by Chelsea Luna
Unfocused hazel eyes found my face. “Where’s Marc?”
“Sleeping upstairs.”
“You want to go outside? Alone? Now?”
“Only for a few moments. I need some fresh air.”
Henrik’s glassy eyes wandered around the dark tavern. A majority of the men had resumed their conversations, but a few of them were still watching us. Watching me. Henrik shook his head. “That’s not a good idea.”
I frowned.
“You’re not going to listen to me, are you?” Henrik asked. “You’re going outside regardless if I say you shouldn’t.”
“It will only take a few minutes.”
“What if I order you?”
My eyebrows rose.
“I didn’t think so.” Henrik yawned. “You’re going to make me take on all of these men, aren’t you? Fight for your honor and all that nonsense?”
“No, of course not.” I sighed. I didn’t want to cause Henrik any trouble and I especially didn’t want him to get into a fight because of me. I’d have to read the letter another time.
“Fine, you win. But I’m going with you.” Henrik staggered toward the tavern’s doors.
“Really?”
“Come on.” He didn’t wait to see if I’d follow him.
I hurried ahead, struggling to keep up with his long stride. “Are you sure you’re all right? You’ve had quite a bit to drink.”
Henrik swatted the air. “I’m good. Come on, this way.”
The air outside was unseasonably cold for late May. I still hadn’t had the chance to change my clothes and wore only my nightgown beneath my cloak. I tugged the thin wool tighter around my body to shield the brisk air.
Henrik stretched. “You wanted fresh air. I give you fresh air.”
“Thank you.”
The letter felt heavy in my pocket. I couldn’t read it now that I was with Henrik. I’d have to find another opportunity to be alone . . . if that ever happened.
“You didn’t want fresh air, did you?” Henrik crossed his arms over his chest. The muscles bulged in his forearms. He clicked his tongue. “You’re up to something.”
“I am not.”
Henrik smiled. “I can always tell a bad liar. It’s a talent of mine. I can spot one anywhere.”
My back stiffened. “I am not a liar. I am Lady Ludmila Nováková—”
“No, now you’re plain old’ Mila—which is still great—but you are officially a defector from the Crown and a Protestant rebel who my crazy uncle happens to think is a Catholic spy. You’re not a spy, are you?”
“Of course not.”
“I didn’t think so. Though if you were a spy, you’d deny it.” Henrik grinned and shook a long finger at me. “But you are up to something. That I do know. Something behind my brother’s back.”
I lowered my eyes. “It’s not like that.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“I can keep a secret,” Henrik whispered.
“Oh, fine; you probably won’t remember any of this conversation anyway.”
Henrik shrugged. “That’s possible.”
I retrieved Isabella’s letter from my cloak. The parchment weighed heavily in my hands. “I wanted to read this in private and I was worried if I read it upstairs Marc would wake up.”
Hazel eyes regarded the seal. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“You want privacy while you read your letter? Fine. I’ll stand guard so no one steals you in the middle of the night while you’re reading it.”
“Really? You’d do that for me?”
“Sure.”
“And you won’t tell Marc about the letter? I . . . I don’t know what it says, and sometimes he’s—”
“Overbearing? Protective? A worrier?”
I smiled. “Thank you, Henrik.”
He lifted his chin toward a tree beside the tavern. “That looks like the perfect spot for uncovering scandalous royal mysteries.”
I walked around the old oak, dipping under its low branches, and sat on the ground. My hands trembled. I leaned against the rough bark and inhaled a deep, calming breath. I could do this.
Henrik sat on the other side of the trunk. “Don’t worry about my Uncle Igor. He’s crazy. No one in town listens to him anyway. He always rambles on and on about the Crown.”
I slid my finger under the wax. “At least you don’t believe I’m a spy.”
When the seal broke, my heartbeat pounded against my chest. I unfolded the thick parchment. I eagerly pressed the paper against my nose, hoping to find some remnants of my mother, but it only smelled of musty paper and old books.
My eyes flooded when I recognized my mother’s slanted handwriting. I inhaled a deep, lung-clearing breath and read her words.
Dearest Mila,
If you are reading this letter, I am dead. I have instructed Branka to secure this letter in the event of my demise. She is to give it to you when she believes you are ready to hear the truth. I have much to tell you, but I must first say that it saddens me that I will not be able to tell you these things in person.
The enemy surrounds us. The castle does not protect us. It confines us.
I smile and nod when prompted to do so, all the while knowing these royal vipers are ready to strike at any moment. Let this be the one lesson I teach you from beyond the grave—Branka is your only ally within these castle walls. Trust no one else, especially Václav.
He is not who he seems—a viciousness courses through his veins. He is a corrupt, evil man and I’ve done my best to shield you from him. My political views have infuriated him and, as a result of my refusal to blindly follow, my life in now in grave danger. I know with a heavy heart that my days are numbered. . . .
I have converted to Protestantism.
This revelation may come as a shock to you, as you’ve been raised a devout Catholic, but it was the right choice for me to make. Protestantism is where my heart truly lies.
