Masked (The Divided Kingdom Book 1)

by Shari Cross

  “Addalynne, my dear girl.” He smiles as he pulls me in for a hug. He’s filled out over these last few years, making it difficult for me to wrap my arms around his full belly.

  “Hello, Uncle. How are you?” There’s a slight tremble in my voice, my jitters still dominating me.

  “Wonderful, my dear. And yourself?”

  “Very well.”

  “How about your father? I suppose things are rather tense at the Berrengers’ with Lady Berrenger missing.”

  “Missing? When did she go missing?” I think back on the last few conversations with my father, but he never mentioned this.

  “It only happened yesterday morning. Your father told me that the Lord awoke and found his wife’s chambers empty. He called on the guards to search, but she was no where to be found. Later in the day they discovered her horse was missing as well.”

  “Do they think she was taken?”

  “Taken? Possibly. Or she may have left.”

  “Why would she leave?”

  “Well, my dear, I’m not one to make assumptions, and you are here to see Drake, not to talk to an old man about curious village matters,” he says with a sideways smile, barely visible under his peppered beard, getting straight to what he knows is the point of my visit.

  “I always enjoy talking to you and you’re not that old, but I was hoping to see Drake.” I reply, knowing our conversation is over anyway. If I want to know more about Lady Berrenger’s disappearance, I’ll have to ask someone else.

  “He’s at the shop, finishing up a sword. When he left, he mentioned he had to meet you at noon. I was on my way to relieve him now.”

  “But his horse . . . ?”

  “He decided to walk today. Would you like to walk with me? Freyja can stay here.”

  I nod and we walk to the market together in amiable silence, my mind completely preoccupied. What if Lady Berrenger crossed the river? What if something crossed the river and took her?

  When we arrive, Uncle Geoffrey tells me to go on in, stating that he needs to stop at the bakery and will be back soon. I slowly make my way through the doors and into Uncle Geoffrey’s blacksmith shop.

  Daylight floods through the two open windows, causing reflections to cascade around the shop, bouncing off the swords, shields, axes, and spears that line the black stone walls. There’s an array of daggers on a wooden table in the center. I move toward them and gently drag my fingers along the hilts, decorative stones, and blades.

  With a sigh, I pull my hand away and venture to the door in the back. It leads to the forge, where Drake will be. The sharp clanging and grinding sounds coming from the forge greet me as soon as I step into the stone hallway. The entrance is slightly up ahead and the door is already open, letting the orange light of the flames flicker into the dark space. I stop when I reach the open doorway, where I have a clear view of Drake.

  The flames of the fire beneath the sword he’s working on bathe his face in shades of red and orange. The sleeves of his black tunic are rolled up past the elbow, making the strength in his arms visible as he works. The way his arms move along the sword cause the fitted tunic to pull tightly across his chest, exposing the muscle there as well. I’ve always known he was tall, as the top of my head barely reaches his collar bone, but I hadn’t noticed the change in his body before. I see now how much his body has filled out. When did that happen?

  I reluctantly let my gaze travel to his face. His dark brown hair is falling across his forehead, tousled with its subtle waves. The ends of his hair, grazing his neck, are damp with sweat and curl more than the rest. His fair skin has a slightly bronze hue to it, and his cheeks are flushed with the heat of the flames. As he works, his lips are pursed, causing his strong jawline to appear tense. There are slight indentations of his dimples on his cheeks, strained in the studiousness of his face. He really is handsome. Suddenly, he looks up, his dark green eyes landing on me. I look away, and warmth floods my face.

  “How long have you been here, Addy?”

  I shift uncomfortably and try to swallow back my embarrassment.

  “A few seconds,” I lie. By this point, it feels as though most of the heat has left my face and I hesitantly allow myself to look at him again. He’s staring at me, but it takes me a moment to realize that his eyes aren’t on my face. They’re moving slowly along my body. The warmth returns instantly.

