The Secret Princess (13 page)

“Thank you,” she whispered, and he first thought she referred to the protective drape of his arm over her cloak. But then she added, “My brother’s rash choices have put you at risk more than once now.”

He pressed his face close to hers, nudging aside her hood with his nose so he could whisper directly into her ear. “You have begged me many times not to
hurt him. I pray my actions prove—”

But before he could finish speaking, the Illyrians at the head of their party urged him forward earnestly.

“See here.” One of Warrick’s men crouched near the ground, his fingers hovering just above the earth, tracing the outline of boot prints and hoofprints. “He dismounted and led his horse from this point.” The man nodded to Luke as he stood. “We
must be getting closer.”

Luke peered past them through the trees, which were dense in this part of the forest, where no Lydians ever ventured to cut them. The bright moonlight cut through the canopy in patches, and Luke caught sight of movement up ahead.

“The horse?” He pointed to the pale form, barely visible through the trees. He didn’t want to leap out at the animal if it proved to
be other than Bertie’s mount.

Warrick and his men squinted in that direction.

“The horse.” Warrick nodded to his men, and they led them toward the animal.

Luke laced his fingers through Evelyn’s as he took her hand, keeping her close beside him in the uncertain terrain. They reached the horse a moment after Warrick’s men.

Evelyn sucked in a breath, and her fingers tightened
around his.

“What is it?”

“He left his pack.” Evelyn pointed to the horse’s back, which had been stripped of the bearskin, though the pack Bertie had returned to Fier to fetch still lay draped across the animal’s withers.

“He can’t have gone far, then,” Luke guessed, and Evelyn nodded. He couldn’t help wondering what she must be thinking, or if she had any insight into why her brother
had traveled to the mines at night. But the need for silence was greater than his curiosity, and the urgency of their mission meant there wasn’t time to stop to talk.

While Luke peered through the dark woods for any sign of Bertie, his men crouched near the ground seeking footprints or any clue that would indicate where the boy had passed. Given the darkness, Luke didn’t expect them to find
much, but shortly Dan tugged at his sleeve.

“See here?” The soldier indicated a slight indentation in the mud.

Luke recognized the size and shape of the print, which matched those they’d seen at the spot where the boy had dismounted from his horse. “Which way?” Luke whispered, aware they were getting quite close to the Illyrian encampment, and there were bound to be guards. Given the
size of their party, they’d have to take every possible precaution if they hoped to go unnoticed.

Dan scowled as he scanned the earth. Between the darkness and rocky ground, it was difficult to find any more footprints. And the longer he and his men shuffled about, the more likely they were to obscure those that might have been there.

Warrick motioned to Luke from a spot closer to the
caves. “This way.” He pointed toward the Illyrian encampment as Luke drew closer.

A glint of metal caught Luke’s eye as he peered ahead in the direction Warrick indicated. His spine stiffened. He’d been wondering for some time what Bertie might have been thinking getting this close to the Illyrian encampment, and now the precariousness of his position hit him full force.

What if it was
a trap? He’d ridden into a known point of Illyrian concentration with Illyrians in his midst. Indeed, not counting Evelyn, who as of the day before had been a member of Garren’s household, Luke and his men were three...against untold numbers of Illyrians.

And there was no sign of the boy. If Bertie was indeed out there, he might easily have been drawn into the plot by any of Warrick’s men.

“We should creep closer,” Warrick suggested. “Why don’t you go? The boy might recognize you and show himself, whereas if he sees my men, that would only push him deeper into hiding.”

Luke stared ahead at the Illyrian encampment as Warrick spoke. Why would the Illyrian prince suggest the Lydian heir venture alone into an Illyrian camp with his enemies encircling him on every side?

“No,” Luke said firmly. “We shall fall back and wait for daylight.”

“Why? We’re this close.” Warrick looked perplexed.

The prince’s words only solidified Luke’s decision. Why should Warrick protest—unless he had some ulterior motive?