I believe in their cause. All men and women should be treated equally. Writing these words is sufficient evidence for the Crown to hang me as a traitor, but I want you to understand why I helped the rebellion on numerous occasions. I’ve supplied information to them and smuggled jewels and coins to fund their cause. I have done everything in my power—from behind these confining walls—to help in their effort to overthrow the current regime.
The Crown and the Holy Roman Empire must be stopped.
I must point out and you must understand—King Rudolf and the Crown are NOT one and the same. The idea that they are different—as he is the king—sounds preposterous, but he is a good, kind man imprisoned on the throne. Rudolf does not rule the kingdom—the Catholic Church does.
What I am about to say next will be extremely hard to believe, but I swear on my life and yours that it is true.
King Rudolf is your father.
I can hardly imagine the surprise you will feel at this revelation. You are the princess and heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Bohemia. Now listen carefully, Mila, NO ONE must know about your true lineage . . . not yet . . . not until the time is right.
I’ve loved Rudolf since I was eighteen. We fell in love when we were in Spain, but we could not marry because my lineage was not worthy enough for a king, or so we were told.
As a consequence, Rudolf brought me to Prague as a member of his court, so I could be near him. After some court speculation, my marriage to Václav was arranged to quell the whispers of our relationship.
Mila, please understand, you must keep your lineage a secret until the time is right.
If this critical information falls into the wrong hands, before you are ready to accept what this truly means, they will kill you. When the time comes, and this great kingdom needs your leadership, you will be there to bring guidance and integrity to this beautiful land.
Fight for your beliefs.
Fight for what is right.
Fight for the people of Bohemia.
With my last words, let
me solidify your claim to the throne. In the Royal Treasury keep, in a small golden treasure box with an emerald rose gilded on the lid, is a royal decree signed by King Rudolf.
The decree attests to your lineage.
No one can deny your right to the throne once this document comes to light. The treasure box is locked and Rudolf wears the key around his neck. When the time comes, and you are ready, use this decree to save the kingdom.
I love you more than you could ever imagine. Please remember when you hear about the things I’ve done, know that I did them for one of three reasons—for my love of you, for the People of Bohemia, or for Rudolf.
Long live Princess Ludmila Nováková, the first of her name, may you reign justly and intelligently.
With all my love,
your mother
P.S. Remember that doing the right thing is not always the easiest. However, doing what is right should come before everything else. Before self-satisfaction. Before pride. Even before love.
Chapter Three
“Are you all right?” Henrik no longer appeared drunk. His eyes were focused and glued to my face. “Are you going to faint?”
Somehow, during the course of reading my mother’s letter, I’d risen to my feet and begun to pace in front of the tree. Now, here I was, standing in front of a very concerned-looking Henrik.
“Are you all right?” He repeated.
“No.”
“It looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I heard from one. Does that count?”
Henrik stared at the parchment vibrating in my shaking hand. “Is there something bad in that letter?”
“Depends on who you ask.”
“I’m asking you.”
I glanced up at him. I didn’t know what to say. I opened my mouth but quickly closed it.
He stepped closer. “You can’t tell me?”
“I don’t know. Can I?”
“You can tell me anything,” he whispered. He bent his head down to mine and stood so close to me that the quivering letter grazed his stomach. He smelled of cedar.
“You can keep a secret?” My words were barely above a whisper.
“On my life.”
I believed him. And I wanted nothing more than to tell him my secret. I did not want to be judged by the letter’s contents. It was too big of a burden wrapped up in one small letter and I didn’t want to bear it alone.
I could trust Henrik, couldn’t I? He was Marc’s older brother. Of course I could confide in him, but my mind countered with an extremely important point—I hadn’t told Marc about any of this. Should I tell his brother first? Was I committing some moral betrayal?
Henrik studied my face.
“It’s a letter from my mother,” I said. “The king is my father. I’m King Rudolf’s only surviving child. I’m his heir.”
A long moment passed.
Henrik’s face remained calm, but his eyebrows rose to his hairline. He scratched his head. He bit his bottom lip before the words came tumbling out. “You’re telling me that you are the heir to the Holy Roman Empire and the Kingdom of Bohemia?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Really,” I said. “According to my mother’s letter, a royal decree declaring my lineage is hidden somewhere in the castle’s Treasury keep.”
A grin spread across his face. “Well, hell, Mila. That changes everything.”
* * *
“She shouldn’t be here.” Igor drank deeply before slamming the empty mug onto the wet table. “I’m telling you all, but no one wants to listen to me. Mark my words. We will regret this later.”
“Drink your ale, Brother,” Petr said.
I sat at the end of the table beside Marc, but I heard Igor’s accusations. I dismissed his words as the rambling of an old drunken man, but I worried about the consequences of people overhearing him. This was our third day in Kladno and I didn’t want to be labeled a spy or a traitor. I had enough people after me; I didn’t need to add to my list of enemies.
The tavern was filled to capacity, people squeezed onto the benches as more and more of the townsfolk poured into the room. The stifling air reeked of sour beer and unwashed bodies.
Ruzena sat close to Ivan, one of the men who had helped with Marc’s escape. Her hand rested lightly on his arm. Ivan wore a smug smile; it was clear he thought the other men in the room envied him because Ruzena was showing him attention. Did she know all the rebels? Did they all desire her?
