by Renna Peak
And there’s no way to escape. As soon as I’m inside my suite, the guard closes the door and I walk over to the balcony. The doors to access it are locked. And sometime after I left for America, the once glass French doors have been replaced with something that looks much more like a cage.
I’m a prisoner, too.
But William is here with me in Rosvalia this time—he loves me. And what’s more, he believes me—he doesn’t think I’m lying in some desperate attempt to get him to remain in a relationship.
I shove the feelings of betrayal away. If I’d only been able to do that before, we might not have found ourselves in this mess. If I’d been able to get over how James had reacted to me so long ago, I might have never had my marriage to William annulled.
I suppose thoughts like this aren’t serving me very well at the moment. I need to get out of here. I need to figure out some way to escape—to get to the dungeon and help William to escape, too.
There are many secret passages in the palace, but my suite is in the newest wing of the building. If I can somehow get to the southern wing, there is a corridor at the far end of the hall that leads to a secret tunnel that goes under the palace. I haven’t been there in years—and it was frightening to be in that dark and enclosed space as a child, but I can risk it if I could somehow make it to William.
And what will you do when you get there? Fight the Royal Guard they likely have standing outside his cell to intimidate him? Pick the locks? How exactly can you do anything?
I sit on the sofa and close my eyes. There must be a way to get out of this mess. I refuse to believe I’d be subjected to having my children ripped from my belly against my will for a second time. Or that my husband will be taken from me again. There has to be something I can do.
But if there is, I can’t see it.
A knock on my door jolts me from my thoughts. I rise and walk over to answer—a tiny part of me prays it will be William standing there, but I know better.
Instead, a young guard stands on the other side of the doorway with a silver tray of food. After he briefly makes eye contact, he gulps and turns his gaze to the floor. “Pardon me, Your Highness, but I have your dinner.”
“I didn’t order dinner.” And my stomach probably couldn’t handle food at the moment, even if I had ordered a meal.
He does a strange half-bow—almost a curtsy—and edges around me into the room, kicking the door closed with his heel after he enters.
I turn to him, my mouth falling open at the impertinence. I realize I’m the fallen princess, but even so, a member of the Royal Guard should never treat a member of my family with such disrespect.
“I’m…I’m…I’m sorry, Your Highness.” His voice cracks, and as it does, I realize he’s much younger than I first suspected, probably still a teenager. He does the strange curtsy-type bow again after he sets the tray on the table in the sitting room. He lowers his voice to a near-whisper. “I have a message for you, Your Highness.”
My brow furrows as I watch him reach into his pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper. He hands it to me.
* * *
Hang on, my love. I’m going to get us out of this, I swear it on my life. —W
* * *
I look up at the boy. “Did you read this?”
“I…” He looks down at the floor. “I’m sorry, Your Maj—Your Highness.”
I nod, walking over to my desk to get a piece of stationery. I scribble a note on it and hand it back to the boy. “Can you deliver this to my husband?”
His head bobs. “I…I will.”
“Do you know what they’re doing? To me and my husband?”
“I…I’ve heard rumors, Your Highness. I…I know your husband. He’s been very kind to me. I…I don’t want you…or your father…to think I’m not trustworthy. I know I shouldn’t be doing this—”
“You’re doing the right thing.” I look at the boy for a few moments. He’s trembling, obviously terrified that he’s going to be caught. “I’ll make this right for you. You have my word.”
“I…” His chin quivers. “Thank you, Your Highness. I should go—”
“What is your name?”
He does the small, strange bow again. “Julian, Your Highness. And…and it is an honor to serve…to serve your family…”
“And I appreciate your service.” I pause, but the young man says nothing. “Your family, Julian—how did they fare in the storm?”
His gaze snaps to mine, his mouth opening in surprise. He rights himself quickly, though. “I…thank you for asking, Your Highness. There was considerable damage done to our farm. My father has spent his savings trying to repair our house, but there was no money left to repair the barn. We lost a dozen cattle.” His gaze drops to the floor. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I know that wasn’t what you were asking.”
I take a step toward the young man. “It was what I was asking, Julian.” I look at him, waiting for him to make eye contact again, but he only stares at the floor. “I’ll see that your family is taken care of, as well.”
He looks at me for a moment before returning his gaze to the floor. “I…I know there are many people in Rosvalia who suffered far worse than my family, Your Highness. But I appreciate your words—”
“I’m going to see that they are all taken care of. All the people of Rosvalia.” I just have no idea how, yet. “And…” pause, unsure I should offer this young man a promise I may not be able to keep. After all, he’s a man who has committed the rest of his life to serve my family—and who am I to do something to jeopardize his standing so early in his life?
But I’m desperate. Desperate to save my children and my husband.
“Julian, I realize it is much for me to ask of you. And if you feel you are making the wrong decision by helping me or my husband, I understand. I know you took a vow to serve my father—”
“I took a vow to serve your family, Your Highness.” His cheeks redden when he realizes he’s interrupted me. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I know I’m speaking out of turn.”
