“All right.”
There’s raucous laughter and cheers from the building. Apparently it’s not an establishment that sleeps. Two men leave through the front, and we stay in the shadows. I wrinkle my nose. The taller of the two, Argus, is one of my father’s elite knights. A barmaid rushes out and clings to him. He kisses her, and a chorus of illicit suggestions are hollered from inside. He laughs, making her promises, and she reluctantly returns to her tables.
I’m disgusted but also weary. This sad creature probably makes more gold in one night selling herself to Father’s well-paid knights than most families will earn in a month.
Once the men pass, we slip around the back. Antone drops Calden from his shoulders. The man falls with a heavy plunk onto the stone ground. The snow has picked up, already leaving a dust of flakes on the prince’s prone form.
Perhaps he will freeze to death. It would serve him right.
Please don’t remember anything when you wake up.
I shiver and wrap the cloak tight. Antone motions me to follow him. I glare at my cousin for a few moments longer and then slip away.
***
Rella stands the moment we enter the cottage. “Were you seen?”
Antone shakes his head. “I don’t believe so,” he says and then tells Rella of our escape through the castle.
Unable to stand any longer, she finally sits.
“How is Bea?” I ask as I kneel in front of her.
Rella sighs. “I tended her, and she’s now sleeping. It will take several weeks for the marks to fade, but she’ll be fine.”
I shudder when I think of Bea’s screams. They will haunt me for nights—just as they have every time in the past.
“How are you, Seirsha?” Rella takes my chin and examines my face. “It’s already bruising.”
Giving her a rueful smile, I say, “It’s not the first mark I’ve had to explain away.”
She narrows her eyes and wraps her arms around me. “That doesn’t make it right.”
I take a deep, stuttering breath, fighting for composure.
Rella strokes my hair like I’m her own child. “You’re safe now.”
Unless Calden remembers everything when he wakes up. If he does, both Bea and I will be far from safe.
“I don’t want to go back,” I say.
She nods and holds me tighter.
We both know I have no choice. None of us do. We’re all stuck in these miserable lives, each of us living for small moments of happiness. When I’m with Bea’s family, I can find joy.
The mewling cry of the new baby sounds from the loft above.
Blinking back tears, I look into the dark rafters. “How is she?”
I long to go meet her, but she and Marielle need rest.
Rella smiles. “She’s perfect. Just perfect.”
“And Marielle?”
“She’s fine.”
“What’s her name?”
Antone slouches against a beam near the fire. He looks exhausted. “Kara.”
“It’s beautiful.” I meet his eyes. “Thank you for tonight. I wish there were some way to repay you.”
“You saved Bea. As always, we are in your debt.”
I shake my head and look back at Rella. “I don’t know what I would do without you all.”
My eyes sting again, so I look away.
Rella gives my shoulders a squeeze. “Be careful slipping back.”
I nod.
“Come see us as soon as you can.”
Pausing by the door, I say, “Don’t let Bea come to the castle tomorrow. I’ve already given her leave for the day. Make sure she takes it.”
We exchange our goodbyes, and I step into the night. There’s a substantial layer of snow on the ground, and it continues to fall. Good. It will cover my footprints.
I don’t meet anyone in the halls, but I’m anxious until I set the lock on my bedchamber door. As an afterthought, I pull a chair over and wedge it against the wood. I’m not sure it will keep anyone out, but it can’t hurt.
Despite the fire crackling in the hearth, the room is cold. I can’t seem to warm up. Exhausted, I crawl into bed, not even bothering to change into my nightclothes. Reliving the night over and over, I toss and turn but eventually find sleep.
The sound of bells wakes me, and I crack my eyes open. The room is still dark. It’s not morning.
Something’s wrong.
I leap from my bed. It’s the dragon bells. Why would they be attacking? What of the treaty?
But no—the rhythm is wrong. The slow, steady chime reminds me of my mother. My fingers tremble so violently, I almost drop my cloak.
It can’t be.
I wrench the chair free from the door and don’t bother to pick it up when it topples to the side and clatters to the floor. After racing down the eastern wing, I fly into the chaos of the great hall.
People loiter about, confused and disheveled. The doors are open to the night, and the crier calls to the village below. His words compete with the bells, but I hear them clearly.
Prince Calden is dead.
CHAPTER THREE
I can’t keep my eyes off the coffin. No matter how I try, my gaze always wanders back. Four bells have passed since the ceremony began, and every moment of those two hours has haunted me.
It was only four days ago Calden was found dead in the street, but it seems like a lifetime. Death was determined to be from a brawl outside the tavern.
He died by sword.
Only Bea’s family and I know that the person who murdered him found him unconscious in the street. I killed him the moment I left him there.
I didn’t want him to die—not truly. I wanted him gone. I wanted him to pay for all that he’d done to Bea. But I didn’t wish him dead. At least, not at my hand.
Or perhaps, somewhere deep and dark, I did. And that’s why guilt gnaws at me.
The bishop finishes, and Father steps forward for the last words.
“Calden was a strong man,” he says. “Honorable, virtuous.”
I narrow my eyes. We shouldn’t lie just because the man is dead.