Ruzena.
With her long blond hair and heart-shaped face. Ruzena—who was in love with my Marc. My jaw clenched, but I swallowed back the vile feelings I held toward the former castle servant.
I would never forget the day I first met her. She’d tumbled down the stairs arm in arm with Marc when I stopped by the blacksmith’s shop unannounced to give him an invitation to the revealing of the crown jewels. Afterward, Marc had claimed nothing had happened between them the night before, but if that was the case, it wasn’t because Ruzena didn’t want it to. She clearly was in love with him.
She wanted Marc more than anything....
Stop.
I was being petty.
Ruzena had risked her life to help Marc escape from Daliborka Tower. She’d smuggled my dragon dagger outside the castle to Henrik. I’d suspected he would need the jewels for bribes. I wasn’t certain if she’d do it, but she had. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe she’d helped me out of the goodness of her heart. She’d done it because she loved Marc and wanted him out of prison. And she’d assumed I’d be married to Radek by now.
Which, arguably, I was . . .
“You’re thinking hard.” Marc pushed the hair from my face. “What’s turning around in your pretty little head?”
Jealousy?
“Nothing. What are we waiting for?” I whispered.
“For everyone to get here. Then the meeting will start.”
I couldn’t imagine more people fitting into the tavern, but a never-ending stream of rebels proceeded to pour inside. The entire town of Kladno was in attendance.
Finally, after another half an hour of waiting, Petr climbed on top of the bar.
“What is he doing?” I asked.
“Getting the room’s attention,” Henrik answered.
Henrik was right. As Petr stood high on the bar, the room grew quiet. He stepped over a plate of goulash and between a row of beer mugs. “People of Kladno and our visitors from Prague, welcome!”
The room applauded.
Petr lifted his arm and the crowd quieted. A black string was tied around his left wrist. Marc and Henrik wore the same band. It was the symbol of the Protestant revolution. All the rebels in the room wore the same symbolic string around their wrists.
“I am happy to announce the safe arrival of my sons, Marc and Henrik.” Petr paced on top of the bar.
Igor stood on wobbly legs and raised his mug in the air. “To Jiri, may he drink with the angels in Heaven. We will avenge my nephew’s murder.”
A hundred or so mugs rose in the air.
Marc swallowed and slammed his mug on the wooden table. Ale sloshed over the rim and pooled onto the damp wood.
Henrik clanked his mug against Marc’s. “We’ll get Urek and Kristoff. Don’t worry. We will find them both.”
“I’ll hunt them down if it’s the last thing I do.”
An old man sitting a few tables away stood. Hooded eyes found me. “Is it true we have the duchess?”
A collective movement of eyes shifted to me. I couldn’t hide anymore. My presence was officially known. There would be no more rumors. There would be no going back.
“Ludmila Nováková is here,” Petr said.
The crowd rumbled. It was clearly a rumble, not a cheer.
My stomach plummeted to my toes. I lowered my head. The people of Kladno didn’t want me in their village. I was an outsider. An outcast. They didn’t trust me. I wanted to run from the tavern, but Marc wouldn’t let me.
I k
ept my eyes averted; I didn’t want to make eye contact with any of them. My cheeks grew hot. Igor’s glare was the strongest, and it bore into me like a dagger through the heart.
A few of the braver men in the room shouted their disapproval. “She’s a Catholic! A member of the royal house!”
Petr waited for the noise to die down before he resumed. “She is,” he conceded.
The crowd grumbled.
“You are right in your assessment,” Petr said. “Mila is most certainly a Catholic and she most certainly was a member of the royal house—an elite member of Rudolf’s court. While we are on the topic, I should disclose to those of you who do not already know . . . Mila is the daughter of Václav Novák, the high chancellor.”
The people hissed and booed.
Marc stiffened beside me.
My eyes flitted around the tavern. It was fully of angry faces and one smug smile—Ruzena’s.
“With that being said, none of it matters anymore. Mila is one of us now.” Petr nodded his head. “She is a member of the rebellion.”
“We should ransom her!” a voice shouted. “We need the money! The Crown will pay a significant sum if we return her.”
“She’s a spy! Arrest her!”
Marc shot to his feet.
The room went quiet.
“No one will touch a hair on Mila’s head.” Marc glared around the room. “Does everyone understand? If anyone touches her or speaks ill to her, then they will have to deal with me. She is a lady and our guest. She will be treated as such. I will not have it any other way.”
“Marc.” Petr waved at him. “Come.”
Marc squeezed through the narrow row of benches, softly caressing the back of my head as he passed by. It was a comforting gesture, but I still felt uneasy. The tension in the room was tangible and it was all directed at me. I’d never experienced such animosity before.
Marc lithely climbed onto the bar as Petr slid down to the ground. The movement felt symbolic. It was as if Petr had passed the torch to his son.
Henrik inched beside me on the bench. “You’re not a crowd favorite.”
“You’ve gathered as much?”
“I did. I thought from all the booing and chanting that they wanted to burn you at the stake.”