, hoping to send the message to my brother that I wouldn’t be moved in my decision.
He held the iron a moment longer before lowering it. Even though an angry shadow flitted across his handsome features, Magnus dared not defy me. He handed the hot stick to my head commander.
Dante took the iron and then gave a slight bow of respect to Magnus before standing back and looking to me for guidance.
During the exchange, I’d kept half my attention upon the prisoner and realized he’d expelled a breath, likely one of relief. The slight action on his part was the indication I’d been waiting for, the sign he was breaking and on the brink of giving us the information we needed.
“Put the iron away,” I said, without taking my half-attention from the prisoner.
Magnus cursed under his breath, his glare condemning me for being too soft, too lenient. And once again, I wished the king hadn’t commanded me to bring him along. I hadn’t spent much time with my brother growing up since he’d remained in Delsworth during my years of training in Warwick. Nevertheless, upon my arrival in the royal residence, it hadn’t taken long to realize Magnus was prideful and bloodthirsty—a combination that made him dangerous not only to himself but to all of us.
At the release of tension in the prisoner’s abdomen, I knew I had him right where I wanted. He’d inadvertently shown me his weakness, that the torture was becoming unbearable. It wouldn’t take much more to get him to talk.
I nodded at Dante. “Take your dullest knife and start severing his toes, one at a time.”
“I like it,” Magnus said, offering one of his rare compliments even as he crossed his arms and waited much too eagerly.
The prisoner’s body stiffened.
Dante moved to do the task with unquestioning obedience, his face stoic, his eyes determined. Wisely, he positioned himself to one side of the prisoner to avoid any kicking. Then, before our captive could wrestle away, Dante grabbed the man’s calf, bent the knee, and wrenched the foot back, the knife already pressed against the large toe.
As the dull blade cut into the man’s flesh, I didn’t breathe.
“The princess is living with a former elite guard who is now a charcoal burner,” the prisoner called out, his voice desperate, his features taut with pain.
I raised my hand.
Dante halted his sawing and lifted the knife away.
“A guard who used to go by the name Lance,” the captive rushed to speak. “And a noblewoman by the name Felicia. That’s all I know. I vow it.”
A former elite guard. And a noblewoman. Surely with that description, other charcoal burners would be able to point the way. After all, an elite guard and noblewoman could hardly live in the woods all these years without gaining some attention.
And yet, if such details had been enough, why hadn’t the queen’s search party located the princess? Why were they still looking?
“I need more information,” I said with a nod to Dante.
He lowered his knife to the prisoner’s toe and began to cut again.
For several seconds the man attempted to endure the blade biting through his flesh, but then he released a guttural cry and yell
ed, “Wait!”
Dante glanced at me. I raised my hand again, and he stopped.
The prisoner lifted his tormented eyes to meet mine. I kept my face void of any emotion. If this man knew how much I detested torturing him, he’d refuse to say anything more and cling to the hope I’d release him—which I likely would.
“I came upon a new trail this afternoon,” he said in a ragged voice. “A few footprints that were slender and small enough to belong to a young woman.”
Finally. This was information we could use. “Where?”
“If you release me, I’ll take you to the footprints.”
I motioned Dante to resume the torture.
“Three-quarters of a league to the southwest,” the prisoner shouted quickly, “and then perhaps half a league west.”
I studied his face. From the earnestness and fear in his expression, I knew he was telling the truth. “Give us other landmarks.”
Already my mind was carving out a path in the direction he’d given us. I added more detail as the prisoner described stones, trees, and setting particulars he’d memorized in order to take the rebel search party back to that area.
With the information fresh in my mind, I was anxious to go before darkness settled. I pivoted and stalked toward my tent.
“Cut the prisoner down and bind him hand and foot,” I called over my shoulder. “If he’s lying, I shall not only cut off his toes upon my return but shall sever his fingers as well.”
“That’s rather severe, isn’t it, Your Highness?” Father Patrick fell into step next to me, his short legs scurrying to keep up with my long stride.
“Sometimes severity is necessary.” Father Patrick knew me well enough to realize I’d never carry through with cutting off our prisoner’s toes or fingers, that my threats were only meant to scare and nothing more.
“Sometimes mercy is even more important,” Father Patrick remarked.
My faithful priest had never been afraid to speak the truth even when no one else dared. He’d been a loving presence and faithful tutor while I’d been growing up in Warwick, and I’d been grateful he’d accompanied me to Mercia. But there were times like these when he didn’t understand the increasing pressure I was under.
His flowing brown habit billowed around his portly frame as he tried to keep pace with me. “You have a good heart, Your Highness. I can always count on you to do what’s right in the sight of God and man.”
What was right in the sight of God and man? Sometimes I didn’t know anymore—especially when the king’s deeds—deeds that seemed unnecessarily harsh or even selfish—didn’t settle well within me.
Of course, I’d always known the king was a ruthless ruler. Every time I’d visited him or he’d traveled to Warwick, he’d emphasized that a king must do whatever is necessary to retain his power.
I’d just never realized the extent to which he took his power. Now after a year in Mercia, I’d witnessed acts of lawlessness and cruelty I couldn’t condone, particularly his calloused attitude toward the many who’d suffered during recent years from failed crops and a shortage of food. He’d done nothing to ease their hardships. Even I, though I wasn’t yet king, had taken pity on the people of Warwick and had labored with other nobility to find ways to provide for all.
I could only pray the distress would ease in Mercia now that the drought was over. Already the hardships were lessening, and the land was growing more fruitful. The dissatisfaction would abate, especially when I found the princess and married her. And hopefully, all would be well with the king.
