“Then help your country by preventing a war, princess. Only you can do that, you know. I wouldn’t take you back for any other reason except so many lives are at stake now, lives that you can save by standing beside your father to prove he does still have his heir.”
Chapter Six
POPPIE WAS TAKING HER home to Lubinia. Her father wasn’t dying. He had made numerous public appearances to prove it, according to Poppie’s informant. But that hadn’t helped, not when his enemies were spreading the rumor that he had a weak heart that wouldn’t last much longer. Some people were even blaming his weak heart for his inability to produce another heir in all these years. Many of the commoners who were being agitated were so backward they believed these lies. So only she could put their fears to rest.
Of course she had to go back to Lubinia, there was no question. Her own hopes and dreams were meaningless next to saving lives. But after the rebels had retreated and their lies had been disputed, she was still going to be left with a father she didn’t want, and a new life she wanted even less.
There was nothing to keep them from leaving England immediately. Thanks to Poppie’s efforts over the years, the orphanage had a long list of benefactors supporting it now who would continue to run it. And Alana already had a brand-new wardrobe for the London Season that was befitting of a princess. A real princess. No endearment after all. And she never once suspected. How could she have thought the term was more than an endearment when the truth was still so hard to accept?
She knew Poppie didn’t plan to return to England himself—because he didn’t think she ever would, and he intended to remain close to her. He made it clear they weren’t returning when he gave his house to Annette to live in or to sell, whichever she pleased. But when hugging her friend good-bye, Alana whispered, “I’ll be back.”
She would, too. She’d do whatever she had to do to remove the threat of war from the country of her birth, but then she’d tell her father to get himself another heir. She didn’t share these brave thoughts with Poppie, but she held them close in her heart and mind. Otherwise, she’d be terrified of what lay ahead, instead of just nervous.
The only bright spot upon leaving the home she loved was Henry Mathews’s crawling into the coach the morning of their departure. With his endearing, cheeky grin, he told her, “I’m goin’ with you! Imagine that, eh? Me, crossin’ the bleedin’ Continent. Who’da ever thought?”
All she could think to do was hug him, she was so delighted. Later at the docks when they had a moment alone, Poppie explained, “I know how fond you are of the boy. I thought he might make this trip a little easier for you. And once you’re reunited with your father, he’s someone I can trust to get messages to you.”
She guessed it might be more that Poppie had grown accustomed to raising a child and Henry would make a fine replacement for her. That saddened and gladdened her equally. But Henry did help keep her mind off what lay ahead for at least some of the trip, especially during the hours she worked with him on his studies, including teaching him the Lubinian language.
She had been taught the two main languages they encountered most frequently on the journey, and a smattering of others. Ever since she’d learned German, she had understood Poppie whenever he had spoken to her in Lubinian, since the two languages were so similar. She hadn’t realized he’d been doing it deliberately to prepare her for this unwanted future.
Poppie kept reminding her of her extraordinary future in his efforts to get her to think more kindly of the country he loved. “Lubinia is not perfect, but it can be,” he told her. “And in a perfect world, you can have what you want. I see no reason why you can’t teach in the palace. Children can be brought to you. I see no reason you can’t continue to do so after your marriage.”
“Which won’t be of my choosing, will it?” she said bitterly.
He sighed, admitting what she’d already guessed. “As a royal, your husband is bound to be handpicked for you, and your marriage will likely be in service of a political alliance that will benefit the country. But you will be reunited with your father. He isn’t going to want to let you go off soon into a marriage. And while most royals grow up aware of their responsibilities and knowing what their future holds, you didn’t. The king might take that into account.”
“And give me a choice?” she scoffed, not believing it for a minute.
“I detect anger. Do you really not want—?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” she cut in, but then she tried to ease his worry with the truth. “I’m just nervous, afraid I won’t like my father or, worse, might even insult him with my disdain.”
“This is my fault. Don’t make my contempt yours. This plot that involved you is the only instance where his leadership has been questionable. But I’m sure there are reasons why it hasn’t been resolved, and we will learn of them soon enough. He’s a good man, Alana. I was in the streets the day of your birth, when Frederick’s heir was shown to the crowds. It didn’t matter that you were female, the cheers from the crowd were deafening. Your father has been well loved by his people.”
“Then why do they want to dispose of him?”
“Fear. They’re being made to think he will die soon, leaving them without a king. Most are willing to wait until that happens. It’s the younger men who are being stirred to revolt, those who don’t remember why the old regime was overthrown. But this conspiracy will die a quick death with your return. Don’t worry, you will love the king. How can you not? He’s your father.”
What if she did? What if she was so delighted with him that she’d willingly do anything he asked of her, just to please him? That wasn’t a kernel of hope, it would be a dilemma!
“I have trained you for this day,” Poppie continued, “for you to assume your rightful place, and for you to be able to protect yourself. But I didn’t know how to train you to be a ruling monarch. I did my best by giving you the widely diverse education a young nobleman would receive.”
