The Wrong Prince

by C. K. Brooke

“Aye. Soon, I shall receive correspondences regarding the applications I’ve submitted.”

  “Which institution will you attend?” He seemed genuinely interested, gripping the bars of his door as he awaited her response.

  Pavi shrugged. “Whichever is the most prominent one that accepts me.”

  “What do you want to study?”

  “You ask a lot of questions,” she pointed out.

  “You have a lot of answers.” He smiled.

  Pavi momentarily lost herself in that smile. She’d never before felt the odd twist in her gut, as though her stomach were wringing itself out. She shook off the confounding sensation; it was probably due to her long trek up so many stairs.

  “I’m not entirely certain yet,” she admitted. “I’m partial to all of the natural philosophies: maths and sciences, astronomy, geometry….”

  “What about poetry?” he interrupted.

  She waved a hand, irked. “I haven’t time for poetry.”

  “Why not?”

  His questions were beginning to annoy her. But she looked at him again, his face earnest and hanging onto her every word, and she softened. Why, he wasn’t harassing her with rhetoric. He really wanted to know.

  “Because poetry isn’t useful,” she tried to explain. “Mathematics and natural studies teach us something true of the world. There is one correct answer; all others are incorrect. In poetry and the arts, there are no wrong answers. It’s like everything is somehow valid.”

  With childlike joy, Mit laughed. “I know! Isn’t it splendid?”

  “No.” She frowned. “It peeves me.” She pulled out the stool and sat. “I’m going to study now,” she announced. “This is the only place where I can read in silence without overhearing the soldiers’ noisy drills, or suffering the draft in my quarters. It’s warmer up here, you know. That’s because heat rises. It’s Wheatley’s Fourth Principle of Thermodynamic Observations.”

  “I believe you, Pavola.” Mit’s voice was gentle as he lowered himself onto the floor. “Let me hinder your education no longer.”

  She went to work, finding her place among the tomes and unfurling her scrolls. It wasn’t long, however, before she heard a wistful exhalation behind her. She lifted her quill and began to copy notes onto blank parchment, only to be interrupted by another longing sigh.

  Irate, she turned. “Yes?”

  “Forgive me, but…I don’t suppose you’d loan me some paper and a writing utensil, would you?”

  She humored him. With a stack of parchments and a lead rod, she approached the cell. She traded the supplies for his food wrappings and empty flask, and the man knelt down at once, scratching away at the paper.

  Somewhat amused, she resumed her seat. Once she’d finished rereading a chapter on amphibious anatomy, she glanced back at Mit, who still scribbled away in consternation. Curiosity got the best of her. “What are you writing?” she asked him.

  “As long as I’m stuck here,” he grunted, “I’m going to write my own novel.”

  Pavi snorted. “A novel.” She couldn’t think of anything less worthy of a person’s time. All the same, she continued to work alongside him, the peaceful rain pattering outside his barred window.

  EACH DAY, THEY NEARED THE mountains. Were Geo alone, he’d have crossed through them. Treacherous and cold though they appeared, the distance was more direct. With Lucie, however, he erred on the side of caution. He’d not subject a lady to a soldier’s traveling conditions.

  They took the slower route, through the towns stationed at the mountains’ foothills. It had been another long day of riding horseback when the moon overtook the evening sky, and Lucie spoke behind him. “Please, may we eat real food this evening? If I must eat any more of that soldiers’ grub, I’m going to retch.”

  Geo twisted his mouth. He shared her sentiments, and possessed enough gold to dine at any hall, but he ran the risk of being recognized. Given the ongoing war, he didn’t imagine any Llewesians would be too pleased to discover a Tybirian royal in their midst.

  Then again, these were simple mountain towns. And the humble folk therein might not readily recognize him. So long as he and Lucie kept a low profile, perhaps they could get away with one night at an inn.

  They found a lively joint hopping with patrons and music. Good, thought Geo, steering the horse its way—the more crowded, the better. With so much commotion, it would be easy to blend in. Once the groom secured their steed, the prince led Lucie into the noisy hall.

