The Secret Princess

by Rachelle Mccalla

  “But you are free of Garren’s household now. Your father’s crimes no longer restrict you.”

  “If you knew what he had done...” Her voice faded.

  “Tell me, then.”

  “I cannot. You will despise me.”

  “I cannot imagine how that is possible. Whatever did your father do?”

  Evelyn shook her head and breathed out slowly. “Bertie,” she whispered, looking behind them.

  Luke looked, as well, and found her brother’s position unchanged.

  “Promise me you’ll not hurt Bertie.” Her eyes met his, startling fear in their blue depths. “Promise me, and I will tell.”

  But the last of her words were buried by horse hooves pounding along the trail toward them. Sacha had turned about, and he shouted as he neared, “Illyrians approach!”

  Chapter Eleven

  Evelyn fell back and rode beside her brother as Luke and his men took the lead to meet the advancing party. Quickly she recognized Warrick’s figure on horseback. The crest and colors that decorated his gear confirmed it, as well as the presence of the two guards who rode ahead of him, whom she recognized as being those who traveled with Garren’s heir.

  “Keep your face covered,” she reminded her brother, though she needn’t have bothered. He’d pulled his hood so low she couldn’t imagine how he could see out at all. She’d pulled hers nearly as low and could see little more than a horse length in front of her, trusting her mount to guide himself. When he stopped completely, she peeked ahead and saw that Prince Luke and Prince Warrick had dismounted and were talking on the road.

  Fortunately, Warrick had never been one to look any more closely at the men who helped him than he did the chairs he sat upon or the dishes he ate from. If he glanced their way, he looked no further than their horses and the robes they wore, then ignored them.

  As her confidence at going unrecognized increased, Evelyn’s curiosity grew. What were the two princes discussing?

  “I’m going to try to get close enough to listen,” she whispered to her brother. “You stay back here.”

  Cautiously she edged her horse closer to the royal pair. As she’d suspected, they were talking in Illyrian. Though Warrick, as future king, had been trained to speak Lydian well enough, Luke’s knowledge of Illyrian was flawless—better than that of many in Garren’s household, in fact.

  As she reached them, she heard Warrick say, “The messenger said it was a matter of some urgency. My father and his men were attacked by a Lydian ambush.”

  “I assure you, Lydia ambushed no one. If you will feast with us in Sardis tonight, we can discuss precisely what happened. You can set out first thing in the morning and travel by daylight, whereas if you attempt to reach Fier today, the evening will overtake you while you are still on the road.”

  Evelyn expected Warrick to refuse the offer, but instead the Illyrian prince mused aloud, “I have been eager to meet with you, Prince Luke. You understand the issues with the borderlands better than anyone else.”

  “And I have many questions to ask of you, as well. Ride with me back to Sardis,” Prince Luke urged. “If you arrive in Fier tonight, your father will only be asleep, and you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to meet with him. But if you feast with me tonight, you can meet with him tomorrow just the same.”

  “Fine, you’ve convinced me.” Warrick took up his reins and clambered onto his horse. “Let us ride.”

  As the party started forward again, Evelyn hung back just long enough for her brother to catch up to her. “I want to ride where I can hear all they say,” she informed Bertie. “If Warrick gives away our identities, we can flee before they realize we’ve overheard. It may be the only chance we get to escape.”

  Bertie agreed with this plan wholeheartedly, and Evelyn urged her horse forward. Somewhat to her relief, as she neared the princes and caught what she could of their words, she found they were discussing Warrick’s engagement to the Lydian princess Elisabette. At first she wanted to giggle as the manly prince spoke glowingly of his future wife and their plans together, but then Prince Luke spoke, and she instantly sobered.

  “I confess I did not understand why this particular match was so important to you and Elisabette. I understood marriage as an extension of our duties as princes. But the more I learn of love, the more your determination to marry my sister makes sense. A royal marriage should be more than a political agreement. A prince’s bride must benefit not just his people but his soul. When a man finds a woman who speaks to his heart, no other princess will do.”