“I think you gave me more than that. Diplomacy, the art of negotiating, a firm knowledge of every ruling house in Europe—including my own. I did pay attention to those lessons about Lubinia. The house of Bruslan ruled for centuries, but the last Bruslan to sit on the throne, King Ernest, made such bad decisions for his people that they rose up in a civil war, which ultimately killed him. The Stindals, father and son, ruled after him. Did I remember that correctly?”
“Indeed, but you were not told why the Stindals were chosen instead of one of the Bruslan heirs, and there were many Bruslans who might have been chosen. You’re actually distantly related to them, though the two branches of the family severed ties long ago and never reconciled. So while the Stindals shared the same royal bloodline, they were viewed as a change from the Bruslans, whom the people no longer trusted. This was why a Stindal was chosen. Tradition was satisfied, and the people were rid of a despised family who’d dominated the throne for too long.”
“It sounds as if the Bruslans would have much to gain if there were no Stindals remaining.”
“Indeed, and you and your father are the last two. But while it is logical to conclude that the Bruslans instigated the plot to assassinate you, your father would have realized that, too, yet he took no action against them. Until I know why he didn’t, I have to conclude he may have other enemies I’m unaware of. Now enough of history. You were taught well, though it still wasn’t enough. But your father isn’t an old man. You still have many years ahead of you in which to learn anything a royal should know that I’ve overlooked.”
A royal. How could he think she would want this? She did want to meet her father though. She couldn’t help but be curious about him, more than she cared to admit. But she didn’t want the responsibility that might come after that meeting. The thought of having a whole country dependent on her decisions someday was more than she felt capable of dealing with. Nor did she want the restrictions. And she certainly didn’t want a complete separation from Poppie, who wouldn’t be welcomed with open a
rms the way she would be.
She was worried about Poppie, too. He was going to devote himself fully now to what her father should have done years ago, finding the person or persons who had hired him to kill her. Until those people were gone, her safety was at risk.
“Did you ever kill again after you brought me to England?” she asked him one night.
They were on the way to the theater in Paris. They had traveled without stopping up to that point, so he was allowing them a day of rest, and a little time to see something of that great old city. The shock of who she was had actually tempered the shock of who Poppie had been. At least she could discuss it now without feeling sick to her stomach.
“No, though there was one instance when I might have had to,” Poppie confided. “It was only a few months after I sent that missive to your father. I heard that a couple of men, obviously foreigners, were visiting London’s immigrant neighborhoods asking if anyone knew of a Lubinian man with a child or children who had recently arrived. The Londoners weren’t very cooperative. I only heard about it, and no one ever showed up at our house.”
“So they might not have been searching for me?”
“It could have been unrelated, but I never doubted you would be searched for, despite my assurance to your father. He might have thought that he could protect you better than I could.”
She stared at Poppie hard. “So you would have actually killed my father’s men?”
“Do not mistake the situation, Alana,” he said gravely. “While I was as positive as I could be under the circumstances that my employer was done with the matter, convinced that you had been killed, I wasn’t going to completely dismiss the possibility that I could be wrong.”
They were traveling halfway across Europe, and it wasn’t the best time of year for it, with winter so soon upon them. There would be snow, and lots of it, the higher they got into the mountains. She had been taught about the countries they passed through, all of France, into the Rhineland, where they paused once more in the Grand Duchy of Baden, then on through Württemberg.
Halfway through the Kingdom of Bavaria, they paused one last time, in Munich. There, Poppie suggested she disguise herself as a boy for the last leg of the journey. She didn’t think at first that he was serious, but he was.
“You are too pretty,” he told her. “You draw attention to us, which we don’t want. And it bothers me that I don’t know if you look like your mother. It would be the worst luck for you to be recognized before we get to the palace.”
“And if I don’t look like her? How am I going to prove who I am?”
“With the truth. And with this.”
He took a tiny bracelet from his pocket and placed it in her hand. Made of gold and decorated with small gems, it had an engraving on the inside. She could only make out half of it, her name.
“The letters are so small I can’t read the first word. What else does it say?”
“It’s the Lubinian word for ‘princess.’ It says ‘Princess Alana.’ ”
She put the trinket in the small, silk-lined box that contained her jewelry and Henry’s carvings, which she kept locked and buried deep in one of her trunks. That small piece of her past brought home, more than anything else, that she was Alana, daughter of Frederick, current ruler of Lubinia. She cried herself to sleep that night. Nothing was ever going to be the same again.
Chapter Seven
THEY WOULD ARRIVE IN Lubinia today. Even though the trip had been long, Alana still thought it was too soon to reach their destination. They were high in the mountains, surrounded by a pristine white landscape. Then a furious snowstorm seemed to come out of nowhere, it was upon them so fast. The trail on the mountain pass they had to traverse grew narrower the higher they climbed. It was so steep that everyone, even the driver, had to get out of the coach and walk in front of it. The sudden snow now made the already slippery trail treacherous.
“It’s an ancient trail, rarely used anymore,” Poppie shouted above the wind that was blowing the snow in their faces. He was in the lead right in front of her, yet he still had to shout! Behind them, the driver carefully coaxed the coach horses forward. “Not many visitors come from this direction,” Poppie added.
