“I am glad of that, too, my friend.” King Adham stepped forward and slapped her uncle on the back. Her uncle stumbled forward a bit, but laughed it off as the King turned his gaze to her. There was a long-healed scar on his right cheek that disappeared into a well-trimmed beard of dark blond and silver. His tunic was of the deepest blue that matched shrewd eyes. “Lady Betrice, I am sorry to hear of your troubles on the roads of Eden and am relieved you were able to return safely. I take it personally when thieves are so emboldened as to attack a Lady and an armed escort on one of my roads.”
Thieves. She shook the thought away and sank into a deep curtsy. “Your Majesty—”
“Forgive me, my liege,” her uncle interrupted. “May I present my niece, Lady Betrice.”
As she stood, her uncle turned away from her and strode over to talk with several of his men.
“Ulron,” King Adham bellowed. Prince Ulron stepped forward and the king smiled. “Meet Lady Betrice. Her journey here shows that there is much work to be done when it comes to the safety of Eden. It is your duty to do your part to secure that goal. Perhaps you should hear more about Lady Betrice’s experience so you are never tempted to take your role lightly.”
Prince Ulron’s eyes blazed, but his voice and expression were calm as he said, “Of course, Your Majesty.”
The king crossed to where her uncle Xavier and the other men were huddled. He said something and the men let out a loud guffaw.
“So . . . ,” Prince Ulron said, looking over his shoulder at his father’s back. “Would you like to tell me about the attack you suffered through?” The balled fists at Prince Ulron’s sides said that despite his polite tone, hearing her story was the last thing he wanted to do.
Carefully, she chose her words and kept them light, as if this conversation was not one of import. “The only story I can tell is one of a girl holding onto her horse for dear life as she fled the fray. It’s not exactly heroic, I fear, but you are kind to ask.”
Prince Ulron turned to her with a smile. “I am not known for my kindness.”
“Perhaps that is something we have in common.”
“Really?” Ulron cocked his head to the side. “Most women go out of their way to assure me they are nothing but kindness.”
“They must have nothing to lose. Those who have nothing to lose can afford to be kind.”
“Well, that explains my lack of kindness,” Prince Ulron said quietly. “I have a throne and a kingdom to hang on to. But you, Lady Betrice, what could you possibly be worried about losing?”
“Betrice!”
She flinched at the sound of her uncle’s voice and turned to see him waddling toward her and Prince Ulron. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but after such a long journey, I am sure my niece needs to rest. After all, there is much celebrating to be done.” He turned toward the others gathered and bellowed, “I have promised His Majesty, the defender of Virtue and Keeper of the Light, King Adham, a hunt as a way of demonstrating the prowess of the men of my guard. The most talented of which will be returning with him to Garden City to join the Palace Guard. I do hope you’ll reconsider coming with us, Prince Ulron. I would like to see the skill your father speaks so highly of.”
“My son prefers war to the hunt.” The King slapped her uncle on the back again. “But I am happy to see your men in action and show them how hunting Rack Deer is done.” The men laughed as they turned and headed into the castle.
“Wait,” she called as her uncle’s housekeeper and several other woman of the castle appeared and hustled her inside.
What was happening? Her clothes were not found in the river, shredded or not.
Captain Tarak had lied and she couldn’t help but wonder why.
6
She pushed open the doors of her old room, stepped inside and sagged against the door in relief. The women said they would be coming soon to help ready her for her first night back in the High Lord’s keep. They said her uncle wanted her to look perfect and that he himself had ordered the dress that she would wear. But that was later, she thought, straightening and walking into the room she’d tried to leave behind. For now she would . . .
“Hello, Betrice.”
She whirled as her uncle pushed himself out of the high-backed chair near the fire and crossed the cold stone floor toward her.
“It truly is a joy to have you back here at Charity Keep. You have changed a great deal in the time you were gone.”
