The stench of human waste soured Vard’s stomach as he swept the soiled cloak from his shoulders and hurled it into the bonfire. His shirt and tunic followed. Clad only in fitted black breeches and boots, he grabbed a pail of water that lay near the flames and tossed it over his head. Goosebumps sprouted on his chest and shoulders.
A crowd of soldiers laughed. Vard ground his teeth; he must reek if his misfortune had come to the notice of men who only washed when it rained.
“Bring me a cake of soap,” he said to a gawky youth who didn’t seem old enough to be free of his mother’s apron strings. He’d probably lied about his age to join the army. The boy scampered to obey and then stood watching.
Vard soaped his hair and upper body and rinsed with a second bucket. The stink was a little less, but he’d smell like the inside of a chamber pot for the next week. He bent to collect his weapons and found the boy still stared.
“What are you doing here, boy?” Vard asked. “You can’t have seen your fifteenth summer.”
“I’m thirteen, sir. Prince Zialni took me instead of the shield money my mam owed him. Said he’d come and take one of her boys every year that she couldn’t pay. He’ll do it too, sir.” The boy’s voice trailed off as he realized he could be flogged for the words.
Vard felt the tug he always did when an innocent was at risk. “Am I right in thinking your tenure here is unpaid?” He gripped the talisman at his throat, seeking the inner calm of the wolf to control his anger.
“The prince feeds and clothes me and gives me a place to sleep, but there are no wages to send back to Mam. Things are terrible hard for her, Captain.”
Vard reached into the pocket of his breeches and pulled out a silver penny, which he shoved into the boy’s grimy hand. “You give this to your mam,” he said gruffly.
Tears welled in the lad’s eyes as he clutched the coin to his chest. “Thank you, Captain.” He looked around fearfully. “I better go. The sergeant beats me if he catches me slacking.” He dipped his head to Vard and jogged away to the smithy that lay beside the barracks.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Billy,” the lad replied, before ducking through the wide door into the shadows of the forge.
Vard turned to stare at the miraculous shining walls of the castle above him; walls that had given Brightcastle its name and were rumored to have been magic-wrought centuries ago. Today they seemed just like their master, their flashy exterior hiding a cold, cruel heart. Billy’s wasn’t the first tale of its type he’d heard since his arrival in Brightcastle. Rumors abounded of beatings and hangings of common folk for little reason. The familiar rage burned in Vard’s gut, inspired by Zialni’s cruelty. The man deserved death and Vard would be only too happy to oblige, once he’d figured out the when and the how. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. He had to remain calm.
The rage subsided and Vard strode to his room in the barracks, shedding his breeches and donning a fresh pair. The odour of the chamber pot swirled up his nostrils and he thought of the lad he’d chased that morning. His quarry had taken refuge in the house of a witch. Vard had heard whispers of bold rescues of prisoners, including one of a witch whom the prince had ordered burnt at the stake. Was the lad somehow linked with the rescues, or just a stupid young man who had interfered with someone too powerful? He shook his head, the familiar tightening of his gut warning him that he wouldn’t be able to walk away from this mystery. He had to find that young man, and the witch was the key.
Chapter 2
Concern for Hetty gnawed at Alecia as she made her way back to the modest castle that lay on a low rise on the outskirts of Brightcastle town. Hetty had shut her out but she would find a way to keep watch over her old friend.
She found the trapdoor, carefully concealed amongst a stand of trees that grew twenty paces outside the west wall of the castle. Alecia lifted the hatch and descended the rough stone stairs, drawing the door after her. The passage plunged into darkness and she groped for a torch from the pile against the wall, lighting it with her flint. Her shadow cavorted on the damp stone as she traveled from west to east within the wall of the castle, up a narrow stairway and along a cramped corridor to a hinged panel. Alecia placed her ear to the stone but heard not a sound. She stripped off her disguise and felt along the stone for the trigger. A section of the wall swung into the passageway. She slipped through the narrow opening and pushed past the tapestry of the warrior queen. The panel of stone slid back in place with a low grinding.
