Noble Thief

by M. Lynn

  Present

  Amalie had never wanted to be a princess. Tyson hadn’t considered that at the time but even now, he still didn’t know what she wanted.

  As he stared at the woman before him, her words bouncing in his mind, he couldn’t find a trace of the girl he once knew. The softness of Amalie Leroy was gone, replaced by a woman with hard edges.

  Tyson Durand means nothing to me. He never did.

  He’d had two years to wonder if what they’d had was real, but being hit with the truth so suddenly sucked the air from his lungs.

  Amalie’s mouth moved, and he thought she tried to say his name, but he shook his head. The day had gone from bad to worse, and he didn’t know how much more he could take.

  Simon was missing, and his mother pleaded with Tyson to find him, the guard who also happened to be the father of Tyson’s newest sibling.

  No one would have claimed his family was ever normal or even sane, but some days, he wished for a different kind of life. One where he could have stayed in the border village where all his dreams had come true. Where he’d fallen in love.

  Tyson shook his head and turned to Edmund. “I’m going to find food in the noble’s hall. I can’t stomach that gruel the guards eat. Not tonight.”

  A scowl flashed across Amalie’s face. “Right. The prince needs his fine foods.”

  He didn’t acknowledge her words. In the years since the rebellions and war with Dracon, Amalie’s hatred of the wealthy increased.

  Tyson wondered if she realized that she too had noble blood in her. One didn’t get to choose the circumstances of their birth.

  He turned without another word. Edmund followed soon after.

  “I don’t want to hear a word about it, Edmund.” His friend tried to push him about Amalie, but she no longer mattered. He had bigger worries.

  They seated themselves at a short table along the wall and leaned back as a servant filled their wine goblets.

  Edmund took a long drink and eyed Tyson. “Out with it. Did Catrine make you agree to take the ever-changing position of Gaulean heir?” He smiled, burgundy wine coating his teeth. “Gaule will fall apart when they learn the new heir is half Belaen… well, more than it’s already falling apart.”

  Tyson studied the plate a servant set in front of him. Roasted fowl and potatoes. If there was one thing he missed about Gaule, it was the food. In Bela, it seemed every meal centered on either venison or fish.

  But he suddenly had no appetite.

  “My mother is pregnant.” He rubbed a hand over his face.

  Edmund’s grin widened as a laugh slipped past his lips. “Well, that’s a surprise.”

  Tyson ran a hand through his hair. His mother was in her forties. No one expected her to produce another heir. He should’ve been relieved, but everything else she’d said rolled through his mind. He tried understanding everything his mother told him. She wanted him to find Simon. Many of her guards were on the same mission, but she needed her son to do everything in his power to search out the man she loved.

  His mother wanted him to seek out the bandit responsible for terrorizing the supply chains of Gaule. The Hood. Tyson had heard the name last time he was in Gaule. A master archer with nerves of steel, the Hood attacked wagons containing food and other goods, bringing them to the villages. He never killed anyone, but his men were still dangerous.

  Releasing a breath, Tyson looked to Edmund. Would his life ever be his own? It seemed there was always some mission that needed his attention.

  “It seems I’m going to be staying in Gaule a while,” he said.

  “As heir?” Edmund’s gaze bore into him. He didn’t know what it was like to have the responsibility of a kingdom thrown at you, but he loved a man who did. If things had gone differently, Estevan would rule Madra, not Helena.

  Tyson shook his head and explained everything he’d learned. About Simon’s task. About the Hood.

  When he was finished, Edmund set his fork down. “I’ll be with you, of course.”

  Tyson knew he’d say the words. Edmund would always do what was asked of him, always the honorable thing.

  He nodded, grateful he wouldn’t have to face this alone, because the place where he needed to start was the last place he wanted to go.

  The Leroy lands.

  The Hood’s last known whereabouts.

