The Wrong Prince

by C. K. Brooke

  “The Atasi, mate.” He beamed. “They salvaged me from the battlefield and restored me to health. I owe them.”

  “He’s not the only one,” said Kieran as more men poured forth, bowing before hugging the prince like old friends. Lucie watched, confused.

  Geo scratched his head, apparently just as mystified. “While I’m thrilled you’re all alive, you owe me a considerable explanation. What are you doing down here? Why haven’t you returned to Tybiria, to help our kingdom?”

  “We are helping you,” insisted Kieran. “With the Atasi.”

  “What the deuce is an Atasi?”

  “You’re looking at one,” grunted the brute with the tattooed face, who seemed to take pleasure noting that Lucie took a reflexive step away from him, backing into the curly-headed man called Will.

  Will eyed her from head to toe, a smirk perking his lips. “Who’s the lovely lady, Prince Georome?”

  Kieran nudged him. “Don’t you recognize Luccia Camerlane? Her father is the Baron of Backshore.”

  “So many women,” shrugged Will, “so little time.”

  Geo cleared his throat. “Miss Camerlane is Prince Dmitri’s fiancée. Of course, you missed his Reveal Banquet.”

  Will made a defeated noise, gaining an eye roll from his companions.

  Geo turned to Lucie. “Lucie, er…these are some of my father’s knights, whom we thought had died in battle against Llewes,” he shot them another incredulous look, “until now.”

  “Have a seat.” The knights beckoned them to a plank of stone being used for a table, around which primitive benches were stationed. Lucie sat beside the prince, as another tattooed stranger brought them mead in clay cups. Why, all manner of supplies was stored down there.

  The knights sat with her and Geo, while more Atasi men, and a woman, hovered in the shadows nearby. “The Atasi are a people indigenous to this land,” began the sandy-haired knight called Kieran, “who have long inhabited the caverns beneath these mountains. They are no fonder of the King of Llewes than we are.”

  “We are a peaceful tribe, Your Highness,” said the woman, whose arm bore a sleeve of snakelike designs. “Until recently, we coexisted in harmony with the land-dwellers above.”

  “But Ira’s behavior can no longer be tolerated,” asserted the one who’d covered Lucie’s mouth. “Our caverns are the only haven for those who oppose him. Therefore, among us, you will find warriors we’ve rescued from the battlefield—ones who fought against the king—as well as citizens who’ve fallen victim to his unchecked madness.”

  A bloke of small stature stepped forth in the torchlight. “I come from the village where Queen Vanessa, may the Eternal God rest her soul, was born. A village that no longer stands.”

  Lucie furrowed her brow.

  “Three years ago, Ira had the entirety of Eindrow Village demolished,” explained the Atasi woman, “to be converted into a shrine for his late wife. All of its inhabitants were uprooted. And those who refused to leave their homes perished.”

  Another Atasi lifted his voice. “The survivors took refuge with us. We’ve since been devising how best to rid this land of Ira’s heartless reign.”

  Lucie stole a glance at Geo, who looked confounded.

  “I apologize for the manner in which we dragged you down here, Your Highness.” Kieran’s eyes were sincere. “Only, we’d heard rumors that you might be in Llewes. And when I happened to hear your name and your voice in the streets above—”

  “Were you ever going to return to Tybiria?” Geo interjected. His short tone settled among the dreary walls, silencing the others. “Forgive me, but it doesn’t seem worthy of my father’s warriors to reside safely underground, while the rest of us are left to battle Llewes with dwindling numbers.”

  “Sir,” Will was somewhat heated, “we’ve done naught but strategize how best to return to you, while taking out a piece of Ira in the process.” He swallowed. “Only….”

  “Only, you’ve yet to figure how,” Lucie finished for him. The men looked up, surprised that she had spoken, which nettled her. If the Atasi woman could participate in the conversation, why couldn’t Lucie? “Know you not what befell the royal family since your absence?” she asked them. “Why do you think we’re here?”

  They eyed Geo. “What does she mean?”