A fire crackled in the hearth of her bedchamber. She rang for a bath and while the servants carted the hot water in she fetched her favorite lilac gown and a change of underwear. Finally all was prepared and she slipped into the bath, savouring the warmth that eased away the worries and soreness brought on by her adventures.
But once her attendants left her alone, wave after wave of shudders racked her body despite the warm water. Memories of the burley mercenary suddenly returned, his fist slamming into her cheek again and again, causing damage much deeper than any Hetty had healed. Nothing in her weapons training had prepared her for the shock of his attack on her person. He could not harm her now, the captain had seen to that. Could she pull together the shreds of her confidence and go on?
Already she doubted she could continue her plan of revenge against the murderous swine who had killed Jorge. Sweet, brave, honorable Jorge, had merely been defending his parents and been killed last month by a pack of mercenaries sent by her father. The dead man was one of the group responsible for the crime. Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought of her lost love and the chaste kisses they had shared. Theirs had been a love beyond reproach and he had been stolen from her. She had vowed to retaliate, but she had not expected to feel … guilt and … pain at the death of a killer. Alecia’s gut clenched at the thought that four of the men responsible still lived. I must go on, but I do not know if I can. The thought of those men walking while Jorge was cold and dead in the ground made fury burn away her fear. I have eight years of arms training! I must just be harder; as hard as the captain.
Unbidden, his gold-flecked eyes popped into her mind and she shivered. The spark his touch had evoked made her uneasy. Was it just that strangers did not usually touch a princess? The captain was an altogether different species; a man who would do as he pleased and, she suspected, who was accustomed to having his own way.
What if the captain deduced her identity? If he were canny enough to divine Hetty’s true self it would take great care on Alecia’s part to stay out of his clutches. She had one advantage: she knew him now, and that would make it easier to avoid him. His eyes again came to mind and her spark of optimism died. She suspected he wouldn’t rest until he solved the puzzle of the youth who had attacked the mercenary and dumped the chamber pot on his head.
Alecia studied her reflection in the huge gilded mirror outside the dining room. Strings of pearls were intertwined around loops of her long blonde hair and piled high in the latest Kingdom style. A marquise diamond, suspended from a gold chain, rested like a glistening tear upon her forehead. The lavender silk of the gown left her milky shoulders bare while the fitted bodice emphasized her full bosom, displaying an almost indecent amount of cleavage. Silver beading on the bodice and skirt caught the light, and full lace sleeves almost hid her hands. She wore no jewellery other than the diamond on her brow.
She examined her left eye. A few deft touches with powder and kohl liner concealed the faint traces of her fight this morning. Her father would never notice. She smiled at the junior page who waited to admit her and he pulled open the door. Alecia stepped over the threshold.
Shadows danced in the flickering light of the three tall candles on the long dining table. As usual, Alecia’s eye was drawn to the tapestries and paintings depicting Zialni ancestors in various scenes of battle and ceremony. A portrait of the King, her father’s older brother, hung above the fireplace. Alecia’s father, Prince Jiseve Zialni, sat at the far end of the table below the portrait. The
re was a close resemblance in the sharp blue eyes and strong jaw, however King Beniel’s hair and beard were golden while the prince’s almost black. She frowned as she stared at the painting of her uncle, with his open countenance and ready smile. It was in stark contrast to her father, who had become withdrawn and secretive in the four years following her mother’s death.
The prince’s head tilted towards his advisor, Lord Giornan Finus, who sat at his right hand. Alecia allowed her eyes to rest on the elderly lord for a moment. Since Finus’ arrival in the realm, her father had become brutally obsessed with the trappings of wealth, to the detriment of his people. If not for Finus, Prince Zialni would still be a benevolent monarch. Instead, the prince collected exorbitant taxes from the populace in a constant quest to maintain his lifestyle. Alecia abhorred Finus and his influence, spending much of her free time trying to restore the balance of justice as she saw it. She was losing the battle.
