The Stolen Princess: A YA Dystopian Romance (Desolation Book 3)

by Kortney Keisel

  She went to turn the handle on the door, even though she already knew that it was locked.

  “Where’s the princess?” a voice from outside asked.

  Myka pressed her forehead against the wall, trying to look through a hole where a knot in the wood had decayed away.

  Old ’n Slow Winslow walked over to Drake. He carried a cast-iron pot with cooking utensils poking out the top. They stood fifteen to twenty feet from the shack and obviously didn’t expect her to be listening. Drake nodded toward the hut. “She’s in there.”

  Winslow frowned. “In your house?”

  Drake straightened, placing his hands on his hips. “Is that a problem?”

  “I thought we agreed to figure out a plan for the princess when we got to camp.”

  “And now we have.”

  “Why did you put her in your house?”

  Myka would like to know the answer to that question too.

  “Dawsick has proven himself a liability to our mission. If he hurts the princess, Adler will never bargain with us. She needs protection, and I can provide that.”

  “You’re just going to leave her alone in there?” Winslow nodded toward the shack.

  “She won’t go anywhere. The door is chained. Besides, I don’t think I have to spend every second with her.”

  “What? Are you already regretting that you volunteered to let her ride with you to camp?”

  He’d volunteered? Something about that piece of information stuck to her heart.

  Drake placed his hands on his hips. “I only volunteered because I wanted to make sure she didn’t escape.”

  “I say leave her locked up every day,” Dawsick said, approaching the two men. “She’s a prisoner.”

  Drake turned to him. “Her father is the one who went against the Council, not her. If the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t want Princess Seran to be locked up every day for something King Bryant had done.”

  More proof that Drake was a good guy. Myka swallowed, trying to fit that little piece of information about her captor into her head, but it was like trying to fit a square block through a circular hole. It didn’t work. Usually, Myka gave people the benefit of the doubt, but with Drake and the other men here, she refused to believe that they could be both kidnappers and good people. It was much easier to hate them.

  Dawsick’s expression went hard. “Princess Seran is dead, and it’s all Adler’s fault. I think locking up his daughter is mild compared to what he did to King Bryant’s daughter.”

  Myka’s fingers dug into the splintered boards. How could Dawsick blame Seran’s death on her father? He’d had nothing to do with it.

  “And,” Dawsick said. “I don’t like comparing Princess Seran with that girl.” He pointed to the shack, making Myka flinch. “Princess Seran was more ladylike than that immature brat will ever be.”

  Another reason to hate Horseface.

  “Watch it,” Drake said. “She’s a princess and deserves our respect.”

  Dawsick folded his arms across his chest. “I grant respect to those who are worthy. Princess Seran deserved the utmost respect. Adler’s daughter does not.”

  “She’s not like Princess Seran.” Drake shrugged. “But she’s still a woman and deserves a measure of respect.”

  An unexpected rush of hurt filled her chest. She hadn’t known Seran and didn’t know what kind of perfection they were comparing her to, but something about how they talked made Myka feel that not being like Seran was a bad thing.

  Winslow turned, walking away. “I’m going to get a fire started. Why don’t you guys gather some firewood?”

  Drake looked at the shack, making Myka duck even though there was no possible way he could’ve seen her through the tiny crack. Then he followed after Winslow and Dawsick.

  She watched as the men walked away into the woods. Myka angled her head, trying to get a better view of the trees and what was out there, but she couldn’t see anything. She grabbed a wooden chair from the small table and skidded it across the room to one of the high windows. She stepped onto the chair and pressed her head against the glass. Her eyes reached the bottom of the opening, even when she was on her toes. The glass must have been poorly recycled because Myka could barely see out of it.

  The sounds around the shack faded, and eventually, she stepped down. She paced back and forth for a moment. The village they had just come from was only an hour and a half away by horseback. There must be someone in that village who was still loyal to her father and would be willing to help her.

  Not Caressing Cora, of course. But someone else.

  She could make it to the village if she could find a way out of the shack. Since Drake was busy, maybe she could take his horse and sneak into the trees before anyone saw her.

  Myka remembered the second window on the opposite side of the room. She stepped onto the cot below it, but the window was still too high. She grabbed the chair and placed it on top of the cot, putting her at the perfect height to see out. This window was different. The glass wasn’t as thick, and there were two hinges on the top, letting her know that it would at least open. She undid the lock and banged her fists against the wooden edges, trying to loosen the glass. With each bump of her fist, the window budged a little bit more until finally, it swung open.

  Success!

  The opening wasn’t big, but Myka was confident she could scoot her body out of it. She grabbed the window sill and jumped, pulling herself up. The force of her leap knocked over the chair beneath her. Her head and her hands popped out of the window first, and then she shimmied her body until the sill was at her waist, cutting into her stomach. Myka looked around. Drake’s shack was nestled between two large trees, and with the window on the side of the shack, she had a little bit of cover from the rest of the camp. She looked around for the other kidnappers. She couldn’t believe they were holding a royal hostage and no one had stayed nearby to keep an eye on her. They had sorely underestimated her skills.