  Villagers were merrymaking, gambling, drinking, supping and dancing as adept fiddlers projected tunes at lightning-paced tempos. Lucie watched them, intrigued, as Geo found a spot at the edge of a table. She sat down across from him, still admiring the musicians. “I could never dance as fast as they play,” she laughed.

  Dinner took some time to reach them, given the high demand. But it had been worth the wait, for the meat was fresh and the ale rich, such as they hadn’t tasted since the onset of their journey. Lucie’s golden cheeks grew steadily pinker as she drank. The effect was admittedly endearing.

  Once they had dined to their stomachs’ content, Geo arose, offering her a hand. “Let’s see how fast you can dance, then.” He could tell she was eager to partake of the music, so frequently did her eyes pan over to the dancers.

  She grinned and took hold of his arm, and the pair moved to the back of the room. The patrons raised their voices in tune with the old folk song, a melody Geo hadn’t heard in years, which recalled to him happier, more peaceful times.

  “Do you remember the first time we danced?”

  He met Lucie’s eyes, unsure why she would bring it up. Of course he remembered the first time they had danced together. He remembered the first time he’d done anything with her—seen her, kissed her, held her.

  She twirled under his arm. “It was to Lae Mondau. You were very good.” She staggered somewhat, and he gripped her waist, steadying her.

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, I remember.”

  They resumed, and Geo did not remove his hands from her. He attempted to convince himself that it was only because she was tipsy, and he wished to prevent her from falling and hurting herself. But in truth, he couldn’t take his hands off of her if he tried. They were adhered in place, so incredible did it feel to touch her again, in a setting where no one knew or cared, for what would probably be the last time in their lives.

  He pulled her closer, regardless of the fact that the other men bounced and spun their partners about. Under his voice, he hummed along with the melody, as others howled it aloud:

  She’s a catch, the pretty one

  With hair that glimmers like the sun

  A smile so bright, her laugh so warm

  Oh, fair lassie, take my arm….

  Lucie squeezed his hands. “Sorry, but I feel a bit winded. I ought to sit down.”

  Reluctant, Geo let her go. “All right. Find a seat, and I’ll bring you some water.”

  She blew him a kiss and traipsed over to a table, and he suppressed his smile all the way to the bar. In spite of everything, being with her made him feel indescribable. It was the same way he’d felt the night she had first strolled into his father’s ballroom, enigmatic and swathed in mint green taffeta. He instantly knew he had to have her, and would accept no other outcome.

  What if he had never pursued her that evening? Regardless of the less-than-ideal future that awaited them as siblings-in-law, Geo couldn’t bring himself to wish he hadn’t. There was more to her, he suspected. Secrets, feelings she wasn’t letting on. Hadn’t she hinted as much? Perhaps they needed to talk—but not tonight, while the drink was clearly affecting her.

  He retrieved a glass of water from the frazzled barman and wove his way back to Lucie, but she wasn’t where he’d left her. Concerned, Geo searched the hall.

  His muscles tensed when he finally spotted her. She was
the only lady at a congested table, surrounded by strange men and nearly sitting in the lap of one. They honed in on her, competing for her attention. Geo stalked over, not caring should he spill a splash of water. The men’s simpering gazes upon her were artificial, the glances they exchanged with one another calculating, sinister.

  “There you are.” He clamped her shoulder. “I was looking all over for you.”

  Lucie giggled as the rogues pushed more pints her way, and she downed another. “Oh, Geo—Shiro here’s just told me the most hilarious joke. Would you like to hear it?”

  “No.”

  “Such a stiff,” she complained, leaning against the man beside her, who was quick to offer her another drink.

  Geo glared at him. “Come, man, can’t you see she’s had enough?”

  “The lady will decide when she’s had enough,” the brute grunted. “Won’t you, sweetheart?”

  Geo seared. “She is in no condition to decide for herself.” He pulled her up. “Excuse us.”

  “Hey, now,” the men scolded him at large, rising up threateningly.