“Yes, you are a very good man, Your Highness . . . which is why you must make sure the prisoner suffers no more abuse, even during your absence.” Father Patrick looked pointedly at my brother before raising his brows at me. A ring of trim brown hair surrounded the large bald spot on the top of his head, which was shiny with a layer of perspiration. His cheeks were flushed too. And I sensed his reaction had more to do with witnessing the torture than with the summer temperature.
I stopped and faced my men again. Dante was in the process of cutting down our captive, and the others were gathering their weapons in preparation for our next mission. Only Magnus remained unmoving, watching the proceedings with disinterest.
“No one is allowed to harm the prisoner while I am gone,” I barked out. “We may yet have use of him.”
I threw back the flap on my tent and retrieved a cloak that would help me blend into my surroundings. If there was one thing I’d learned these past weeks of hunting for the princess, she was well-hidden. And now I understood why. An elite guard of the former king had been assisting her all these years. He was an intelligent man to have gone undetected for so long.
Backing out, I tossed the cloak over my chain mail.
“Your Highness.” Father Patrick was waiting patiently outside my tent, his forehead creased in worry. “Always remember we can accomplish more through wise strategy than through brutal force.”
Though my nerves strained with the need to be on my way, I clasped the priest’s arm gently and dropped my voice to a whisper so no one would hear my confession. “Father, you know I detest displays of torture as much as you do.”
He reached up and patted my cheek as he’d done when I’d been a boy. “God go with you.”
I squeezed his arm. “Make sure your prayer book is ready upon my return with my bride. I shall wed her ere the night is over.”
At least I hoped so.
Taking my swiftest men, we set out at a run. I led the way through the thick brush, following a deer path to make our movement easier. We traveled the long distance quickly, arriving in a new area of the forest we’d never explored.
A steep ravine separated it from the lower woodland, a ravine that lengthened in both directions and seemed impassable. If not for our prisoner’s instructions to locate a creek that trickled underneath, I might not have found the low cavern hidden behind hanging ivy. The cave narrowed into a passageway that led gradually uphill and opened on the opposite side of the ravine.
After traveling another half a league west, we easily located the rotted hawthorn our prisoner had indicated. So far I’d only spotted the prisoner’s imprint, although he’d been careful not to leave much of a trail.
Now we studied the area meticulously and finally discovered a faint, slender, human footprint that most definitely could belong to a young woman. Even after combing the surrounding woodland, we found only two more, and then the trail vanished, almost as if the person had never been there.
Curiously, fox prints covered the ground. From what I could surmise, the fox and the woman had been there at approximately the same time.
Crouched low, I traced the outline of the fox’s paw on first one print and then the next. They were close together, almost relaxed. If the fox had shown aggression toward the person, the paw prints would have been deeper and farther apart.
I stood and silently surveyed the unchanging landscape. Through the leaves overhead I gauged the condition of the evening sky, still hazy as always from the numerous charcoal burners who made the forest their home and were constantly burning wood.
Sniffing, I checked again for the thickening scent of woodsmoke that might signal a charcoal burner nearby. If only I could find an elevation high enough to look down on the forest and map out the various sources of the smoke. As it was, even from the highest of trees, I couldn’t spot any distant plumes.
“The footprints face south, Your Highness,” Dante said quietly from behind me. “Maybe if we split up, we can pick up the trail.”
I bent again and studied the fox prints. The fox was no foe to the woman. What if the creature was a companion?
For the first time in weeks, the thrill of pursuit spurted in my blood. I’d landed upon the first viable trail. And now I needed to move into the mode of hunter closing in on his prey.
I stood, pulled up my hood, and drew the cloak around my chain mail. “We shall follow the fox prints. No sounds. All eyes alert.”
&n
bsp; Understanding dawned in Dante’s eyes, but he said nothing and only lifted his hood, motioning for the others to do the same. We would become invisible wraiths, blending into the woodland, creeping forward undetected. This was no time for carelessness or amateur mistakes.
Soundlessly we moved through the forest following the fox trail, constantly surveying the terrain and checking every detail we passed. The prints led us to the border of a wooded copse—one we’d never been to before, unmarked on any of the maps I’d memorized.
I motioned for the others to stop, get down, and remain invisible.
My blood pumped harder. The fox had done well and had led us exactly where I’d wanted. The coppiced land with thinner growth and new shoots belonged to a woodcutter or charcoal burner. Though the air wasn’t any thicker with smoke, I suspected kilns awaited on the other side of the area. If so, a hut would also be nearby.
“Take half the men,” I whispered to Dante. “Stay wide. Circle around to the front of the living quarters.”
Dante nodded to three of the men. In an instant, they were gone.
Without a moment’s more hesitation, I led the other half of my men the opposite direction, using all the speed and stealth we could muster. If the fox caught wind of us, we’d lose the element of surprise.
As we crept through the woodland, a break in the brush revealed turf-covered kilns. Without a trace of smoke coming from any of them, I suspected the charcoal burner was between burnings. With any luck, he’d be away at the market, leaving his wife and children unattended.
We skirted the clearing, remaining concealed. And finally, after long, tense minutes, I was rewarded with the sight of the backside of a cottage. From what I could tell, the abode was in good repair, tidy, and well-kept.
To the north of the cottage, Dante rose just slightly and signaled to me. I motioned for him and his men to stay hidden. My senses were keenly alert, taking in the silence and stillness of the place. Had the family learned of our coming and already fled? Were we too late?