  He’d need Amalie’s help, a safe place to stay. He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, trying to ward off the coming headache. Most of Gaule held dangers for someone like him, someone with magic.

  He had to remind himself it was for Simon, the guard who loved his mother, and his mother deserved even the smallest bit of happiness in this life.

  “When do we leave?” Edmund asked.

  “As soon as Amalie does.”

  Edmund looked like he wanted to say something more but stayed quiet as he dug back into his food.

  Maybe this would be easier if Tyson could hate her. If he could see her as the self-righteous lady most of the other nobles saw.

  But the only image in the spaces of his mind was of a shy girl with the prettiest blue eyes and the warmest heart.

  Where had she gone?

  Chapter Seven

  Amalie’s steps echoed off the stone ceiling as she paced in front of the door to the throne room. She’d had to wait two days for an audience with the queen. There was a time when she wouldn’t have had to wait at all.

  But as Lady Leroy, she’d spent the past two years criticizing the crown and distancing herself from the woman who’d once treated her kindly.

  If Catrine knew how she spent her nights, or who she had locked up back at her estate, any remaining amount of goodwill would vanish.

  How had they gotten here?

  It was for John, she reminded herself. All for John.

  Her first instinct was to offer a trade. Simon for John. But Simon knew the missions she carried out while the rest of the kingdom slept. He knew the name they’d given her.

  Admitting she had Simon would reveal it for all. Even Catrine couldn’t stop the noose from tightening around Amalie’s neck then.

  She would figure out what to do about Simon later. John’s problem was more pressing. How did she free him without revealing herself?

  The door opened, and a guard stepped through, nodding at her to approach. Inside the throne room, nothing had changed. The same velvet carpeting made a path between pillars to the gold carved throne, worn with age and neglect.

  Images flashed through her mind. She saw her father kneeling in front of the fuming Alex. Guards dragging the lords and ladies away. That had been the turning point for Gaule. From then on, many of the nobles lost all faith in the crown.

  They increased the size of their own forces, raising rents in the villages to pay for it. They abandoned some of the kingdom’s laws in favor of their own. Alex had done the right thing, but Gaule was not a kingdom built on justice, and the quest for equality fractured it into many pieces.

  Catrine did more good than Alexandre could have. Amalie admitted that. But she never left the palace. She didn’t see the state of her people’s lives. Instead, like many of the nobles, the queen stayed in the safety of her home where she was afforded every luxury, while the villages were left with precious little.

  Amalie’s feet froze when she looked into the queen’s face.

  Catrine stood and rushed down the steps, pulling Amalie into a warm hug. “Dear girl, it is good to see you.”

  Amalie nodded, willing back the tears that sprung to her eyes. Wrapped in a motherly embrace, she longed for the time when she’d been part of this family. Before, just like the kingdom they ruled, that had shattered as well. If she hadn’t made the hardest decisions of her life two years before, she would be a part of it still.

  Reluctantly, Amalie pulled back.

  Catrine cupped her cheek. “I wanted to see you as soon as word of your arrival reached me, but I was ill yesterday.”

  Amalie tried to hold on to the ire
she felt toward the woman, but it unraveled too quickly until all she felt was exhaustion. She no longer had the energy for pleasantries.

  “Your Majesty,” she began.

  “Since when do we rely on formalities, Amalie?”

  “Since you’re keeping a man from my village in the dungeons.”

  Catrine pursed her lips and stepped back, smoothing her hands over her emerald silk gown. “It seems we must talk business then.” She turned and walked back to her throne. As she sat, she waved a hand, gesturing Amalie to come forward as if she were any other petitioner.

  Nerves twisted in Amalie’s gut, and she wished more than anything she could have her hood and bow. They infused a confidence in her she never felt as a lady of court.

  But she’d trained for this her entire life so she pasted on a complacent smile and stepped forward. “Your Majesty, a man by the name of John Little was arrested weeks ago in a village on the Leroy lands. His family is adamant it was a case of mistaken identity.”