  When Drake’s eyes meet mine, he clears his throat. “New dress?”.

  “Yes,” I reply quietly, a tremor still present in my voice.

  “You’re beautiful. I mean, the dress, it’s beautiful. The dress is beautiful on you.” He looks to the floor, his grip on the hilt of the sword tightening to the point of his knuckles turning white.

  “Thank you,” I reply weakly, my heart fluttering, as my gaze also travels to the floor. I can practically taste the awkward tension hanging in the air. I try to think of something to say, but all I can do is replay his words in my mind. He thinks I’m beautiful.

  “Hey kids, will you be leaving now?” Uncle Geoffrey’s voice makes me jump, startling me out of my trance. Thankfully though, his presence shatters most of the tension. With a much needed exhale, I lift my head, and watch him as he moves toward the sword Drake has finished. “This is perfect! Wonderful job, son.” He pats Drake on the back and then takes it from his hands.

  Drake moves stiffly toward the door, looking completely over my head. I inadvertently hold my breath as he moves sideways around me and steps into the hallway.

  “I’ll be back tonight, Father,” he calls, and continues to make his way out the door. I glance back at my uncle, unsure of whether I should follow. Uncle Geoffrey simply nods and waves a dismissive hand, already lost in his work. With one last steadying breath, I follow Drake out of the shop and into the now excessively warm late spring air.

  “Did you want to go into the woods or stay in the market today?” he asks, while meticulously keeping his back to me.

  “Actually, I came here to tell you that I’m going to spend the day with Mary,” I offer reluctantly. He turns to face me, confusion tightening his features. I look away.

  Why?”

  “I haven’t seen her in a while and . . .”

  “You saw her two days ago,” he interrupts. His eyes are on me, but I continue to keep mine on the rock I’m pushing around with the tip of my brown boot. “What’s this really about, Addalynne? If you really wanted to spend time with Mary I’d understand, but we both know that’s not what’s going on.”

  As usual, he sees right through me. I take in an exasperated breath. “For a while now, Mother has been saying that it’s time I consider potential suitors. And though I’m not entirely pleased with the notion, it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to put it off.” I tell him the truth, feeling utterly ridiculous as I do. His first response to my honesty is complete silence. Then . . .

  “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.” His voice is so low, I have to strain my ears to hear him. “Besides, I don’t see what this has to do with Mary.”

  “I want to spend the day with Mary to see if I’m ready. When I’m with you I . . .” I what? “I’m too distracted.”

  I don’t look up to see him move, but I feel and hear him take a step closer to me. “Why are you distracted when you’re with me?” His question comes out slow and deliberate, and for a moment, all words evade me. He takes another step. He’s so close that I can feel his breath blowing across the top of my head. I try to concentrate on a response, but I’m too dizzy and hot, much too hot. Maybe I’m coming down with something. That would explain the strange feeling in my head and stomach, and my inability to form a clear thought. After taking several deep breaths, I steady myself enough to speak.

  “I’m distracted when I’m with you because we’re always going off on our own, leaving no time for me to notice anyone else. Besides, our going off together has created another problem.”

  “And what could that possibly be?” He takes a step b
ack, and my head clears slightly.

  “My mother thinks we’re more than friends, and I assume she’s not the only one.” Numbing silence stains the air around us. I wait a solid minute for him to speak. When he doesn’t, I let myself look at him. Now he’s the one looking at the ground.

  “And that’s a problem?” Though his words are quiet, they’re loud enough for me to hear the anger in them. Why would he be angry? Surely he sees why this would be a problem. We’re only friends, nothing more.

  “Yes, Drake. It’s a problem because it will make others think that I’m not available for courtship, and Mother wants me to be available.”

  “And we both know you always listen to your mother.”

  “Why does this bother you so much? Maybe I’m curious too, Drake! I’m not a little girl anymore! Besides, you knew this day would come!”