“The boy won’t venture far from his horse. We’ll wait here. He’ll be back soon enough.”

Warrick’s expression hardened, but he didn’t argue with
Luke, simply fell back silently after him as he crept back toward where Bertie had tied his horse. Luke interpreted the prince’s displeasure as a sign that his fears might be correct. Had Warrick contrived this situation to lure Luke away from the safety of Sardis?

From an Illyrian standpoint, Warrick’s plan would make sense—too much sense, really. With Luke dead, Warrick could marry Elisabette,
kill off King John and declare himself king of Lydia by virtue of his bride. Prince Mark was all the time away at sea and could be dealt with the moment his ship docked off Castlehead. Warrick wouldn’t know about the child Queen Gisela carried—no formal announcement had yet been made, and anyway, what was to prevent Warrick from killing the pregnant queen, as well?

And Luke had always been
the soldier prince. Warrick would find far less resistance to his plans if he eliminated Luke first.

Dan stepped close to Luke as he reached the men. Luke met his eyes and saw a message there. Warning? Concern? He wouldn’t know for sure until he could speak with the soldier alone.

“We’ll stay here and wait for the boy to return,” Luke announced quietly.

Evelyn looked disappointed,
possibly even distraught, and glanced at Warrick.

Why?

Luke followed her gaze. Was there something going on between those two? Was Evelyn in on Warrick’s plans? Had she plotted to betray him? He wanted to dismiss the thought, but too much about it fit. Evelyn was, after all, a member of Warrick’s household. And the Illyrian prince had hardly raised an eyebrow at the sight of Evelyn dressed
in royal garb.

Why not?

Dan leaned close to Luke. “I fear treachery,” he whispered.

Luke drew back just far enough to meet the soldier’s eyes and nodded slightly. Then he addressed the rest of those gathered around. “Dan and I shall circle around this way a bit. Sacha, you stay here with Evelyn. Warrick, you and your men may circle around the other direction if you like, but above
all else, don’t give away our presence.”

Warrick nodded, and though he still looked stern faced, he led his men slowly around the way Luke had indicated.

Once Luke and Dan were out of earshot, Dan whispered, “I saw the woman, Evelyn, and her brother, Bertie, speaking with Prince Warrick in the doorway of his chamber just before dinner.”

Luke felt his heart nearly stop with alarm.
Was Evelyn part of the plot against him? He hated to think she might be, and yet...

“I couldn’t hear their words,” Dan continued, “but the boy was near tears, and Evelyn appeared to be pleading with Prince Warrick. I would have told you sooner, but at the time I thought it must be some personal matter, with them being slaves in his father’s household and escaped to Lydia and all that. But
now we find ourselves lured, as it were, into a trap of sorts.”

“I agree, Dan.” Luke swallowed past a hard lump that had formed in his throat. What had Evelyn said to Warrick? Luke couldn’t imagine that the Illyrian prince would give the slave audience unless something was afoot.

But if the Illyrians were scheming against him, why had Evelyn been pleading? Had Warrick entangled the siblings
in his plans against their will? Was Evelyn only reluctantly involved? Too many times her heartfelt words had been interrupted. Would she have warned him if she could?

Luke wanted to believe Evelyn was on his side, but just as surely, he knew his feelings for her bent his sympathies. The risks were far too great for him to follow his heart on the matter. If he let the woman blind him to the
trap laid all about them, all of Lydia would be in peril, including his brother and the pregnant queen.

“We must fall back to Sardis.” Luke posed his plan thoughtfully. “But we can’t let on to Warrick what we’re doing, or he and his men will surely pounce. We’re greatly outnumbered. Oh, how did I let this befall us?”

“I didn’t see it until now, either, Highness. There’s nothing to be
done now but to get out any way we can.”

His mind nearly made up, Luke turned to head back to the spot where he’d left Evelyn when Dan’s next words froze him in his tracks.