  Lies. John had no family other than her.

  Catrine’s dark gaze studied Amalie’s face. Only torches lit the windowless room, casting an orange glow across their skin.

  “John Little.” The queen nodded. “Yes, he is here.”

  Relief bloomed through Amalie’s chest. Tuck had searched all the nearby village prisons, even checking the rolls of the hanged, before learning John was brought directly to the palace.

  The queen’s next words pushed all relief away. “But I cannot release him.”

  Amalie opened her mouth before shutting it and trying again. “His family—”

  “Is lying.” She said it so calmly Amalie’s anger bubbled to the surface.

  “These are good people, Catrine.” Her jaw clenched. “Maybe you aren’t used to honest, hardworking folk, but they don’t deserve to have the crown destroy their lives. Maybe you forget what empathy feels like, but I can’t let that happen.”

  Catrine folded her hands in her lap. “Are you done?”

  There were so many other things Amalie wanted to say to the queen, but none of them would help John, so she only nodded.

  “Good. Listen to me, Amalie Leroy. I don’t know what happened to the obedient, sweet girl I knew—”

  “She grew up.”

  Catrine cut through her with a harsh stare. “The boy you plead for was found with the Hood. I have testimonies from no less than three of my trusted guards. Do you want to know about the bandit your friend was aiding?”

  Amalie stood stone still, barely able to breathe.

  “The Hood travels the roads at night, looking for unsuspecting travelers. He sets his men upon them to steal what these good people have worked for. People have been injured. We’ve heard of a few deaths even. But that isn’t the worst part. This hooded bowman galvanizes the kingdom, sowing unrest. Do you know how many copy cats we’ve apprehended?”

  Amalie shook her head.

  “Eleven. With each arrest, the people grow more uneasy. They turn against the crown when all we want to do is protect them. With La Dame dead and Madra once again stable, our greatest threat now comes from within. This is the time for our kingdom to come together, and the Hood is only tearing it further apart.” Her chest heaved with anger.

  Amalie’s throat constricted as the words struck her with the full force of an accusation. It wasn’t her fault others had attacked travelers in her name. She pictured the arrow John had shot into Simon. Yes, people got hurt. A few died. But how many more had lived?

  How many families had she fed? The villages across the Leroy and surrounding lands welcomed her men upon sight, knowing they kept their children from dying of empty bellies.

  She steeled her gaze. No. The unrest wasn’t her fault because the people had many reasons to be discontented.

  The queen calmed her breathing, and the anger left her gaze. “I’m sorry about your friend, Amalie. I truly am. I wish I could take the trouble from your mind. But I need to put Gaule first. John Little will hang at first light.” She stood. “I’m afraid I must return to my bed. I am suddenly overcome with weariness.”

  She left Amalie standing in the throne room with only a silent guard for company. Amalie closed her eyes, a tear escaping. She’d failed him. John had always been there for her and because of that, he’d hang.

  Tuck waited for her in the room they shared. As soon as he saw her face, he wrapped his arms around her. Once, she’d enjoyed more lavish rooms at this palace with connecting rooms for servants. But that was a long time ago.

  “We’ve lost him, Tuck.” The men who pledged their loyalty to her had become her family, and she knew this would break them. It would break her.

  The big man sighed. “Not yet.”

  “What are we supposed to do?”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “What we always do. Fight for the ones who can’t fight for themselves.”

  The dungeons hadn’t changed. Musty air assaulted Tyson as soon as he descended the narrow stone staircase.

  “Have you ever wondered if we spend too much time in these dungeons?” Edmund asked, the humor in his voice masking the hatred Tyson knew he felt for the place.

  He wasn’t wrong. They had a habit of meeting people in these cells. Edmund had even been locked in one for a while. The last time they’d come had been with Helena, the new queen of Madra, when her brother, Quinn, was held prisoner here, waiting to be sent home to his usurper twin.