“He would have been a good king.”
He would have been a savage, cruel king.
“I was proud to call him my heir.”
I’m forced to look away as my anger rises. I’m glad he’s gone.
I clench my hands in my lap as, once again, guilt and terror wash over me.
Finally, we stand. Argus comes forward to escort me from the chapel. I stare at his offered arm like it’s a snake. But he doesn’t know I saw him leaving the tavern, and I must act no differently. Gritting my teeth, I accept, and together we turn.
There are so many people here. All nobles were summoned to attend the funeral. I know that many of them—most of them—aren’t mourning Calden’s death. I strive to keep my face impassive as I scan the crowd. I recognize nearly everyone by face and name, though I haven’t spoken with most of them. According to Father, a princess is to be seen and not heard.
It’s a virtue I have practiced well.
I scan the gathering, searching for someone in particular. He must be here. He would have no choice but to come with those summoned. My heart leaps when I finally spot him. Lord Rigel’s not seated. He leans against the wall in the back, his arms crossed. His eyes are on Father, but they slide to me as I pass. There is no friendly greeting in his expression, nor is there sympathy or remorse.
Only acknowledgment.
I wish there were a way to convey my thoughts to him, some wordless way to tell him how I admire him. How I love him.
I look away.
Argus leads me to the great hall, and I take my seat. I cross my hands in my lap and watch guests filter into the room. As one, we stand when the guards announce Father. He’s deep in conversation with a man I don’t recognize. An extremely beautiful woman clutches the newcomer’s arm. Rigel stands with them as well.
Father ushers them to our table and impatiently motions down the line. “S
eirsha, move over.”
I try to hide my embarrassment as I take a seat that’s usually occupied by a knight. Father instructs the newcomer to take my place. The man glances at me, unsure. The woman with him looks as if she may argue, but instead she frowns and sits next to the man.
Rigel takes the seat next to me.
My displeasure at being displaced is immediately forgotten. As I sink into my chair, I watch the lord from the corner of my eye. His black hair is shorter than it was the last time I saw him. It used to be just long enough to pull back, but now it barely brushes his ears. It’s just long enough to run a hand through.
“Seirsha,” Father says.
I look up, startled to have been addressed. I peer past Rigel and wait for him to continue.
“This is Lord Archer, the late Lord Greymond Archer’s grandson, and his new bride, Princess Philippa of Lauramore.”
Their names give me a jolt, but I keep my surprise to myself.
I glance at Father, silently asking for permission to speak. He nods, and I say to Lord Archer, “Congratulations on your win in the tournament.” I turn to the princess. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Philippa.”
“Please call me Pippa.” She almost scowls as she glances at Father, but then she smiles at me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”
Servants begin to distribute the platters, starting with our table. I wait for the men to help themselves.
Rigel motions toward my plate. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Toying with the napkin in my lap, I dare a glance at him. “Not especially.”
His face is often expressionless, but here, this close, his eyes are anything but. I could get lost in those eyes. Dark gray, like smoke, and ever watchful—they are disconcerting. At twenty-two, he’s only a year older than I am, but next to him I feel young and foolish. I always have.
He angles toward me. “Do you mourn your cousin?”
“No.” The answer is too abrupt, and I look past him, pretending indifference.
Rigel raises his eyebrows slightly. My heart races like a rabbit’s. My years have taught me to be aloof and distant on the outside. Why can’t I feel that way on the inside as well?
“What happened to your cheek, Seirsha?”
Startled, my eyes fly to his. No one has mentioned the bruise—not even when it was grotesque shades of blue and purple. Now that it’s faded to yellow, very few have given me a second glance.
His eyes search mine, and for a moment I wonder if he will discover the truth in his silent inquisition. I wrench my gaze away.
“I was careless and hit it on a cupboard door.” I shrug with feigned nonchalance. “It’s fortunate it wasn’t my eye.”
Rigel’s still watching me, his eyes slightly narrowed. I need to change the subject.
“You would have won the tournament if Lord Archer’s heritage were not discovered,” I say.
My stomach knots. It was very close to Pippa being on Rigel’s arm and not Lord Archer’s.
She’s very beautiful.
Rigel leans close so he won’t be overheard. There’s nothing romantic in the gesture, but the movement takes my breath away.
“Would you have wanted that?” he asks.
His low voice makes me shiver.
Unable to find my voice, I shrug.
“I, for one, am relieved Archer won.”
“Well, then,” I say, uncomfortable. “Congratulations on discovering his lineage.”
Rigel smiles. Again, I’m held captivated. When we were young, his was a face I knew well, but it’s been so long.
Still watching me, he rests his elbow on the table. “Archer’s a good man. He will do Errinton credit.”
Father asks Rigel a question, and the lord turns away. I concentrate on twisting my napkin in my lap. Idly, I listen as they speak of ore and mining.
My mind wanders to the casket holding my cousin, and familiar panic rises in my chest. I fight it back.
When the meal is finished, I wait for Father to excuse me. Sometimes he remembers early, but he often forgets until the hour is late. I dare not ask to be excused, so I hide a yawn behind my hand.
Rigel turns back to me. “This has been a trying day for you. You must be exhausted.”