“What of the woman? Evelyn?”

“What of her?”

“Is she to return with us or stay here?”

Luke exhaled with a low moan. He wanted her to stay with him, preferably in his arms, at his side, where he could
hold her close and keep her safe.

If Evelyn was working with Warrick, Luke ought to leave her behind. But if she’d pleaded with the Illyrian for Luke’s sake, then perhaps she was only a victim of the situation and could indeed be trusted after all. One thing was certain. Luke wished he hadn’t kissed her, because it only confused the matter with feelings.

He had to believe she was on
his side, whatever her involvement might be. She’d kissed him with too much affection for him to believe she truly wanted him dead.

“She’ll come with us,” Luke decided.

Dan’s eyes widened, but he didn’t protest Luke’s command.

When they reached Sacha and Evelyn, they found Warrick had taken his men some distance around in the other direction. Luke felt the urgency of their situation.
Now was their chance. If Warrick returned before they got away, they might never escape.

“Come. This way.” Luke took Evelyn’s hand and led her back past Bertie’s horse.

“Where are we going?” she asked after they’d gone some distance past the horse toward Sardis.

Luke was reluctant to tell her, but she surely suspected already, and perhaps if he watched her closely while he explained
his plan, he might get some clue about her position on the matter.

“We’re headed back to Sardis.”

Evelyn stopped still in her tracks, her eyes wide. “Without Bertie?” She managed to keep her voice down, but she stared at him pleadingly. “We’ve come all this way.”

Dan cleared his throat.

Luke realized that if he didn’t speak soon, his men would tell Evelyn. So he swallowed back
his hesitation. “We fear a trap.”

Evelyn hung her head, her face cast in too much shadow for Luke to guess her feelings or interpret her involvement. Finally she looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ll stay behind.” She slipped her hand free of his.

It took Luke a long moment to get over his disappointment enough to realize Evelyn’s plan was for the best. He’d offered to protect
her. She’d turned him down. Why? Out of guilt, or disappointment that he’d seen through the trap? He wished there was time to discuss the matter, but he’d had trouble enough prompting her to speak of her past. There wasn’t nearly time for him to try to wrest the truth from her now.

Besides, duty bound him to protect his kingdom, not this Illyrian slave, no matter what his feelings were for
her. Still, disappointment gnawed at him that she’d chosen to part ways with him.

“We’d best keep moving,” Sacha urged him, his gaze directed through the trees. “Warrick and his men have turned back toward where we left the horse.”

They had no choice but to hurry. Luke bent his head and whispered to Evelyn, “Return to Sardis with your brother if you can. I’ll leave instructions there
for your care. I must go on to Castlehead.”

“Godspeed,” Evelyn whispered.

“Make haste, Your Highness,” Dan urged. “I hear horses. The Illyrians may be surrounding us even now.”

Fear shot through him, enough to force Luke to pull away from Evelyn and leave her behind, though he wanted very much to kiss her goodbye. “To the horses,” he told his men.

They hastened to the spot
where they’d left the animals, passing through the thickest part of the woods to where the trees became wider spaced nearer the path by which they’d traveled. The night had lengthened and the moon stood high and bright above them, shining down from a cloudless sky. The light was enough to illuminate the path clearly.

And just as clearly, Luke saw as they burst through the trees, his horses
were not alone. They were surrounded by Illyrian warhorses led by Omar.

And King Garren.

King Garren spoke. “Stop there if you wish to live.”

Chapter Thirteen

E
velyn stared after Prince Luke as he walked away from her and disappeared into the dark woods. She felt her heart tear within her chest. What had he meant by his words? He feared a trap—what sort of trap? She wanted to run after him, to learn what he feared and protect him in some way, but at the same time her brother was somewhere behind her amid the dangers
of the mines.