  Prince Luke’s words echoed back to her clearly, or she might have thought she’d misheard. Warrick went on to speak of wedding plans—both he and Elisabette wanted to hold their wedding as soon as possible—and Evelyn listened with half an ear and she pondered Prince Luke’s words.

  What did he mean about learning more of love? He hadn’t spoken in a matter-of-fact tone, as a casual observer of another relationship. No, he’d spoken heartfelt words with a note of yearning behind them in a tone reminiscent of that he’d used when the two of them were alone together.

  Whom did he love? It seemed presumptuous to think he might be referring to her. She was a slave. He was a prince. And yet considering his actions of late—the risks he’d taken on her account, the way he looked at her, spoke to her, held her—she couldn’t imagine he could claim to be so ignorant of love if he felt so deeply for another. Indeed, the thought that he might love her sent a flush to her cheeks. She cared about him so very much. Had it not been for the impossibility of a match, she might have rejoiced at his words. Her affection for him grew stronger with every moment they spent together. He’d given her every reason to believe he felt the same.

  So he might well be talking about her.

  But he couldn’t possibly be. He’d spoken in a context of marriage. Surely he knew such a union between them would be impossible. Didn’t he?

  Her heart thumped so hard against her ribs she could hardly hear Warrick’s words. Had Prince Luke thought, however fleetingly, about marrying her? If so, she and her brother were in greater danger than she’d thought. Because the secret she’d kept from the prince would hit him a thousand times harder if he had real feelings for her.

  It would be one thing for Prince Luke to learn that she was the daughter of Rab the Raider, the man who’d killed King Theodoric, Luke’s father. But if Luke thought himself in love with her, he wouldn’t just want revenge against her for her father’s crimes.

  He’d want revenge against her for her crimes— covering over the truth and letting him love her when, indeed, she ought to have warned him away long ago.

  * * *

  Upon their arrival at Sardis, Luke left the horses in the charge of the stable hands and called for the head of the royal household staff. After explaining his needs, he was assured that Hilda, Queen Gisela’s Frankish maid, was in residence in the city, having been appointed to oversee the royal chambers there.

  Though Luke knew Hilda had an impeccable eye for detail and a knack for getting her way, he also suspected she’d been appointed to the position in part to keep her from managing Queen Gisela’s every move. The queen valued her freedom. Hilda’s history dealing with Gisela had given her ample training in managing headstrong young royals, and she spoke fluent Frankish. She’d be the perfect person to assist Evelyn.

  “Send for Hilda at once. Tell her I have a woman in need of her services.” His message dispatched, he then caught up to Evelyn and her brother, who’d been leading horses with the stable hands.

  “Leave the horses,” Luke instructed the pale-haired pair. “I want the two of you to dine with me and Warrick tonight. I’ve sent for a maid to help you make your preparations.”

  “You are too kind,” Evelyn said as she bowed low alongside her brother. “But Prince Warrick will recognize us. He knows we are h
is father’s slaves, and he’ll require full explanation of how we came to leave our stations. Would this not incite further rivalry between your nations?”

  Luke had already thought the matter through as he’d ridden beside Warrick on the road into the walled city. “Perhaps it would, but he’ll learn Garren’s version of the story as soon as he returns to Fier. Far better, then, for me to present my side of the case to him tonight.”

  Evelyn looked as though she wanted to protest further, but Luke had already made up his mind. He saw Hilda approaching and quickly, using Lydian, which the maid had learned quite well by this time, he explained what he required of her, making clear she was to provide Evelyn with every luxury, even if Evelyn protested. He then introduced her to Evelyn in Illyrian.

  Still, the pale-haired woman shook her head slowly.

  Luke stopped her objections before she could speak aloud. “If it is too much to ask you to dine with me, then consider it my royal command. You and your brother will sup with us.”