  Tyson’s mother told him they had a man in custody, a man connected to the Hood. He was scheduled to hang in the morning, so Tyson hoped he could convince him to do some good before he died. Maybe he’d want to make up for a life of thievery.

  The guards nodded to them, recognizing Tyson, and pointed to a cell near the end of the hall. Despite the prison’s full capacity, an eerie hush fell over the place.

  They passed the turn that would have taken them to the cell both Etta and Edmund had occupied at different times. It still amazed Tyson to think of everything they’d all been through.

  In the final cell, a man sat in the center with his legs crossed and his eyes closed as if in meditation. The first thing that struck Tyson was his youth. He couldn’t have been much older than him.

  An unkempt beard covered the lower half of his face. How long had he been here?

  A tear up the side of his trousers revealed a bandage wrapped tightly around his leg with blood seeping through it.

  Edmund gripped the bars in front of them. As if sensing the movement, the man’s eyes snapped open.

  “John Little?” Tyson asked.

  No movement. No sound. The man only stared.

  “Answer me.”

  The corner of the man’s mouth tilted up. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I only answer to one person.”

  “The Hood?”

  John’s eyes snapped to Tyson’s. That was answer enough.

  Tyson held his gaze. “Have they told you you’re due to hang in the morning?”

  “And you think that means I’ll talk to you, Prince?”

  Tyson rubbed his jaw. “So, you do recognize me.”

  “Of course I do. I saw you once before when you lived at the Leroy estate. You Durands think Gaule owes you everything; that the common people deserve less. I don’t care what happens to me. I will never help you.”

  His sentiment sounded eerily similar to the words Amalie had once flung at him.

  Tyson clenched his jaw. “The Hood is nothing more than a criminal. You’re loyal to a man who will show you no loyalty in turn. He steals, and murders, and abducts people.”

  John rose up on his knees. “You know nothing of which you speak.” He tilted his head. “Have you ever been loyal to someone, Prince? Truly loyal? Someone who infuses the belief that they’ll make a better world. That they are the kind of person who will fight until they can’t any longer?”

  Tyson had been loyal to many people in his life. His mother. Alex. His friends. But there was only one person he’d ever heard sp
oken of with such reverence. His sister, Etta. The fire in John’s eyes was the same he’d seen in Etta’s people. He knew then, he’d never get the information he sought. Not from a man whose loyalty had become more. It was love.

  Just as Etta’s people loved her and believed in her, so too did the Hood’s followers. How did a criminal garner such passion?

  Tyson turned to Edmund. “We won’t get anything out of him.” He marched back through the dungeons, barreling out into the open-air corridor.

  Edmund came up behind him. “We barely questioned him.”

  Tyson shook his head. “He won’t be any help.” That man back there would be dead in the morning. He’d give his life for this Hooded figure.

  Why?

  Tyson needed to find out.

  Chapter Eight

  Amalie would never forget the day her father and sister died. They deserved the traitor’s hanging they got, but they were still the only family she had. She was a coward then, refusing to watch them leave this world. She’d hidden in the palace tunnels with Tyson, letting him occupy her troubled mind.

  But today was different. Today, she had to be there, to keep her mind on the happenings in front of her even if it tore her heart out to watch.

  Officials in the villages hanged many Gaulean citizens across the kingdom over the last few seasons. The royal guard roamed the land, upholding laws and acting as sheriffs over the people.

  Amalie stood near the back of the gathering crowd. Their whispers told her word had circulated that one of the Merry Men who followed the Hood was set to die.

  And if she knew one thing, it was that people loved a tragedy.

  She backed away from the platform, through the throng, her eyes scanning the market square. She’d once wondered why the hangings no longer took place on the hill near the castle as her father’s had.

  Then she learned the truth. The crown cared more for perception than justice. They wanted the punishments to be seen as given out by the people, by the officials in the villages, rather than the queen herself or her guards.