I shake my head. “You aren’t speaking out of turn. I’m asking a lot of you. I’m asking you to risk everything for someone you don’t know.”
He nods, straightening his shoulders as he shoves my note into his pocket. “I’ll do my very best for you, Your Highness.”
I give him a deep curtsy, one usually reserved for honoring royalty. As I stand, I look him in the eye. “You have no idea how much I appreciate it, Julian.”
The boy is stunned, but he nods before he turns for the door.
Before he opens it, I interrupt. “And Julian…”
He turns to face me. “Yes, Your Highness?”
I smile at the young man. “You may call me Justine.”
William
I’ve managed to carve William to my liking and I’ve started on Justine when I hear footsteps coming down the length of the dungeon. The guard posted outside my door remains silent until the footsteps stop right in front of him.
“What’s this?” the guard says.
“The prisoner’s dinner, sir,” comes a voice I recognize as Julian’s. “I was told to bring it to him.”
My guard gives a grunt. “Very well. Take it in.”
The three locks are undone, one by one, and then the door swings open just enough to let Julian in, a tray in his hand. He doesn’t look at me as he shuffles forward.
I take the hint and don’t act particularly familiar with him, either. Still, when I see the harsh, frowning face of my usual guard watching from the door, I can’t help quipping, “Mm, looks delicious. You Rosvalians really know how to spoil visiting princes.”
My guard’s frown deepens. He’s not amused.
“I…I’ll return in an hour to take the tray,” Julian says awkwardly, half to me and half to my guard. “If that’s all right.”
“It’s fine,” the guard replies gruffly. He gestures for Julian to leave, and my little friend quickly scurries out of the cell.
I wai
t until the three locks have clicked shut again and my guard has resumed his post beside the door before taking a closer look at my tray. The kitchens have generously supplied me with a bowl of stew, an end of bread, and a bright, shiny apple. I’m a bit disappointed that they only gave me water to drink—I’d have preferred some vodka—but all in all, it could be worse. At least they don’t intend to let me starve while I’m stuck here.
But it’s not the food I’m most interested in. I know Julian was watching me when he said he’d return in an hour—he wanted to make sure I knew exactly when he’d be back. That means there’s probably more to this meal than is immediately apparent. My eyes fall on the silver. They’ve provided me with a single spoon to eat with—I suspect they knew better than to give me anything sharper than that—and the cloth napkin wrapped around it looks rather hastily folded. With a quick glance at the door to make sure I don’t have an audience, I unroll the napkin. Sure enough, there’s a small note curled up inside, plus a short pencil.
I uncurl the note.
* * *
Don’t do anything rash. Remember our plan? I’ll come to you tonight.
* * *
All my love, J
* * *
It’s vague—wisely so—but I think I get her meaning. Our “plan” was to take advantage of the palace’s secret passageways, and it sounds like Justine intends to do just that. Tonight. It’s risky, but I know I don’t have to remind Justine of that. Even though my entire body is tense with worry for her, I have to trust her. I have no other options.
Quickly, since I have the chance, I scribble back my own message.
* * *
Oooh, a late night visit? I’ll be waiting.
* * *
After a moment’s hesitation, I sketch out a rather lewd drawing of what I wish we could be doing tonight. It might not be the most appropriate, but my goal is to make Justine smile, or even better, to laugh—if it lifts her spirits even a little, I’ll consider it a success. Sometimes humor is what helps us survive tense situations like this.
Drawing done, I add one final note at the bottom.
* * *
I love you - W
* * *
I’m just finishing when I hear footsteps outside again. I frown. It definitely hasn’t been an hour yet—it hasn’t even been ten minutes. Julian shouldn’t be coming back yet.
Quickly, I curl my note around the pencil and wrap them both back up in the napkin. I haven’t even touched my food yet, so I quickly grab the apple and take a big bite, hoping it looks like I’m just causally eating my dinner.
When the footsteps reach my door, I hear my guard say, “Good evening, Your Highness.”
I instantly perk up. Is it possible I misinterpreted Justine’s note? That she feels safe enough to visit me the usual way? Spirits brightening, I look toward the door.
But it’s not Justine’s face that appears through the grate. It’s Reginald’s.
“Good evening, Brother,” he says. “Pleasure to see you like this.”
I stand, dropping the apple back on the tray. What does this idiot want? But I already know the answer to that—he’s come here to gloat.
“How’s your hand?” I ask him.
The sneer drops from his face, and rage briefly flashes in his eyes. “I’m not here to discuss my hand, Montovian scum.”
“So you’re just here for a social visit? Aw, I didn’t realize I was your only friend.” I know it does no good, goading him, but I can’t help myself. “Where’s Lady Clarissa? I haven’t seen her in a while. Or did she finally get fed up with you and dump your sorry ass?”
Reginald’s jaw tightens, and for a moment I think he’s actually considering entering my cell and attempting to attack me—but he seems to think better of the idea.