“A little,” I admit.
He turns toward my father. “Your Majesty, may I have your permission to escort Seirsha to her chambers?”
My jaw goes slack, but I quickly conceal my shock. Father first studies Rigel and then me. Keeping my expression bored and distant, I work to look as if his answer is of no concern to me. He finally agrees, waving us away with his hand.
Pippa gives me a warm smile. “I hope to see you again.”
I say my goodbyes, and we leave the table. Hundreds of eyes follow us through the hall, but if Rigel is uncomfortable with the attention, he doesn’t let it show.
When we pass under the arch and are safely out of sight, I feel as if I can breathe again. But now I’m not sure what to do with my hands, and I can’t think of anything to speak of.
“It’s been several seasons since you’ve been to the castle,” I blurt out, and then I wish I could take it back.
He doesn’t need to know how I notice when he’s here and when he’s not.
“I haven’t been summoned since before the tournament.”
And if the nobles aren’t summoned, they aren’t welcome.
We continue to my quarters in near silence, making meaningless small talk here and there. I pause when we reach my door. “Thank you. I rarely have company in the evenings.”
Rigel crosses his arms and studies me again. “You rarely have company.”
I fidget under his gaze. Feeling foolish again, I murmur, “I do well enough.”
He raises an eyebrow and steps forward, moving slowly as if he worries he will spook me, and touches the pendant at my neck. “I remember the day I gave that to you.”
My heart seizes. It’s not a day I will ever forget.
Too soon, he steps back, creating a cavern between us. “Goodnight, Seirsha.”
My door swings open, startling us and Bea, who’s on the other side.
Her gaze drops to her feet. “Oh, Your Highness, I’m terribly sorry.”
“I’ll be right in, Bea.”
My friend steals a glance at Rigel. The lord studies her, and his eyes narrow. I know exactly what he’s thinking. Bea’s bruises are much worse than mine. The dark one along her collar is just fading, but the nasty one remains by her mouth.
Bea’s eyes flutter down again, and she closes the door, murmuring more apologies. Rigel turns back to me, his gaze piercing.
Unable to bear the intensity of his stare, I look at the ground. “Goodnight, Lord Rigel.”
Before he can answer, I slip into the room and close the door softly behind me.
***
“He walked you to your chambers?” Rella asks.
She hands me a ball of dough, and I accept it, twisting it in my hands. There’s nothing like helping Rella in the kitchens. It’s always warm here, and it smells amazing. If I could do only one thing for the rest of my life, I would bake bread.
I knead the dough on the flour-covered surface, venting my anxiety on the elastic ball. “He did.”
“Oh, Mama,” Bea sighs as she rolls up her sleeves. “He’s so handsome. You should have seen them together.”
Rella smiles, and I ignore the hopeful look that passes between them.
Pounding the dough against the worktable, I say, “I can’t marry him.”
Bea looks up from her own dough. “Why?”
Despite everything she’s been through, she’s still naive. Still hopeful.
“Father will never join the lines.”
Rigel’s great-great-grandfather, Leonard III, was King of Errinton, descended from the original family line. My great-great-grandfather usurped him. Grandfather whispered lies, swayed the common people, and gathered an impressive army. Though Rigel’s line was defeated, many are still loyal
to him—especially the people who have paid dearly for my grandfather’s deceit.
“I don’t expect I will have the chance to speak with him again,” I say.
Rella raises her eyebrows. “You could approach him.”
“No.”
Bea and Rella exchange a glance, worrying again. I love them dearly, but I hate how they coddle me. I miss Adrinel. The dragon is irritating, but she doesn’t treat me as if I’m made of glass.
I give the finished dough a final pat and then place it on the flat stone with the other rising bread. I lean over them, breathing in the yeasty fragrance.
Father doesn’t know I come down here, which makes this one of my favorite places. Should he ever learn of it, he would be livid to find his daughter baking bread like a common kitchen maid.
“Will you come see the baby soon?” Rella asks.
“I’ll try,” I say. “Father has been keeping me close.”
We’ve spoken little of Calden’s death. Rella’s terrified Bea and Antone are going to be thrown in the dungeons. I can’t bring myself to tell her that if Father found out about their involvement, they wouldn’t find themselves in the dungeons. They would be hanged.
“Do you think there’s any chance at all you’ll see Lord Rigel again?” Rella asks.
Out of habit, I reach for the pendant. Just in time, I remember my floury hands, and I stop myself.
“Father has summoned me to the council this evening,” I say. “I will see Rigel, but I doubt he will speak to me there.”
Bea looks up from her work. “What’s the council meeting for?”
“To discuss the situation of an heir.” I brush the floor from my hands.
Rella’s eyebrows knit. “You have another cousin, don’t you?”
“Apparently he died in the Dragon Wars.”
“Is there anyone else?” Bea sets her finished dough on the stone. “Who will be king?”
I shake my head, already weary. “I don’t know. We will find out this evening.”
Council meetings usually linger on for hours, and I’m not looking forward to standing that long. But it’s not anything I haven’t done before.
“I think I will go rest,” I say.
Seirsha of Errinton Page 2