How could she choose between Luke and her brother? If she went after the prince, what would happen to Bertie? And yet if she let Prince Luke walk away, when would she see him again? He’d looked at her so strangely as he’d spoken of his fears. She couldn’t say for certain what he’d meant by that look. It was too dark out, and she’d never seen quite that expression on his face
before, but it didn’t sit well with her, and she wished for some reassurance that he wasn’t upset with her. She felt as though her heart might break if he was.

Even still, she told herself it didn’t matter. At best, Luke might help her and Bertie get closer to Aachen. At worst, he’d kill them both. She needed to remember there could never be anything between them, no matter how much the memory
of his kisses compelled her to run after him or how much she wished she could accept his offer to woo her.

Her place was with her brother. How many times had her father, and even her mother so long ago, told her to look after Bertie? She had a responsibility. Bertie was the only family member she had left, save for grandparents far away and King Garren, who only claimed her when it was expedient
for him.

Denying the pounding of her heart, Evelyn returned to the spot where Bertie had tied his horse. She tugged downward on the slack lead rope and patted the animal’s haunch. The pale horse lowered himself down onto the earth, disappearing from view behind the thick bushes. Evelyn crouched down beside the animal in the place of greatest cover. She pulled the hood of her cloak up over
her head and wrapped the rest about her, grateful for the animal’s warmth against the coolness of the night.

She was exhausted. No doubt her unsteady emotions could be attributed in part to her lack of sleep. She would stay by the horse and wait for her brother.

And pray.

* * *

Luke stopped in his tracks and looked to his men, but the wariness in their expressions told him
what he’d already guessed in one glance at the party assembled before them.

They didn’t have any chance trying to fight their way through Garren and his men. Not when they were so vastly outnumbered.

“Tie them up,” King Garren commanded. “Take their weapons. Check for hidden knives. I won’t have him slipping away from me this time.”

Garren’s men tugged Luke’s men away from him,
looting them of their weapons before binding them tightly.

“Now—” King Garren moved close to Luke only once the prince had been tightly bound “—where is my son?”

Luke stared at the man for a long moment, wondering what Garren was up to. Surely the king knew where Warrick was if he was in on the trap with him. And yet Luke had expected the Illyrians to kill him, not simply tie him up.
Perhaps Garren didn’t know of Warrick’s plans...but, then, what was the king doing here?

“He sent a messenger to you not many hours ago, after nightfall.”

“We met the messenger on the road and changed our route to catch up to Warrick. My men and I were headed to Sardis to retrieve the items you stole from me.”

Luke could only assume the king referred to Bertie and Evelyn, who were
his property as slaves. “I did not steal them. They came willfully.”

“Came willfully?” the King bellowed, his laughter hot in Luke’s face and tainted with the heavy odor of drink. “Came willfully? Since when do a crown and signet ring do anything of their own will?”

“A crown and signet ring?” Luke repeated under his breath, taken aback. What was Garren up to this time? Another ruse?
But surely, judging from the intensity of the odor of wine pouring from him, King Garren wasn’t fit to plot anything at the moment. Both his anger and his words seemed sincere.

“My crown.” Garren raised his voice, gesturing with his sword. “And my signet ring. They were stolen from me two nights ago and I will have them back.”

Luke wanted to deny any involvement, but then he recalled
the pack Bertie had brought forth from Fier, the bulging bag whose contents Luke had never seen. Had Bertie stolen the king’s crown? If so, Garren would have more than enough grounds for retaliation in accordance with the peace treaty.

If he brought war down on Lydia now, Byzantium would back him. There would be war between Rome and Constantinople, and Lydia would be trampled.

Omar approached
the king and murmured something Luke couldn’t quite catch, but the king nodded.

“Sleep,” Garren bellowed, and Luke guessed Omar had instructed the king to sleep off some of his lingering drunkenness. “Sleep now, and we’ll sort this out in the morning. I’ll get my crown back—if I have to go through you to get it.” He held out his sword, pressing the tip against Luke’s chest, then wavering
unsteadily, so that Luke feared the blade might stab through his leather armor at any moment.