  What idiots!

  The bigger concern was the drop she was looking at. She was at least ten feet off the ground, and her only option was to fall headfirst, somersault style onto the dirt. She might be able to pull that off.

  She was spry.

  Drake’s speckled gray horse looked up from his barrel of food, making eye contact with her. He was her ticket out of there. What was the horse’s name? Do kidnappers even name their horses? She tried to think back through their ride, but she couldn’t recall Drake ever calling the animal by name.

  Myka clicked her tongue, wiggling her fingers. “Horse!” she whispered. “Horsey! Come here.” She clicked her tongue again, but the animal just stared back at her, chewing on some grass. She narrowed her gaze into his eyes, trying to do that telepathic thing where a person talks to their horse with just their mind. In that mental conversation between Myka and the horse, she promised him all sorts of things if he would walk closer to her so she could fall onto his back and not the ground.

  What do you want? Oats? Done. Some one-on-one time with a mare? I can arrange that. Whatever you want.

  The horse whinnied.

  The deal had been struck.

  Drake

  Drake had made it halfway through the forest when he realized he’d forgotten his knife. It would be easier to gather some of the drier branches up top if he had his knife with him, but it was still tucked neatly in the bag that he’d dropped so he could carry Myka inside. He jogged back to his house. It was supposed to be a quick grab, then he would rejoin Dawsick, but the sound of Myka’s voice made him slow his steps.

  “Horsey! Come here.”

  Drake’s brows bent in, and he poked his head around the corner of the shack. Half of Myka’s body hung out of a window high above the ground. Her arms flailed out in front of her as she tried to get his horse’s attention.

  Drake’s posture stiffened. How had the men he’d sent to set up the camp not thought about the window? They had thought of everything else. In their defense, the windows we
re high above the ground. They wouldn’t think the princess would dare to climb out of them. Especially headfirst. She would have to be crazy to do something like that. Then Drake remembered all the stories and scars Myka had shown him back at Rommel’s. The woman wasn’t afraid of heights.

  He watched her for a minute, shaking his head. There was a part of him that questioned her mental stability in attempting this escape. Another part of him admired her for it.

  He cleared his throat loudly, alerting Myka to his presence.

  Her head snapped to him, and she groaned.

  “I don’t know how you think the horse is going to help your situation,” Drake said, trying to keep a straight face.

  “He was going to catch me.”

  “With his arms?”

  Her eyes bore into him. “Oh, shut up!”

  “Well, good luck with that.” He turned to walk away, a smug smile playing on his lips.

  “Wait!” she called.

  He paused his steps but didn’t turn around.

  She sighed. “I think I’m stuck.”

  Drake turned around with raised eyebrows. “And?”

  “And?” She threw her hands out in exasperation. “And, what?”

  “And what would you like me to do about it?” he asked as he folded his arms across his chest.

  Her mouth dropped into a pout. “Help me get unstuck.”

  Drake squinted his eyes like he really had to think about it. “Say please,” he said, mimicking how she’d acted the day before.

  Her pouty expression turned to anger. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’ll get myself out of this window.” She pushed against the house, trying to move forward or backward, but the belt of her dress was caught on the window’s latch.

  Drake pointed. “Your dress is stuck.”

  “I know!” she hissed.

  He turned to go. “Like I said, good luck.” He took several steps before he heard her humble voice.

  “Please,” she mumbled.

  He stopped, putting his hand up to his ear. “What was that?”

  Her expression contorted with frustration. “Please, help me.”

  He stepped toward her, acting like he still hadn’t heard. It was all a game now. “I couldn’t hear you. Say it again.”

  Instead of saying please, Myka’s middle finger shot up, flipping him off. The second her middle finger came up, Drake turned to walk away, full-on smiling now.

  “Okay!” She yelled, making him stop. “Fine.” Her nose scrunched together like asking for his help was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. “Please help me out of this window.”

  A satisfied look crossed over his face. “I thought you’d never ask.” Then he went to the front door and began unlocking the chains.

  “Take your time,” she called from around the corner of the house.

  “I will. It’s not like you have anywhere to go.” He smiled to himself, enjoying the situation…a little too much.

  After a few seconds, Drake opened the door, finding the other half of Myka’s body dangling above the cot, and it wasn’t a bad half to look at. He walked to her, semi-impressed with her ability to hoist herself into the window, even if she did end up getting stuck.

  “Of course, you’d want to pull me out from this direction,” she snapped at him.

  He picked up the chair on the ground, and stood it back up before he hopped on the cot. He reached his arms above him, trying to dislodge the belt of her dress. “There’s no need to talk in code, Myka. Just say whatever you’re implying.”

  “I’m implying that Mr. Grabby Hands wants to get an upfront and personal view of my behind.”

  “I do have an upfront and personal view of your behind, but you’re the one who asked for it. No, actually, you begged for it. So really, it’s your fault,” Drake said with a grin. He maneuvered the latch off her belt and tugged at her waist, but her body wouldn’t budge. He dropped his hands and let out a sigh.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You’re more stuck than I thought.”