  He looks up at me, his shoulders set, his eyes sparkling with what seems to be anger, but there’s something else there as well, and though I can’t place it, it breaks my heart.

  “I’m not bothered. In fact, I would love to have some time to myself. Contrary to what you may believe, I don’t need to spend every day with you. So go ahead. We certainly don’t want others to think you’re being romanced by me. Imagine how inappropriate that would be; the orphaned blacksmith and Addalynne Troyer, the village princess.”

  I pull my bottom lip into my mouth and bite down until I taste blood, desperate to focus the pain of his words elsewhere. Don’t cry. My hands clench into fists at my side, anger settling in along with the pain. Don’t cry. “I‘m not the village princess.”

  “No, but you may as well be. Your family is the second wealthiest in Faygrene. Girls like you are meant for lords, not orphans. Besides, as I said, it will be nice to have some time to myself, instead of having to follow you around for Gregory.”

  For Gregory? “What do you mean you follow me around for Gregory?”

  “Gregory wants me to make sure you’re safe. He knows you wouldn’t let him follow you around every day, so he asked me to.”

  I try to breathe, but my breath keeps getting stuck in my throat. The dizziness returns, leaving me unbalanced and nauseous. I can’t look at him anymore. “So you only spend time with me because Gregory asked you to?” The idea is too painful to comprehend. He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to. Now I know the truth. “Then we should stop spending time together. I don’t want to be the burden you bear for your friendship with Gregory.”

  “That’s fine with me, Addalynne, but what about you? If Mary is with Gregory, who are you going to spend your time with?”

  “There are other girls I can spend time with apart from Mary.”

  A single, sharp laugh escapes his lips. “No, there’s not. Mary is the only girl in Faygrene who even likes you. All the other girls in the village want nothing to do with you.”

  I suck in a breath. How did we end up here? He has never spoken to me like this. He has never looked at me this way.

  All of this hurts entirely too much and there are absolutely no words I can find to say to him. All I can do now is put distance between us before he sees the tears that are forcing their way down my face. Without another second’s thought, I turn and run as fast as I can, not bothering to pay attention to where I’m headed.

  After several minutes, I find myself on the opposite side of the village, as far away from him as I can get without leaving Faygrene. I look around, taking in my surroundings. The end of the village lies to my left and a thick forest stands to my right. On the edge of the forest there’s a large tree with ideal branches for climbing. It’s not my tree or my part of the woods, but I don’t care. It will be good enough for now, and he won’t find me here—not that he’s going to try to find me anyway.

  After perching myself on top of one of the branches, I lean my back against the trunk and tuck my legs up to my chest, my arms wrapping around them. Within seconds my body is shaking with sobs. Everything between us has been a lie. He’s the most important person to me, and I’m only a task to him. Something inside me tries to argue, to tell me that it isn’t true. But what if it is? What if all our time together has just been an act, a way for him to keep me happy and safe, because that’s surely what Gregory would have wanted him to do.

  Stop, Addalynne! You have to stop! Pull yourself together! You’re stronger than this! I tell myself this over and over, but the tears don’t listen. I close my eyes and try to think of something else, anything else, but every image I pull into my mind has him there. And I’m tired, I’m so tired. I know I shouldn’t sleep up here, but I can’t help it and soon I’m fading in and out of sleep. Both my dreams and my waking thoughts are filled with him, and when I finally commit my eyes to stay open, I’m left with endless questions.

  What will Drake do now? Will he spend more time with Gregory and Walter, or will he start spending time with other girls? What if he starts spending time with Antoinette or Jacqueline? He said all the other girls want nothing to do with me, and though I’m not sure about all the girls, I know that Antoinette and Jacqueline hate me. They would love nothing more than to take him away from me. I think about how they laugh and stare at me, how they tell me I should have been born a boy. Maybe he’ll join them and laugh at the jokes they make at my expense. Well, that’s fine. I can find other ways to spend my time, starting with climbing down from this tree, finding Mary, and finding a boy who notices me. The thought is much more appealing to me now than it was this morning. I’ll find someone else to walk through the woods with, someone who wants to be there.