But Omar tugged the king back, and he shuffled away, muttering something about untrustworthy neighbors.

Luke watched them go, grateful they’d let him live this much longer, at least. Of course, King Garren saw Luke as the key to getting Warrick back alive. As long as Luke remained useful, he
could hope to live. But Warrick was nearby and might happen upon Garren at any moment.

How much longer would Luke and his men be allowed to live then?

* * *

Evelyn awoke in darkness with a horrible sense of dread pounding inside her chest. She blinked up at the dark, cloudless sky. The moon had sunk below the horizon, but there was yet no sign of the sun. It was the darkest hour
of night, then, the deep darkness before morning. The stars twinkled distantly, their light too meager to do much more than highlight the blackest shadows.

Her throat dry, Evelyn reached for Bertie’s pack and found his flask. She drank, reserving enough for her brother should he return, her hands trembling as she realized he wouldn’t have left the precious water behind if he’d expected to
be gone this long. Where was he? What detained him? Had he entered the mines in search of gold? Or had the Illyrians discovered him among them?

Her stomach, taunted by the lack of sustenance in the liquid, growled, and she dug through Bertie’s pack for food, producing three bread rolls such as had been served at dinner in Sardis. Had Bertie taken them from the table?

It didn’t matter,
only that it told her he’d been plotting to leave during the meal and had taken the rolls deliberately in preparation, sneaking them when she wasn’t looking so he wouldn’t have to confess his plans. She chewed one, hoping to silence her stomach before it awoke anyone else. Where were Warrick and his men, anyway? She might have expected them to return to the horse, but she saw no sign of them or
anyone else.

She swallowed the last of the roll. Though it quieted her stomach, she found the dread between her ribs only grew stronger. Something was amiss. “Dear God,” she prayed in a silent breath, “guide me. Help me. Help Bertie. Protect us, by Your mercy.”

Saving the two remaining rolls, she decided to check the other side pack, the one that counterbalanced the food pack, on the
other side of the pale horse’s withers. Slipping her fingers into the bag, she encountered something solid and sharp and pulled it out.

Jewels sparkled in the dim light of the stars.

King Garren’s crown!

Evelyn’s heart sank. She knew instantly why Bertie had taken it—the temptation had been too much when he’d gone for the signet rings and items that were rightfully theirs. And her
father had long said he was Garren’s true heir, the crown rightfully his, and Bertie’s after him. Rabertus had been born of King Garren’s first marriage, which had never been dissolved. So, then, Garren’s marriage to his brother’s widow was unlawful and Warrick illegitimate, ineligible to rule.

Not that her father had ever had any success making his argument heard. How much less, then, would
her brother be able to stake his claim? And yet the stubborn boy hadn’t been able to resist taking the crown he believed ought someday to belong to him.

Replacing the crown inside the pouch, Evelyn dug about, identifying some items by feel with her fingers until she hit upon a dagger in its sheath and paused long enough to pull it out.

She recognized the inlaid scabbard, the work of
her mother’s father. This treasure was rightfully hers, and she quickly undid the leather knots, retying it around her waist. With trepidation pounding through her, she crept away from the horse to see what she could learn.

Warrick and his men lay resting a stone’s throw ahead of her in a line parallel to the Illyrian encampment near the caves. Rather than risk awakening either party, she
turned and followed the path Luke had taken with his men. Perhaps she could circle around a bit and come at the caves from another direction. Perchance her brother had come back for his horse but missed the animal in the darkness, hidden as it was by thick bushes.

She hadn’t gone far when she glimpsed odd shadows in front of her and stopped. What was there? With slow steps, she crept forward
until she recognized human forms slumped about.

Were they dead?

No, just resting. In a few more silent steps she drew close enough to recognize the Illyrians. With a start, she saw Omar among them, and not far from him her grandfather.