  The prince sighed. “King Ira seized Dmitri in his last attack,” he informed them grimly. “He’s holding the Crown Prince prisoner at Wintersea as we speak.”

  “Wintersea?” exclaimed a new knight, aghast. “But the fortress is said to be impenetrable. No one’s ever been known to invade it.”

  Geo ignored him. “We’re on our way to rescue him, but time is running out. We need help.”

  Kieran’s expression was serious. “Where is the rest of the rescue party?”

  Geo’s gaze shifted downward.

  “It’s just the two of us,” said Lucie.

  The knights’ faces darkened. “The two of you,” Kieran sounded baffled, “up against Wintersea?”

  “We made it this far,” Lucie snapped.

  Sir Will cocked his black curls from his face, a daring gleam in his eyes. “And now you have us,” he grinned.

  CAVE-DWELLING WAS THE MOST BIZARRE way of life Geo had ever seen. Yet somehow, it worked. The Atasi had access to underground freshwater ponds, with their dwellings stationed near openings out to the mountains above, where they could ascend to hunt or harvest food and lumber.

  There were a few women who housed Lucie, as was only appropriate, while Geo expended many an hour deep in discussion with his friends. Rumors were circulating that the King of Llewes was currently lodging at Wintersea, a golden opportunity for taking him out in the process of rescuing Dmitri. Only, there were Wintersea’s guards to contend with, as well as the moat.

  When not strategizing with his knights, there was only one companion Geo sought. He’d not realized how accustomed he’d become to Lucie’s presence until he found himself apart from her. Something about her stuck to him, whether it was her reassuring brown eyes, or the way she spoke her mind when words failed him. In spite of himself, he found he was becoming less able to imagine life without her.

  But he wouldn’t be without her. They were going to rescue his brother, and she would join the Straussens in their castle, as family. And someday, when his parents were gone, Lucie would become his queen.

  There was no getting around it. Sooner or later, Geo would have to accept that the woman was not for him. And he would have to learn to settle for her friendship. It was better than nothing at all, he supposed.

  After meals, he had taken to strolling around the ponds with her, where meek sunlight illuminated the caves down the wide tunnels. For the first time during their turbulent travels, there was a sense of quiet, peace.

  “How do you like it down here, with the Atasi?” he asked her one evening. He was curious whether she was feeling the same calm, or if her stay among the women differed.

  “It’s a bit…” she searched for a fitting word, “unsettling.” She laughed. “I mean, I never knew such a civilization existed, tiny though it may be.” Her thoughtful sigh reached the high ceiling. “But I suppose it’s the safest place to be, for now.”

  “Mmm.” Geo’s response was limited as he peered into the still waters of the black pool beside them. He thought on Dmitri, praying the man was still alive, all the while beleaguered by a creeping, inescapable guilt.

  He could keep it in no longer. He had to tell someone. Besides, given Lucie’s intimate connection to the Crown Prince, she deserved to know. Geo only hoped she wouldn’t hate him. “Lucie?” He paused in their promenade. “I need to tell you something.”

  She halted, her eyes finding his. “Yes?”

  “I think…all of this is my fault.” He took a breath. “I believe the King of Llewes captured the wrong prince. It should have b
een me. For, I suspect it was my arrow that slew Prince Weyland that morning, and not my brother’s.”

  Confusion imprinted upon her features. “But I thought Prince Dmitri’s arrow was withdrawn from the Prince of Llewes. It bore his initials and—” She fell silent as Geo shook his head.

  “That’s just the thing.” His voice dropped. “No one but Dmitri and I know that, just moments before, I’d borrowed from his quiver. We fired identical arrows at the same time.”

  Lucie spoke quietly as well. “And your brother just assumed credit for the shot?”

  Geo shook his head again. “It wasn’t like that. When the arrow was shown as his, neither army questioned who’d slain Prince Weyland. And why would they? The Llewesians retreated, and our knights were already celebrating Dmitri’s triumph. Who was I to steal his glory? I’ve trounced so many in battle, while he’s championed over so few. I was happy for him.”