Feeling eyes upon her, Alecia glanced at the seat to her father’s left and the breath caught in her throat. The piercing gaze of her dark rescuer trapped her. Why was he here, in her home, at her table, on the very day she had slipped his grasp and vowed to avoid him? This could be no coincidence. My secret is out! The room lurched and Alecia staggered towards the nearest chair. The captain was on his feet and at her side as if by magic, his palm cupping her elbow and his other hand at her waist.
Twice in the one day he had laid hands upon her and now his heat seared through the flimsy fabric of her gown. He was so hot! Alecia did not look at his face, desperate to delay the moment when her deception, her crime, would be exposed. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. The prince’s expression had moved from one of pride in his daughter to distaste.
“I am sorry, Father,” Alecia said, her voice breathy without her even trying to make it so. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast and felt light-headed.” She turned to the captain and stared into the buttons on his chest. “Thank you. I am now recovered.”
“Vard Anton at your service, Your Highness,” he said, his voice rumbling through her core. “Allow me.” He pulled the nearest chair from the table and seated her before bowing and returning to his seat.
“I hope you are well, Princess Alecia,” Lord Finus said. The advisor’s smile didn’t quite reach his cold dark eyes. He hadn’t moved a muscle when she had stumbled.
Alecia nodded at the despicable man and returned her attention to her father. No need to panic.
Prince Zialni stared at Alecia and for a moment she thought her carefully wrought schemes would come crashing down, but then he smiled. “Our guest tonight, Alecia, is Captain Vard Anton, recently come into my service as captain of my guard. Your cousin Piotr recommended him.”
Yes, but why is he here? Alecia thought.
“It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Princess.” Captain Anton’s black hair brushed the collar of his dark gray uniform and his eyes glowed faintly. The room was quite dim. If she stayed far enough away, he might not recognize her. Her heart fell at the stupidity of her thoughts. He knows, he has to.
Alecia nodded, keeping her eyes downcast. “Thank you again for your help, Captain.”
“Let us enjoy our meal and afterwards, Anton, you and I will talk,” Prince Zialni said.
Alecia let out her breath then began to worry about the subject of her father’s conversation. Please, Goddess, let it just be business. She shook her head and glanced up to find the captain’s eyes upon her.
The meal arrived at that moment: warm crusty bread with spicy vegetable soup, roast pheasant and boiled potatoes. Alecia had started on her soup before her father cleared his throat.
“Captain Anton will think us uncouth if we do not give thanks, Daughter,” he said, his brows drawn in disapproval. “If you would be so kind, Alecia.”
Her face grew hot. How could she be such a ninny as to draw further attention to herself? She crossed her arms over her chest, hands on shoulders, and bowed her head. “May the Mother who shelters all continue to bestow her benevolence upon us, Praise her Holy Name.”
The men echoed her words. “Praise her Holy Name.”
Alecia shot a glance at her father and saw speculation in his eyes. He would wonder at her odd behaviour. She lowered her head to the meal and didn’t raise it until the servant came to clear the dishes. Dried and sweetened fruit with thick custard completed the meal.
“Take care, Daughter,” the prince said. “A healthy appetite is frowned upon in a good wife; it spoils the figure. One day soon we shall have to find a husband for you and I would not wish you to make the task more difficult.”
This time the heat in Alecia’s skin was generated from anger as much as embarrassment. How dare he mock me?
The captain sat, his posture stiff, an unreadable expression on his face. “I don’t believe it will be difficult to find a husband for a daughter with such obvious charms,” he said, his eyes lifting to hers.
Alecia flashed Captain Anton a smile at the compliment but gratitude was soon replaced by irritation. They discussed her as though she were a prize cow. She cleared her throat, intent on forestalling the subject of her betrothal. Her father spoke first.