“Nonetheless, it should still be made less dangerous,” she complained as she hugged the mountain rocks on the safe side of the trail. “At least a few fences or—”
“Something you can order when you are queen.”
She detected his humor. “Something I can mention to my father,” she countered. It made Poppie laugh.
It was so cold she was glad she wasn’t wearing a dress, which would have been troublesome in this wind. Her hair was tightly braided and tucked into her coat with its collar raised high. A woolen cap was pulled over her forehead, concealing the rest of her hair. She should have taken a scarf out of her trunks to cover her face though. She could feel her cheeks being pelted by some of the flakes, which were more ice than snow. Fortunately, her britches had been made for weather like this; they were so thick they almost seemed to be padded.
She kept one glove-covered hand on the rocks, while the other tightly clasped Henry’s hand. She thought she heard him whistling, or maybe that was the wind. But she knew he was viewing this as an adventure, silly boy. He’d been having the time of his life on this journey, asking questions and expressing fascination about everything they saw. She and Poppie had told him, of course, the reason for the trip, but they’d given him a simplified version that didn’t include royalty. They merely said that Alana was going to be reunited with her father, whom she’d never before met.
Henry had gotten new winter clothes in Munich, too. Nothing fancy for either of them. They looked like a couple of peasants, and she’d teased him about that earlier.
Just as they were negotiating a curvy part of the trail, they were almost run over. In the blinding snow and gusty wind, the oncoming horses reared up as they encountered the coach blocking their way. One horse nearly slid off the mountain. Alana screamed as she watched it trying to regain its footing, until she was smashed against the rocks by another horse and lost her breath for a moment. More horses reared as they were yanked back from charging into the others, but their momentum kept them from stopping immediately.
She panicked when she lost Henry’s hand, but he’d just scurried up the rocks out of the way, and for a better view of the mayhem. Not that he could see much of it, with the snow still coming down so heavily. But she couldn’t see anything at all with one of the horses still pressed against her. She managed to squeeze herself out of that spot and move toward the coach horses where there was still a little room. Poppie followed her and put an arm protectively around her shoulder.
“Say nothing,” he warned her. “Your voice is too telling.”
Due to the sudden stop, the newcomers’ horses crowded the narrow trail. Alana held her breath. Someone or some animal might still be pushed over that dangerous drop.
There were so many horses she couldn’t count them all, and that many men mounted on them, all wearing the same long military coats, black, fur-banded caps, and thick scarves wrapped so high only their eyes were visible. They looked like bandits, she thought, though bandits wouldn’t all dress alike like this. Were they soldiers? Or perhaps even rebels?
Then she noticed that the men were training their rifles on her, Poppie, and their driver. Instinctively, her hands slipped into her coat pockets to grip her pistols there. She couldn’t actually fire them with such thick gloves on. Nor did she dare bring them out. She’d probably be shot instantly.
Some of the men were dismounting and leading their horses back. One moved to the coach, opened its door, and looked inside it. She didn’t see him come around the vehicle, but he suddenly pushed past her from behind. He paused though to grip her chin, but he let go before she could jerk her head away. The man did the same to Henry, who was moving closer to her now.
Then he reported to one of the men up front who had just dismounted, “Two adult males, two
children. No one else in the coach.”
More horses moved back the way they’d come. Some space had actually been cleared in front of them, but the man she’d just noticed dismounting seemed to fill a good part of it. He was tall, broad, and had an erect military bearing. She couldn’t distinguish much of his face. With the snow still swirling around them, it was like looking at him through a white veil. All she could see was a bit of light-colored hair with snow clinging to it and shadowed eyes below the fur of his cap. He removed the glove from his right hand and moved his scarf down below his mouth. A strong nose was revealed, and a firm mouth that was set in a serious expression as his eyes narrowed on Poppie.
“If you rebels are recruiting children, I’ll shoot you right now.”
Alana sucked in her breath, but Poppie quickly laughed at the accusation. “We’re not rebels.”
“Then what the hell are you doing up here in winter if you aren’t from the camp rumored to be just over this pass? A rebel camp. It’s too dangerous to be up here for any sane reason.”
“We’re trying to reach our lady’s family before she does. She went ahead with her guards the longer way, through the northeastern pass. She was too impatient to wait for us when the baggage coach lost a wheel. But this wasn’t a good decision on my part. I was told this way was quicker, but I wasn’t warned of the hazardous conditions.”
The soldier said nothing for a moment, a horribly tense moment, then replied with a snort, “There’s always snow up here this time of year. Who is your lady?”
“She’s a Naumann.”
That name produced an immediate scowl. “The only female the Naumanns have left is an old grandmother too old to travel. You lie.”
Oh, God, Poppie would have to choose a name the man recognized. At least five rifles rose up again with that accusation, but Poppie had no choice but to stick to his fabrication and he did so indignantly. “No, my lord, she is not the only one. Our lady is a second cousin who has not lived here for thirty years. This is only the second time I know of that she has returned to Lubinia to visit this branch of her family.”