  His throat tightened. “Yet now, I know not what to do with my guilt. My brother is suffering imprisonment—and God only knows what else—for what I did. Not to mention,” his voice hitched, “I killed a child, Lucie. A thirteen-year-old boy.”

  “Oh, Geo.” Her soothing hand found his chest, eyes soulful. “You don’t know any of this for sure. It could’ve been your brother’s arrow; you’ve no proof either way.”

  “Yes, but I’m the better shot.” He flashed a sorry, lopsided grin.

  “Even if it was you who struck the youth,” she returned gently, “you didn’t know it was Prince Weyland. From what I was told, the boy snuck into battle, unbeknownst to all. It was his own doing. He was too young to be fighting.”

  “Don’t blame the child,” Geo chided. “I would’ve done the same at his age.”

  Her lips formed into a small, adoring smile. “I know you would have.”

  Their gazes interlocked for a long moment, and Geo’s heart hummed. She was looking at him the way she used to, on those stolen nights together in the pavilion between the castle and Backshore, at the lake.

  The lake. A thought occurred to him as the cavern’s dim light sparkled off of the placid pool in his periphery. “Lucie, I….” His voice was husky, and he hurried to clear it. “I ought to teach you how to swim.”

  She blinked.

  “Down here.” He gestured to the underground pond. “It’s an important life skill. You never know when you might need it.”

  She nodded, finally looking away to match his gaze into the water. “You’re right,” she acceded softly. “I think I’d like that.”

  THE DAYS GREW STEADILY WARMER. Dmitri became thirsty more often, and was profoundly grateful for the skins Pavola regularly filled for him. It was a muggy evening when she had completed revising his newest chapter. She made a tiny notation in the margin with her quill.

  “Very good,” she concluded. “Only, I’d change the direction in which you state the wind is blowing. If the story takes place in the Lower Hemisphere, then the pressure gradient force would act from right to left, not vice versa.”

  “Pavi, you’re a genius.” Dmitri folded his arms. “This is why I require your invaluable readership.”

  She smiled.

  “Who is your favorite character so far?” he asked her. He wanted to be sure his characters’ development was taking proper effect.

  She thought. “I like Gustave,” she admitted. “Although at times he’s infuriatingly foolish, you somehow manage to make him sympathetic. But I’d have to say my favorite is Aquila.”

  Dmitri laughed, delighted. “How predictable,” he teased. “Your favorite is the hero’s brainy sidekick.”

  “If not for his brainy sidekick,” she replied, “Gustave would’ve bungled everything by now, reckless and gullible as he is.”

  “Quite true, mademoiselle.” The man extended an arm for his papers, and she made to pass them back. “For the record,” he met her hazel eyes, “you were my inspiration for Aquila.” His hand lingered over hers until she finally released the parchments.

  She took a step back, tucking her cropped hair behind her ear. Something tender stirred within Dmitri as he comprehended her glowing cheeks. Was she blushing? “Uh,” she stammered. He’d never seen her lost for words before. She finally settled on, “Th-thanks.”

  His expression straightened. “Pavola.” He was sorry to dampen the moment, but he burned to know. The more time they spent together, the more the mystery of her identity, and why she resided at Wintersea, perplexed him. “Won’t you tell me who you are?”

  “Even if I wanted to, Mit,” she shook her head, “I’m sworn to secrecy.”

  He held out his hands, indicating his empty cell. “Whom will I tell?”

  She gave him an even look, as if weighing his point. “If I tell you the truth, you must vow never to repeat it. Even I am not supposed to know.”

  “You have my word,” he promised.

  The girl inhaled, watching her hands. They were small, her delicate fingers dry from continual contact with paper. “Society takes little interest in King Ira’s youngest sister, the Princess Jinver,” she began cautiously. “Generally speaking, the woman has always been something of a wayward royal. And these days, I hear she’s rather a recluse.”

  She sighed. “Few individuals know that, eighteen years ago, when Jinver was only fifteen, she became pregnant. Of course, she was unwed, and the man responsible was a lousy commoner. To cover it up, the royal family sent the baby away to Wintersea.” Her usually upright shoulders sagged. “And there, the Princess’s ill-conceived daughter grew up a lowly ward of the king, never having left.”