“Yes, Uncle Xavier.” Her throat was tight with fear at the look in his eyes. She knew that look. Her stomach churned.
“And your nightmares are gone?” he asked, pulling a jeweled dagger from his belt. Diamonds and sapphires and emeralds glistened in the firelight along with cold, sharp steel.
“Not entirely, Uncle Xavier.”
He put his fat, sweaty fingers on the top of her arm and stroked her skin. “That’s too bad,” he said, putting the tip of the knife at the top of the neckline of her dress in between her breasts. “Perhaps you need better memories to play over and over again in your dreams.”
“I don’t . . .”
He slashed the knife, slicing the fabric and beads and pricking her flesh. He smiled as she whimpered, but she held still, aware of the knife so close to her heart, while his other fingers slid over an exposed breast.
You are my uncle, she screamed inside her head. But not a word came out as his mouth came toward hers. His breath stank of stale ale. Bile choked her. Her heart pounded harder and harder as anger and tears and fear pulsed and pushed at her. His hand squeezed her breast as his mouth latched onto hers and she knew the only way to live was to go along with what he wanted. Live in horror or die.
His tongue licked her lips and she made her choice.
“No!”
She wrenched away. The knife slashed her upper arm. She screamed and bolted toward the other side of the room, clutching the wound as her uncle spun toward her. Rage and lust twisted his face and she realized this is what he wanted. He wanted her to fight. He wanted to draw her blood.
He stepped toward her, knife extended. Her blood staining the blade and the jewels. He licked a drop of saliva off his lips and smiled. “Feel free to fight me, my dear. I always win.”
Something banged on the door.
“Yes?” she yelled, clutching her arm tight to her chest as her uncle snapped at her to be quiet.
“High Lord,” a voice called. “The king is ready for the hunt.”
Her uncle looked at her and smiled. “Then I guess our hunt will just have to wait until later. The king won’t be here for much longer and then we will have all the time in the world.”
He sheathed the dagger without wiping it free of blood, then left without a backward glance.
Tears spilled. Her legs trembled and she barely made it to the chamber stall before her stomach emptied again and again, burning her throat and mouth until there was nothing left. Blood dripping down her arm, she ripped at the bodice of her dress, sending shimmering beads flying as she tore the garment from her body and crossed the room to throw it in the fireplace.
For several moments, it just sat there on the fire.
“Burn!” she cried. She needed it to burn. For everything to burn.
The fabric smoked and blackened as the sound of voices echoed from down the hall, and she remembered. Now that the men were going on the hunt, the women would be coming. They couldn’t see her crying or in pain. She had to be calm. She had to be who she needed to be to escape this place. If she didn’t, she knew that she would die.
Betrice looked for her travel bag. She discovered it in the back corner of the room and fumbled through the contents until she found what she needed. She pulled the cork from the bottle and drank deep of the bitter Tears of Midnight, desperate for the calm it would bring.
And it did. By the time the ladies of the Keep and their maids arrived, her wound had been wrapped in a thin towel and she was seated in a deep red dressing gown brushing her hair. The women clucked and fussed
over redressing her cut, assuming she had received it in the attack on the road instead of in the one in her rooms. At least, that is what they claimed, but Betrice was sure at least some might know the truth and yet didn’t care as they prepared her for the night ahead.
Deep down, rage simmered, but over the rage was a slick calm from the Tears of Midnight that allowed her to smile at the deep green dress trimmed in gold and nod as the women chatted and giggled and gossiped. None were concerned that Betrice rarely spoke.
Instead, she listened to them as she fixed her plan to escape in her mind. Topics of their chatter ranged from their husbands and sons to the new dresses Captain Tarak’s wife had begun to wear. As a woman of Adderton, Captain Tarak’s wife was of keen interest and much suspicion. No one thought her new dresses changed that. The conversation then swirled to topics from the king’s current mistress, to the prince’s seeming disinterest in his possible betrothal and his insult to the women of Grace City in looking for a bride elsewhere.