  Though her eyes sparkled with protest, Evelyn dropped into a deep curtsy. “Yes, Your Highness.” She did not meet his eyes again but turned and obediently followed Hilda with her brother at her side.

  Content that Evelyn was in good hands, Luke hurried off to check on his wounded men who’d been carried in on the litters. The steward of the house had reported they’d arrived safely, but Luke felt great responsibility for his men and needed to see whether their conditions had improved as claimed. Only then, with his conscience eased, could he allow himself to look forward to taking his meal at the same table as Evelyn.

  * * *

  Evelyn pondered her predicament as she soaked in the bath. There wasn’t any way around it. She’d absolutely have to find Warrick before dinner and beg him not to give away who she and Bertie really were.

  Warrick might very well refuse her. He might even go to Prince Luke and tell him everything, from her father’s identity to her request to him to keep it a secret. If it came to that, she’d do her best to run away. Bertie, of course, would have to be warned well ahead of time. He could linger just out of sight as she spoke with Warrick, in order to flee at the first indication that their uncle intended to disclose the full story to Prince Luke.

  It wasn’t a very promising option, but it was her only hope of getting through the meal and staying in the prince’s good graces long enough to attempt to secure a place on a ship for Bertie and preferably for herself, as well.

  She wished she could tell Luke everything. It went entirely against her nature to keep secrets, though her grandfather King Garren kept secrets almost as often as he lied. Indeed, she’d have told Luke the full truth long before if he would only promise not to harm her brother. She trusted the Lydian prince to keep his word once he gave it. But with Bertie’s safety—his life—at stake, Evelyn would have to do all she could to keep Luke from learning their identities for a little bit longer at least.

  The Frankish maid Hilda insisted on combing out all of Evelyn’s long blond hair and braiding it round in the most gorgeous coils, which she set with jewel-inlaid combs. Evelyn tried to protest, to insist a single jewel-free braid would be more than adequate, but the larger woman was quite insistent, and Evelyn feared Hilda might pin her to the floor to finish the braids if she put up too much resistance.

  At the sight of the gown she was expected to wear, Evelyn nearly fainted. The rich blue silk had to have cost a small fortune, and the embroidery along the bodice and neckline appeared to be of silver thread. She shook her head, certain she’d spill something on the dress and ruin it, but Hilda gave her a fierce look, and Evelyn realized she’d only be wasting time if she tried to protest. And she’d need every minute she could spare to track down Warrick.

  Fortunately, Hilda was helpful on this point. She reunited Evelyn with Bertie, who’d bathed in an adjoining room and been given an oversized tunic and freshly laundered pale-colored hose. Evelyn quickly explained her plan to her brother, using Illyrian so that Hilda wouldn’t overhear her concerns.

  To her relief, her brother didn’t argue. “If we can keep our secret long enough to get on a ship bound for the Holy Roman Empire, we’ll leave all our troubles behind and be that much closer to our goal. And we can always run away if Warrick refuses.” He put his hand in hers. “Now, let’s find that uncle of ours. Do you have any idea where he might be?”

  Evelyn consulted with Hilda, who went so far as to lead them down a stone hallway, stopping at a door and inquiring inside before leaving them to their business. The moment Hilda disappeared around the corner, Bertie stepped after her and ducked out of sight.

  The chamberlain who’d answered the door went to fetch Warrick. Evelyn waited, rehearsing in her head what she had to say.

  Warrick smiled graciously as he approached, but she saw his expression harden the moment he recognized her. “Evelyn? Whatever are you doing here in Sardis? And dressed like royalty?”

  Evelyn dropped into a deep curtsy. She didn’t dare whisper aloud the truth they both knew—that she was the king’s granddaughter and therefore a princess. As such, the clothes she wore were more befitting to her station than those his father begrudged her. No, she kept to her plan. “It is a long story, Your Highness. Prince Luke will be telling you all about it over dinner. Before we are presented to the Lydian prince, I have a request to make of you.”