  Dmitri was stunned. “You mean to say,” he whispered, “that you are Princess Jinver’s daughter?”

  Pavola nodded heavily. “I was never supposed to know. I wasn’t even given a name. The handful of servants who’d raised me here simply called me ‘ward.’” Her face tightened. “But I always knew I was meant to be more than just a ward. At a young age, I taught myself to read. Even then, I suspected if I wanted to amount to anything outside these walls, I needed to at least be literate.

  “As it happened, I delighted in the activity. So, I went about the fortress reading everything I could find, until one day, I stumbled across a plethora of documents and correspondences. Through them, I pieced together my identity. In time, I tested my theories on the servants, and they eventually caved. They told me everything.”

  Her eyes shadowed over. “When the king found out, he dismissed them. All of them. The people who’d cared for me since birth, the only family I’d ever—” Her speech halted, and Dmitri recognized her distress.

  “Oh, please don’t cry.” He reached through the bars to take her hand, and she let him. “I’m so sorry.”

  She nodded bravely. “Well. With no one here to look after me anymore, I had to learn how to take care of myself.”

  “You were a tough one,” Dmitri said.

  “I had to be. Being told I ought not to exist only fueled my determination to educate myself. I renamed myself after Luíz Pavola, the chemist I idolized at the time. And I read every book I could get my hands on, with the goal to break free of this godforsaken place, as soon as I came of age, to attend university somewhere. Somewhere far, far from here.”

  She crossed her arms. “I’m tired of not existing. They can keep Princess Jinver’s daughter a secret, but they shall not suppress Pavola Ward. For I will go into the world and make a name for myself.”

  Dmitri’s veins were aflame, his blood pumping both in indignation at her unjust treatment, and admiration of her ambition. “I’ve absolutely no doubt that you will,” he said, and he meant it. “But in the meantime, you ought to fight for your place in the kingdom. You are a rightful princess!”

  She shook her head. “My father was a common scoundrel who seduced a fifteen-year-old girl. Just because that girl happened to be a princess does not make me one.”

>   “Actually,” Dmitri adjusted his spectacles, “technically speaking, it does.”

  She waved him off. “I’ve no interest in royalty. And anyway, I would rather go to school and earn my renown than have it handed to me, on account of a pederast’s rape, no less.”

  Dmitri glimpsed her remorseful expression as she turned away. “I—I need to go. I’ve said too much already.” She flushed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mit.”

  He watched her dainty form receding from the tower room, and clamped the bars of his door with longing. “Pavola Ward,” he murmured, “would that I could make you my princess.”

  “KICK YOUR FEET, LUCIE.”

  She did as told, straining to keep her head above water. Somewhere in her knees, she leveraged her balance, and managed to bob. So potent was her exhaustion, however, she began to sink slightly.

  Geo caught her, slick arms cradling her. “You were doing very well for a moment there.”

  “I would’ve done even better, were I not so weary.” Lucie exhaled a breath of laughter, bending an arm around his neck.

  “One last go, and we’ll call it day.” Geo nodded. “Ready?” He released her into the water again, and Lucie kicked steadily, rhythmically with all her might, extending her throat above the surface. “Excellent!” his deep voice bellowed throughout the cave. “Go!”

  She swam around him, arching her arms as he taught her, propelling herself. When her arms tired, she wiggled her feet, shifting upright and treading water beneath her heels to stay afloat.

  “You’re doing it!” The broadest of smiles brightened his already painfully handsome face. “Think you can swim out?”

  “I’ll try,” she called, heading for the cavern shore.

  “I’m behind you,” he assured her. She felt him move in her wake, their combined efforts casting ripples through the opaque waters.

  They reached the stony ground and climbed out, the blouse and breeches Lucie had borrowed from the Atasi women sopping wet.

  Geo glanced about for his shirt. Lucie saw it lying in the shadows, but hated to see him put it on. Her current view was too flawless and familiar. She pressed a hand to her brow, turning away as he finally discovered the garment. Your fiancé, Lucie, she hissed inwardly, is this man’s brother.