“Speaking of startling, did you see Lord Vincent’s new britches? A man his age . . .”
Finally, claiming exhaustion, Betrice sent even the most persistent of her helpers on their way. At last, she found herself alone in the room where her uncle had just tried to fulfill the promise he’d made years before. She stared at the hearth, at the blackened remains of the dress she had worn, for several long seconds to give herself courage before rummaging through her travel pack again and heading out into the Keep. It was time to light the fire that Kiara had spoken of to her. Time for the flames to burn.
Her first step was finding Captain Tarak’s rooms.
She was surprised how well she recalled the layout of the Keep and found her uncle’s trusted guardsman’s rooms with ease. He was on the hunt with the men, as Betrice knew he would be. His wife was also absent, which Betrice took as a sign. A nearby servant was happy to help find parchment and a quill so that Betrice could compose a message of gratitude and was wise enough not to question what took so long for Betrice to finish the message and place it in a prominent position in the sitting room.
Then, armed only with suspicions about why the Captain had lied, Betrice took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and went in search of Prince Ulron who, unlike the other noblemen, had not gone on the hunt.
He was easy to find since it appeared all the maids in the Keep were tracking the prince’s every move. He stood in the heat of the sun on a private balcony. It overlooked the guards’ practice field and beyond that, Lake Venia.
“Hello, Your Highness.” She curtsied and stepped over the threshold of the doorway into the sunshine. “Are you enjoying the view?”
He turned and frowned. “I suppose you expect me to say the view is better now that you are here.”
The Prince assumed vanity in others. That could only imply he had a hefty dose of it himself. According to her ladies in waiting, women who threw themselves at the prince had talked of feeling insulted. And no wonder.
“Since you have already informed me that you aren’t kind, I assumed nothing of the sort. People don’t waste unnecessary words in the Village of Night. I suppose I will have to relearn how to deal with such trivialities.”
Prince Ulron’s considered her, then shrugged. “The Village of Night sounds . . . restful.” He turned and leaned on the ledge, once again staring at the water beyond the city.
“Only if you fancy staring at the night sky for hours on end, looking for meaning that never comes.”
He didn’t order her to leave, so she took a deep breath and moved to stand next to him. Anxiety churned in her gut. One wrong word could end her plan before it had a chance to begin.
Indecision stilled her tongue. She could feel each precious second slipping away, but she had no idea how to convince the prince to give her what she wanted.
“If you are hoping I will be intrigued by your silent beauty and decide to make you my princess, stop now,” Prince Ulron said with his gaze on the horizon. “You might not have heard, but I am betrothed.”
Was she so transparent? Her heart beat hard—like the timid rabbit she refused to be. She had to burn bright and without fear.
“Congratulations,” she said, willing herself to be calm, like the lake. “Although the ladies who helped me dress sounded far more interested in your upcoming nuptials than you do, my prince. I am sorry if it is not what you wish.”
“I wish to secure my family’s hold on the Throne of Light and bring stability to Eden.”
She nodded and saw the path she must take. “Then, I suppose your father commanded you to go along with the betrothal because Adderton agreed to turn over the Bastian survivors once you united the two kingdoms through marriage. I can see why he believes that to be the case.”
“And you don’t?”
“Sometimes the obvious thing—the situation in front of you—is only there to serve as a distraction.” She sighed. “Seer Zachar liked to say that ‘only when you look beyond the obvious, can you open yourself up to other possibilities.’”
“And is that what you think I should do? Look for other possibilities?” he asked.
Betrice continued to look out at the water as if unaware the Prince had turned so he could study her. “It is not for me to tell you anything, Prince Ulron, but when your eyes are firmly in front of you, it can be hard to see what is approaching from behind.”
“I thought we were talking about my betrothal.”