  “A request?” Warrick sounded shocked, and Evelyn felt certain he’d turn her away the very next instant with the reminder that slaves were not to beg favors of their masters, and possibly have her jailed for dressing as a noblewoman—though he of all people knew she’d been born into the station.

  But instead of anger, sadness crept across Warrick’s features. “What is it?”

  “Please, Your Highness.” She curtsied again for good measure. “Prince Luke is unaware that Rab the Raider is my father. At this time he knows only that Bertie and I hail from the Frankish lands of the Holy Roman Empire, and he intends to help us return there. If he learns the truth about our father, he will surely exact vengeance upon us for his father’s death.” She paused then, unsure how to proceed.

  Warrick regarded her, his face unreadable in the dim light of the doorway where she still stood, having not been invited into his chambers. In truth, she’d never known where she stood with her uncle. He’d hated her father—that much was certain. Warrick had killed her father in battle just outside this very city, and though she might have held that fact against him, nonetheless, she needed his help at this moment and would have to overlook the awfulness of his deed.

  “I suppose,” the Illyrian prince began slowly, “I owe you some recompense for slaying your father and rendering you both orphans. And I won’t pretend I’m not eager to send you back to Frankia. Indeed, it would be a great relief to me to have you both gone.” Warrick rubbed the pointed goatee he’d freshly trimmed in preparation for dinner. “But to keep the full truth from the Lydians...”

  “Your father has lied to them a thousand times and you have never betrayed the truth against him. Once Bertie and I are gone, you can tell Prince Luke everything. Tell him even that I begged you to keep the truth from him for me—as I am indeed begging you. Have I not served your father’s household faithfully all these years and trained your sister in all womanly arts?”

  A wry smile bent Prince Warrick’s lips. “Indeed, Evelyn, if there is any womanly grace Rosalind possesses, she learned it from you. You are the most faithful servant in my father’s household, and the only one I truly trusted. That is why I find it so startling that you are asking me to keep the truth a secret now. Nonetheless...” He quit stroking his beard and put his hands behind him, puffing out his chest, his mind made up.

  “My betrothed has been telling me of Christianity, of the need to help widows and orphans and to do well by all. For your and Bertie’s sakes, and for your sakes only, I have long felt some guilt for kill
ing your father. If I agree to keep your secret and help you take your leave to your homeland, will you absolve me of all guilt in your father’s death?”

  Evelyn stared for just a moment. What choice did she have, really? If she refused him, she and her brother would die. Nothing would bring her father back. “You are forgiven,” she promised.

  “And what of Bertie? I don’t want him skulking off to the north harboring resentment against me only to return to avenge his father’s death.” Warrick narrowed his eyes as he spoke, and Evelyn realized he’d given away his true motivation in those words. More than forgiveness, he wanted assurance that he and his descendants would be safe from revenge.

  “Bertie?” Evelyn called softly down the hall.

  Her brother stepped forward slowly, his eyes down.

  “Bertie, Warrick wants assurance—”

  “I know what he wants. I heard him.” Bertie spoke in Frankish as he looked up at her with eyes that flashed with anger and unshed tears. “He killed our father.”

  “And if we both die—will that bring Father back?” she pleaded with him. “If we are to have any hope of ever returning home, we must forgive Warrick for what he did.”

  “He killed our father,” Bertie repeated.

  “In battle,” Evelyn reminded her brother. “Our father rode into battle knowing he might die. He took that risk upon himself knowing full well what might happen. If you refuse Warrick, he’ll tell Prince Luke who we are. You know just as well as I do what will happen then.”

  Bertie looked up at her with pleading eyes, and a lone tear overflowed down his cheek. “I don’t like it.”

  “We do what we have to do to survive,” Evelyn reminded her brother. “Can you forgive Warrick?”

  The Illyrian prince had been watching them carefully, scowling as they spoke together in a language he couldn’t understand. Now his eyebrows rose expectantly as Bertie turned to face him.