  “Gentlemen,” Lucie staggered to her feet with a carefree chuckle, “really, it’s all right.”

  “And who d’you reckon you are?” the one beside her confronted Geo. “Her father?”

  Geo did not relinquish her arm. “I am her brother.”

  “Really,” he drawled. “The way you was lookin’ at her whilst dancing didn’t seem very brotherly to me.”

  Geo had heard enough. “Lucie, let’s go.” He guided her away.

  She tripped over her feet as he pushed through the crowd and led her out the front door. She was still chortling as they emerged out to the dark road, hanging on his arm. “Ea-sy.” She prodded him playfully. “Why so uptight, Sir Serious? That would be your name, were you knighted.”

  “You’re drunk,” Geo informed her.

  Her face reddened. “Am not!”

  “Are too,” he whispered. “And you’re causing a scene. Not to mention….” He thought on the gang of predators indoors, his anger boiling. “Listen. You mustn’t ever let a man take advantage of you.”

  She made a rude noise, startling him as she blew air between her lips. “Ha, ha, ha!” she shrieked, crouching over. “This, coming from Georome Straussen!”

  “Shh!” Geo covered her mouth. “Don’t say my name aloud! Not here.” He glanced around apprehensively.

  Lucie swatted his hand away, and with the effort, stumbled down onto the road. Geo rolled his eyes, waiting for her to collect herself and rise. But she didn’t. “I’m stuck,” she claimed, peering up at him accusingly. “Something’s pulling me down.”

  “You aren’t stuck.” Irritated, Geo knelt beside her. Grasping her elbows, he tried to hoist her up, but she dropped from his grip. “Whoa, whoa.” Alarmed, he realized her legs were sliding into what appeared to be a manhole in the street.

  Lucie clung to his wrists, sudden fear in her eyes as Geo made to better angle himself. But his boot caught in a puddle of sewage, and he slipped. At that moment, the rumbling of wheels met his ears. He looked up to see an enormous carriage hurtling in their direction.

  The deadly hooves of four galloping horses charged straight at his face. Before he had time to react, Lucie was torn from his grip and fell, screaming, down the manhole. Geo cried after her just as something yanked his legs, and he plummeted down with her.

  LIFE IN PRISON WAS LONELY and monotonous. Most hours, Dmitri heard naught but the gurgling of his own stomach, or else the redundant tides of the sea. But surprisingly, there were highlights, too. They came exclusively in the form of Pavola, Wintersea’s mysterious ward.

  Each evening, the girl braved the tower to bring him food and drink, soap and a kettle, razors for shaving, and whatever else she could find to ease the discomfort of his imprisonment. At least Dmitri could look forward to washing his face and hands and eating once a day. Pavola had also supplied him with blankets to lie upon at night, not to mention pencils and parchment to occupy his long days writing.

  His novel was coming along. He enjoyed losing himself in a new world beyond the tower’s walls. While he may not have been free, his heart was the moment he put pencil to paper. It wasn’t mere escapism, but self-expression, discovery and purpose.

  As for the intriguing young woman herself, the prince had begun to count upon her nightly company. It wasn’t only for the food though, but for her curiously soothing presence. He doubted she knew it, but she almost made him feel…glad. He laughed aloud at the contradiction. Glad at Wintersea?

  In exchange for keeping him alive, Dmitri aided Pavola in the only we he could—by helping her study. She would pass her books and notes into his cell, and he’d quiz her on the content. So far, she’d not answered a single question incorrectly.

  It was a warm night when she sat opposite his cell door, her back against his through the bars, absorbed in her mathematics. Meanwhile, Dmitri had completed his latest chapter, etching in the last rune of the sentence. With satisfaction, he sighed.

  “Say, Pavi?” He knew she hated to be interrupted, but he was eager. He’d been longing to ask her for a while, after all.

  She set down her quill.

  “I’m wondering,” he scratched his chin, “if you’d be willing to proofread what I have so far?” When she wasn’t quick to answer, he appealed, “Seeing as you have impeccable grammar, who better to point out my errors?”