  With new resolve, I make my way down the tree, being mindful of not ripping my new dress. As I jump to the ground, I look toward the village, scanning the deserted streets. Dark shadows extend across the ground, painting their silhouettes on the stones. I was in that tree much longer than I thought. My parents are going to be furious. I break into a run, trying to get home before night chases away the final traces of the day.

  As I turn the corner and approach the road that lies in front of my home, I see my mother and sister walking toward me.

  “Where have you been?” Mother yells, relief and anger stirring in her voice.

  “I’m sorry. I was in the market and didn’t notice the time. It won’t happen again,” I reply through gasps of air, my chest burning from running. Mother eyes me speculatively.

  “Your brother was in the market all day. He said he never saw you there.”

  I didn’t think this out very well, did I? The truth it is then.

  “I had a fight with Drake this morning and didn’t want to be around anyone. So I went and sat in a tree on the edge of town. I was always in view of the village and was perfectly safe. I didn’t realize how long I was there. I’m sorry.”

  “What did you and Drake fight about?” Elizabeth asks at the same time that Mother says, “That explains it.”

  “Explains what?” I ask, ignoring Elizabeth’s question.

  “It explains why Drake has been pacing in your chambers, refusing to go home until he sees you,” Mother replies, a touch of annoyance in her voice.

  My heart stutters. “He’s here now?”

  “Yes. He rode Freyja back for you and then insisted on staying.”

  “What did you fight about?” Elizabeth asks again before I can respond to my Mother.

  “It’s not your concern, Elizabeth!”

  Elizabeth turns on her heel and walks away, likely on her way to pout in her chambers.

  “Just because you’re upset doesn’t mean you need to speak to your sister that way.” Mother frowns.

  “I’m not upset.” I cross my arms and look away from her, wishing I could sink back into the trees and avoid this entire conversation.

  “Clearly you are.” She waits for me to respond, but once she realizes I’m not going to, she continues. “Do you want me to tell him you don’t want to speak with him?”

  If I tell her “Yes,” she’ll definitely make him leave. I try to clear my head so I ca
n think, but there’s nothing to think about. I’m still angry and incredibly hurt, but I want to see him.

  The light from my open doorway flickers into the dimly lit hall. My hands shake and my heart drums painfully. With a deep breath, I walk in.

  He’s sitting on my bed, my sapphire hairpin between his fingers. His head is down and his shoulders are hunched with defeat. Seeing him here only reminds me of what I lost, and that makes it entirely too painful. My tears rush to the surface, but I thankfully manage to push them down by telling myself that he doesn’t look happy, and I must admit, that makes me feel a little better.

  He looks up and stands, his eyes locking on mine for several seconds, the rigid intensity of his gaze unnerving me.

  “Addy, I . . .” He runs a hand through his hair, something he’s been doing a lot based on its appearance. “I saw Mary in the market. You weren’t with her.” He pauses, clearly waiting for me to say something. A muscle jumps in his jaw, but I continue to stand silently. “I asked her where you were and she said she hadn’t seen you.”

  I set my shoulders. “I decided not to go to the market.”

  “Where did you go then?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter! You can’t go off on your own and tell no one where you are.”

  “I most certainly can! I’m not a child, and I’m not your responsibility! And if you came here to yell at me, then please feel free to leave.” I’m too exhausted to fight again and am starting to regret my decision to not have Mother make him leave.

  He slowly rakes his fingers across his face, leaving one hand cupping the back of his neck. “I . . . did . . . not . . . come . . . here . . . to . . . yell . . . at . . . you,” he says slowly, clearly struggling for patience. “I was worried about you.” He takes several apprehensive steps toward me, my hairpin still in his hands. He stops with a couple feet between us.

  “It’s not your job to worry about me.”