“We are.” This was her chance to strike a spark. “Just because an enemy appears to lay down their weapons doesn’t mean they have surrendered.” Now she did turn to face him. “I beg you, Prince Ulron, do not trust what is in front of you—not when it could distract from the sword aimed at your back.” She bowed a quick curtsy and spun toward the entrance.
“Stop!”
She stilled in the doorway at the Prince’s command.
“You dare threaten the life of Eden’s crown prince?” Anger crackled like fire. He grabbed her arm and yanked her around to face him, and his fingers bit into her flesh.
“I did no such thing!” Fear slashed through her stomach. “I am trying to give you a warning.”
“Then do it.” His hand squeezed tighter, and she whimpered at the pain. “No games. No riddles. Or you will face the consequences.”
“I do not play games, Your Highness,” she panted, desperate to hold onto her composure, but all illusion of control was gone. She was again at a man’s mercy. And this man wouldn’t keep her alive to toy with her if he was displeased. “My uncle would never forgive me for speaking what I know to you instead of sharing it with him first. No matter what I do, I will pay a high price for my words unless . . .” She took a breath and said, “Unless you promise to take me with you when you leave Grace City.”
Pain shot through her arm. Prince Ulron yanked her against him, and hot tears pricked at her eyes. “You’re demanding a promise from me? Who are you to do so?”
“No,” she begged. She fought hard to keep fear from swallowing her whole. “You are my prince. I can demand nothing. But I am hoping if what I say has value you will remember the bearer of the words as one who would guard your back and see that you become king.”
“Speak.”
She straightened her spine and reminded herself there were worse things than death. There was life under her uncle’s control. “On my journey from the Village of Night, our party was attacked.”
“You forget that I know this.”
She ignored the barb and said, “Captain Tarak claimed the attack happened on the open road. It didn’t. I do not know why he decided to turn us off the more direct road and into the forest. I can only guess. But, it is in the forest that we were ambushed by well-dressed, well-armed men with Adderton blades and insignias. If the King of Adderton has truly pledged an allegiance with Eden, it would be strange to find his men attacking a party wearing the colors and crests of an Eden High Lord. It is also strange that the Captain of the High Lord’s guard—the same m
an who altered our party’s course, claimed the attack was carried out by common thieves and that he discovered my dress torn asunder by wolves. Not one of the details in his story is true. Why?”
Prince Ulron’s grip eased. The pain lessened, but he didn’t let go. “Perhaps you were mistaken about the men who attacked you, Lady Betrice. It is far more likely a seasoned warrior would understand who his foe is than a woman who fled to save her life.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” she said, swallowing hard. “I could be mistaken about what I saw. But am I mistaken that your father is planning on taking a number of my uncle’s most skilled fighters into your guard?” Prince Ulron nodded for her to continue, and she forged ahead, knowing this was the only chance she would have to flee this place. “Including Captain Tarak?”
“I believe he is one of those my father has chosen—for his skill and his dedication to defending those in his charge.”
Meaning her. Betrice remained silent. Allowed the truth to dawn on the prince.
“Do you doubt Captain Tarak’s skill, Lady Betrice?”
“No,” she said honestly. “But he volunteered to lead my escort because my uncle promised any who returned me safely back to Derio would be released from their oaths if they wished to join the King’s Guard. While many would desire that honor, most are not recently married to a woman from Adderton as Captain Tarak is. Unless you intercede, I am certain he and his wife plan to travel to Garden City with the intent to remove your family from the throne at any cost. If you doubt me, search Captain Tarak and his wife’s rooms. You will find proof they are connected to the kingdom that sheltered traitors to Eden. Those who believe your family has no right to the throne. Or simply ask yourself, why would the Captain give up leading his own post to take a lesser position. For the honor of serving you, or because he serves someone else?”
Prince Ulron released her arm and stepped back. Her heart counted the seconds as he stared at her long and hard. “If you are wrong, you will pay with your life.”
“Of that I am certain.”