  She finally nodded, although she still appeared hesitant. “I suppose I can take a look. Though I warn you, I’ve never read a novel, so I don’t know how useful I’ll be.”

  Regardless of her trepidation, Dmitri was thrilled to hand over his progress to the first set of fresh eyes. Pavola repositioned herself, straightening against the wall and lifting her spindly knees before her. Atop them, she rested his work.

  Dmitri watched, intent on her every expression. Candlelight moved across her narrow face, shining against her brown bobbed hair as her eyebrows slowly joined together. “This…this is quite good, Mit.” Surprised, she looked up at him. “Where did you learn to write like this? Are you using some sort of formula, or…?”

  He shook his head. “Nay,” he whispered, grinning. “‘Tis from the heart.”

  She resumed, turning the pages one by one, until after a time, she reached the very last. With haste, she flipped it over, only to find it empty. “There’s no more,” she complained. “What happens next?”

  Dmitri laughed as he took the papers back.

  “I’m serious,” she besought him, peering at him through the bars. “Tell me how it ends.”

  “Tsk, tsk, Pavola. A writer never tells his ending. You’ll have to read it for yourself.”

  “But none is written yet,” she argued.

  He beamed. “Well then, I’ll keep writing. So long as you,” he winked, “keep coming back to read it.”

  HER KNEES WERE BADLY SKINNED. Lucie felt suddenly sober as cool, putrid water soaked her slippers and the hem of her gown. In the moonlight trickling down from the manhole overhead, she could make out blood stains on her hands and dress.

  Geo reached for her. “Are you all right?”

  She coughed. It smelled down there, the air stale and fetid. She barely had time to reply when a barrage of shadows converged around them. She opened her mouth to scream, but a large hand closed over it.

  “Release her,” Geo snarled, and Lucie heard the ring of his sword as he withdrew it from the sheath. Even in the darkness, he wasn’t afraid to use it. His swing was met with a second clang of metal. Lucie’s eyes widened as her captor tightened his grip. What were men doing under the streets with swords?

  “Your Highness,” someone whispered.

  Geo’s shadow startled. “What the—?”

  “Please, you need to keep your voice down, sir. Come. I promise you can trust us.”

 
The man restraining Lucie spoke in her ear. “If I remove my hand, Miss, do you swear not to scream?”

  She nodded, and his hand fell away. She turned to give him a withering look, but was horrified to discover his face covered in tattoos. She clung to Geo’s side, the pair having no choice but to follow the throng of sewer men through a series of underground passages. More shadowy figures joined them with torches, illuminating the grimy walls and murky water they treaded.

  “Kieran?” Geo gaped as if he saw a ghost, identifying the man in the lead.

  The man merely held his index finger to his lips. Lucie tugged on the prince’s sleeve with an inquiring look, but Geo didn’t explain.

  Through tunnel after dank tunnel they wove. It felt like they’d been wading in sewage all night when they finally passed beneath a strange opening. Though still underground, the ceilings were much taller. She gawked up at the stalactites dripping overhead. Caverns, Lucie realized, as the escort marched them into what appeared to be a community of interlinked caves.

  “We can talk now,” said the man in front, dissipating the tension. “Sorry.” He smiled. “Just couldn’t risk being overheard through the gutters in the streets above. But now that we’ve reached the mountains….”

  “We’re under the mountains?” asked Lucie, and he nodded.

  “Kieran.” Geo’s eyes were fastened upon him in disbelief. “Is it really you?”

  “At your service, Your Highness.” He bowed.

  “But how—?”

  “Your Highness,” sang another voice from an alcove to their right. A good-looking man with curly black hair revealed himself in the firelight. They followed him into a room lit with additional mounted torches, and discovered yet more men seated on crude furnishings. It was the strangest habitat Lucie had ever seen.

  “Will?” Geo practically leapt at the newcomer as they embraced. “What the devil is going on?” he demanded, although he sounded overjoyed. “I thought you were dead! You fell in battle, I saw it!”