  “What does that mean?” she barked.

  “It means my hands might have to touch your behind—just a little bit—to get you out.”

  She let out a deep breath. “Fine.”

  Drake placed hands on her backside and pulled, trying to get enough leverage to get her hips past the window.

  “You’d better not be smiling,” Myka warned.

  “Who? Me?” His smile widened. “I would never.”

  He tugged a little more until her body started to move. His arms wrapped around her and his heart quickened as her small body slowly slid down his chest until she was standing on her own two feet on top of the cot. His arms stayed wrapped around her waist and not because they needed to.

  Myka glared up at him. “Can you change your expression?”

  Drake tried to press his lips together, hiding his smile. “What expression?”

  “That silly grin on your face.”

  “What grin?” he asked, even though he knew exactly what grin she referred to.

  Myka shoved him away, and he nearly fell off the back of the cot.

  “It’s your fault I got stuck in the window,” she said.

  “My fault?” Drake shook his head. “Do you ever take responsibility for your own actions?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  His eyebrows shot up. “You know, you can be a real pain in the a—”

  She held up the palm of her hand in front of his face, stopping him with an air of superiority. “Don’t swear. I can’t handle vulgarity.” Then she hopped down from the cot.

  He turned his head, watching her. “You just flipped me off, and you can’t handle vulgarity?”

  “Nope,” she said, folding her arms across her chest and batting her eyelashes. “I’m too sweet for something like that.”

  Sweet was not the word he would use to describe Mykaleen Adler.

  Drake stepped down from the cot. He would spend the next hour boarding up the windows to his house.

  The girl drove him crazy, but getting her to trust him would be more fun than any other mission he’d ever had.

  14

  Myka

  The shack door slammed shut, jolting Myka out of her deep sleep. She sat up, her heart pulsing between her ears. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but the room was dark now.

  Drake had his bag, a lantern and a bucket of water in one hand while he balanced a tin bowl in the other. “I brought you some food,” he said as he set everything on the table.

  She stared at him with wide eyes and a heaving chest from being startled awake.

  He raised his eyebrows at her. “Do you want it or not?”

  “I want it,” she said, crawling off the side of the cot. Even though she’d had lunch back in the village, Myka was so hungry she felt like her stomach had started eating its own inner lining.

  She sat down at the table, focusing on the bowl in front of her. It smelled delicious—but really, it was mostly broth with a slab of meat in it. Apparently, the Council operatives didn’t eat in style.

  “Where have you been?” she asked between sips. She hated how she sounded like some overly possessive housewife, accusing her husband of cheating on her.

  Drake gave her a crooked smile. “Miss me?”

  She lifted her chin. “I barely noticed you were gone.”

  He laughed as he pulled his shirt off over his head. Myka yanked her eyes back to her bowl of soup. The last thing she wanted was for Drake Vestry to think she was checking him out. Because she wasn’t. Myka had boundaries, and gawking at her kidnapper crossed the line. It was like he wanted her to look at him. A man doesn’t walk around shirtless unless he is extremely satisfied with his body. And Drake seemed to be. In the short time Myka had known him, she had seen him shirtless more times than she could count.

  Three.

  She had seen him shirtless three times.

  So she could count that, but she didn’t want
to.

  She kept her focus on her bowl, not giving him the satisfaction. That was the best way to deflate an arrogant person. Don’t give them the attention they so obviously desired.

  “I’m going to change,” he said behind her, and the sound of the curtain rings scraping on the bar pulled her eyes to the corner of the room in time to see his undergarments drop to the floor behind the curtain.

  This is awkward.

  She looked around and noticed Drake’s bag sitting on the floor at the edge of the curtain. His gun and his knife were probably in that bag, unless he somehow still had them strapped to his naked body. Myka highly doubted that. If she could get either weapon, she might be able to escape, but she would have to act fast. And by acting fast, she meant tip-toeing slowly across the room to where his bag was. She stilled her breath and made each footstep as quiet as possible. Thank goodness the room wasn’t big. She had only two more feet to go.

  “Are you trying to sneak a peek?” Drake asked with a cocky smile as he popped his head out from behind the curtain.

  Myka jumped twenty feet in the air. She eyed the bag and her pink hair tie lying next to it. “No! I was just grabbing my hair tie.” She went to reach for it, but Drake’s hand shot out from the side of the curtain, taking it before she could.

  “You can’t have it,” he said as he fell back behind the drape again.

  Myka furrowed her brows, anchoring both hands on her hips. “Why not? You don’t need it anymore, and you’re ruining it by getting it dirty, but that’s what you do best, Drake Vestry. You ruin things!”

  Like my life!

  He popped his head out from the curtain again, sporting a gloating smile. “It’s mine. I can do whatever I want with it.” Then he reached for his bag and pulled it back behind the curtain with him.

  Myka tightened her jaw as she breathed through her nose. She walked back to the table to finish eating.

  “I’m tired,” he said a minute later, opening the curtain. Myka took that as code for I’m all dressed.

  She turned her gaze over her shoulder. Drake wore a fresh pair of black pants and a clean black t-shirt.