What were they doing here?

No sooner did the question race through her head than she realized the answer. Her grandfather had returned to Fier
in a rage after the encounter with the Lydians and the bear. He’d called for drink and gone to bed too bleary-eyed to see anything, but when he’d awakened the next morning, he’d noticed his crown was gone.

And when he’d called for her and Bertie and found them gone, as well, even he could have guessed the rest. He’d come after them to get back his crown and punish them for taking it. No doubt
he’d rebuke all those who’d helped them escape, as well.

She’d brought violence upon Lydia. The realization hit her conscience with searing pain. After all Prince Luke had done to help her, she’d brought Garren and his men here in a fit of bloodthirsty rage. She had to do something. But how could she make everything right again?

Blinking at the sleeping soldiers, she tried to count them.
If she rode to Sardis, could she explain the situation to Luke’s men, tell them the number of Garren’s forces and bring a defense party back?

Luke.

She saw him the moment she wondered where he’d gone, and her heart sank.

He was propped in a heap along with Sacha and Dan.

Dead?

She prayed not, though she’d never known her grandfather to extend mercy for a single moment.
Moving cautiously closer, she saw to her relief that Prince Luke’s chest rose and fell. He was not dead, then. Only asleep.

Relief washed over her along with a flood of feelings she’d tried for so long to deny. No matter the circumstances between her and Prince Luke, she felt great affection for him. She’d cared for him since the moment they’d laid him injured before her and told her to save
his life. And since that time, all she’d learned about the stubborn, willful prince had only increased her affection for him.

For so long she’d wondered if she could trust him, holding his royal status against him because of the way her grandfather had treated her. But Prince Luke had risked much for her. He’d been captured and bound for her. Too late she realized she could trust his good
intentions. Somehow she had to help him.

But what could she possibly do? If she crept any closer, the Illyrians might hear her movements and awaken. And yet she couldn’t leave him there. The Illyrians would stir eventually. If she had any chance of freeing Luke and his men, it was now, under the cover of darkness.

Her mind made up, she made her way silently toward the sleeping Lydians,
alert lest the Illyrians spot her. But even if Garren had posted a guard, all his men slept now, the darkness too deep and the woods too silent for any man to keep awake for long.

She reached the prince and for one moment simply gazed at him as the soft starlight illuminated his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. She recalled with bittersweet affection the kisses he’d given her—sweet treasures
she’d hold always in her heart, no matter what else might pass between them.

He was such a noble man—far more noble than mere rank implied. His actions, his convictions—all were far nobler than those of the royals she’d lived among for the past five years. Though she’d initially distrusted him because of his station, he’d proven himself honorable. She longed for an instant to kiss him again
but then realized the foolishness of that impulse. If she didn’t act quickly, she might lose him yet.

Pressing her lips near his ear to warn him so he wouldn’t startle at her touch, she whispered, “Shh, I’m going to cut you free.” At the same moment, she found the knots that bound him and worked silently, carefully, to cut through the ropes without hurting him with her sharp blade.

A moment later the ropes fell free, and she got to work on the others while Luke untied the bindings on his legs.

“I’ll get the weapons,” Sacha mouthed to them silently, and crept away before Evelyn had quite realized what he was saying.

Dan started after him, but Evelyn pulled Luke’s sleeve in the other direction.

He met her eyes for just a moment, nodded his understanding and crept
silently after her, putting some meager distance between them and the Illyrians before Dan and Sacha caught up to them with their weapons. They rearmed themselves, moving slowly and deliberately to avoid making any noise that might rouse their enemies.

Evelyn wished they’d hurry. The eastern sky bled a sickly yellow-green. Soon enough the sun would rise, and then not even the thickest trees
would be enough to hide them from Garren and his men.

And they still hadn’t found Bertie.

“Did you have second thoughts?” Luke whispered close to her ear.