“I know why you came back here,” he says. “And I just came to tell you that you’re too late. You can’t stop my father.”
“Can’t stop what?”
Surprise flickers in Reginald’s eyes, but then it seems to dawn on him that I really have no idea what he’s talking about. His lips curl back into a smile.
“Well, I guess you just have to wait and see,” he says. “It will be a spectacular surprise, I promise you. One I guarantee you’ll never forget. My father has been planning it for months.”
I know I shouldn’t let him goad me, but I can’t help it—my blood is running too hot. I fly at the bars, gripping them with my fists.
“What the hell do you and your father have planned?” I demand. “I swear, if either of you lays one hand on Justine—”
“On Justine? God, no. This is much bigger than my whore of a sister. Much, much bigger.” His smile broadens. “Oh you poor, innocent little Montovian prince. You’re very single-minded, aren’t you? Can’t see past your own cock. Trust me, this has nothing to do with your whore.”
I shake the bars. They don’t move, but the gesture is violent enough to make Reginald flinch.
“What the hell do you have planned?” I demand.
Reginald only laughs. “You’ll have to wait, scum. And I can’t wait to see your face.”
“What in bloody hell are you talking about?” I shout, but Reginald has already turned to go. Even the sight of his hand—wrapped in a cast and hung from a sling—does little to lift my spirits as he walks back down the length of the dungeon.
I shout after him. “You won’t get away with it!”
His laugh echoes against the stone walls. I give the bars another shake, but it does no good. And my guard is looking like he’d love nothing better than to have an excuse to pound me over the head.
It takes all of my effort to uncurl my fingers from the bars and stumble back to the stone bench. Something big is about to happen—it might already be happening—and there’s nothing I can do. I’m completely helpless in this cell.
And Justine…
Reginald may have said she has nothing to do with this, but I don’t trust the bastard. I’m so frightened for her—and so angry with myself for not being there—that I don’t know what to do. I pick up the apple and hurl it at the wall. It smashes against the stones, a few chunks flying off, then falls to the ground with a dull thud.
“Are you causing trouble in there?” my guard demands, stepping in front of the door and peering in.
I quickly realize my recklessness might ruin everything. I force my voice to be calm.
“I just dropped my apple,” I say stiffly, stooping down to pick it up. “That’s all.”
The guard grunts, but my excuse seems to pacify him. He returns to his post, and I return to the bench. I’m not hungry anymore, but I should probably poke around at my food, just so it doesn’t look suspicious. After a moment, when I’m sure the guard is back to ignoring me again, I open up my message to Justine and add another note to the bottom:
* * *
Watch out for R.
Justine
I know it’s risky to try and sneak down to the dungeons tonight, but I don’t have any other options. I need to figure out how I’m going to subdue the guard I’m sure is stationed outside William’s cell. If he looks anything like Julian, it won’t be too difficult. But anyone else is going to be much more difficult to overtake.
The knock on my door startles me. There’s no reason for anyone to be at my room at this late hour—my dinner was served long ago.
Julian stands with a tray of tea when I answer, giving me a shallow bow as he tries to balance the tray. “Hello, Your Highness. I have the tea you ordered.”
My eyebrow twitches up—we both know I didn’t order any tea.
I step aside, allowing him in before I close the door behind him.
He sets the tray down on the coffee table, turning quickly to face me. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. There isn’t much time.”
“Much time for—?”
“I…I saw the plans, Your Highness…Justine. I… My commanding officer called me into his office to ask how the prisoner looked. I—”
&n
bsp; “How does he look, Julian?”
“I… He’s fine, Your Highness. Fine. In good spirits, it seemed to me.” He shakes his head. “No, there isn’t time for small talk. I saw the plans. I know what’s going to happen. They had been planning it for next week, but I heard they’re moving it up…”
“Slow down.” I motion for the sofa. “You can have a seat—”
“If they catch me here, I’ll be hung for sure. Treason and all. Not that you…” He shakes his head again. “Okay, it’s something with the mines in the Amhurst Valley. I didn’t catch all of it, but there’s an attack planned. Not an attack, exactly—I couldn’t quite tell what they were on about. But I know they’re going to try to destroy the mines themselves.”
My brow furrows with my confusion. “Thousands of people live around those mines. Someone would say something if there were suddenly platoons of soldiers—”
“Not soldiers, Your Highness. They have a weapon. It’s what they’ve been doing in the east wing.” He glances over his shoulder as though there might be someone there to see him. “I…I can’t get any more messages to your husband tonight. I’m sorry, Your Highness. It’s too dangerous.”
“No, I wouldn’t expect you to.” I walk over to my desk, pulling out a sheet of stationery. “I need you to get a message to someone else. If you can.” I glance up at the boy as I’m writing. “This is very brave of you, Julian. When this is over—”
“I have distant relatives living in the Amhurst Valley, Your Highness. I’m only doing this because they don’t deserve whatever it is they’re planning to do with that weapon.”