“Perhaps you can help me in that task, Captain,” the prince said.
Alecia choked on her wine, appalled at the turn of the conversation. She looked at the captain. If he was stiff before, he now appeared ready to fight -- was it attack or defence he anticipated?
“I don’t understand, Your Highness,” Vard Anton said.
“Be at ease,” Prince Zialni said. “I refer to the reason I have asked you here tonight. I have cause to fear for the safety of my daughter, and the incident in the market square this morning only heightens my anxiety. It is indeed fortunate that you were present to aid the luckless citizen after he was attacked. I cannot believe Brightcastle houses such ruffians that would assault an unarmed lad.”
Alecia gasped. Relief that her secret appeared safe was swamped by the fear that Captain Anton might readily link the lad and the princess if the incident were discussed in her presence. If that happened, would he expose her now or confront her later? The captain had not reported the true facts of the incident. Why?
“Alecia, dear, I know this news must come as a shock, but there is no need to fear.” Prince Zialni turned to the captain. “The princess is my only child. She must live to marry and produce a son who might one day be king. I wish for you to accept the charge of keeping her safe, whatever that entails.”
Alecia muffled a second gasp, her eyes wide as she waited for the captain’s response. Vard Anton sat stock still, his knuckles white on the spoon that was raised halfway to his mouth. A small muscle at his jaw tightened as he lifted his eyes to the prince. Alecia could not spare a thought for the captain’s discomfiture when she faced the prospect of the coming days in his company. How am I to avoid him now?
Prince Zialni frowned, spinning the goblet in his hand. “I am waiting.”
Still the captain remained silent and Prince Zialni slowly stood. Alecia held her breath, sure that one of her father’s famous rages threatened. Why did the captain not speak?
At last, Vard Anton seemed to come out of his trance and looked at the prince. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I’ll be honored to see to the safety of the princess, should you wish it.”
Prince Zialni’s frown deepened as he seated himself. “We shall adjourn to the smoking room. There is no need for Alecia to be concerned with the arrangements. It will suffice for her to know she is protected.”
Alecia rose from the table. The captain stood while Lord Finus and the prince remained seated. “Please excuse me, gentlemen,” Alecia said. “I will retire.”
“Until we meet again, Princess,” Captain Anton said, bowing. “Sweet dreams.”
There were murmurs from the prince and his advisor but she had no ears for them. All Alecia could concentrate on was leaving the room without falling over her skirts. She swept past the page without her customary goodnigh
t and fled up the central staircase to her room.
Vard stalked back to his quarters in the guard barracks, hand grasping the smooth stone at his neck, his mind in turmoil. He liked having the element of surprise on his side, not used against him and he could well do without minding a spoiled prince’s daughter, no matter how appealing. And she had been tempting in the lavender silk and lace that emphasized her tiny waist and revealed an expanse of generous bosom. She was perhaps a little thinner than he generally liked, but that stunning smile transformed her; made him forget her imperfections.
She had seemed discomforted at his presence, which puzzled him. Perhaps she was embarrassed that he had seen her stumble. She had barely raised her eyes all night. He usually had the opposite effect on women. They were drawn to him like moths to a flame -- and his flame was just as likely to burn. That was why he kept his distance. Involvement with Vard Anton could only lead to harm. Therein lay the danger of this latest task, but if he could protect the princess while remaining aloof, she’d be safe from him and from whomever sought to harm her.
Vard frowned. He was fooling himself. It wouldn’t be easy, perhaps not even possible to walk the fine line between protecting the princess and placing her at risk; already her smile danced in his memory. He recalled the sway of Alecia’s hips when she left the dining hall. There was something familiar about her that eluded him. The nagging feeling that he had met her before wouldn’t go away, but that was absurd. He’d only been in Brightcastle for a week and had certainly had no opportunity to see the princess, let alone meet her.
Princess Avenger - Brightcastle Saga Book 1 Page 2