The Wrong Prince (19 page)

DMITRI AWOKE TO A BLINDING sun and yammering men. He squinted, reaching for his spectacles. The soft grass and woven Atasi blankets were certainly more comfortable than the rigid prison cell floor had been, but he was still adjusting to the change. Every so often, he expected to find himself back in the tower, as though he’d only imagined his escape.

Another morning of washing in cold stream water, folding and repacking supplies, and mounting his horse with the girl, Luccia, to continue the strenuous ride south. It had been so long since the prince had last seen the outdoors, inhaled fresh air and heard the sounds of birdsong, that the sensations were overwhelming. He galloped among the knights in a daze, still shocked that he’d made it out alive, yet somehow deeply saddened, even so.

It was Pavola. She dominated his dreams and every waking thought, her parting words devastating him more with each recollection. Dmitri ached. How had he permitted things to end in such a way? And where was she when he’d gone to her chamber? Was she all right?

Were he alone, he would weep. He had lost his only love, forever. As it were, he was surrounded at all hours by his brother, their many men…and his fiancée.

The term felt foreign to him, as did the young woman, whom Dmitri barely knew. But she had gone after him, a complete stranger, much to her own endangerment. The woman was obviously goodhearted, and had her hopes fixed on marrying him, as was rightfully arranged between their families. Dmitri didn’t think he could handle the guilt, nor could he reward such bravery by snubbing her unjustly. Especially considering that Pavola would be well on her way to West Halvea by now, and he would likely never see her again.

Still, his heart did not belong to Luccia, and he was unsure if it ever would. Could a broken heart truly be healed? Or could it only be patched with distance and distraction, until trained to beat to a different rhythm?

Either way, Dmitri did not wish to be placated. He wanted to mourn, to wallow. At least it would serve as proof that he’d experienced real love. It had concluded badly, but it had happened. He’d not deceive himself. He could fool everyone else—indeed, it appeared he should have to. But his love for Pavola would ever remain, quietly stored away in a secret compartment of his heart reserved just for her, which he’d allow no duration of time to penetrate.

The Crown Prince could scarcely believe his eyes when his companions pointed out the castle in sight, just another day’s march down the slopes. They were almost home. Although, he wondered if it would still feel like home. Somehow, he feared nothing would feel the same again.

The following afternoon was a blur of trees and woodland paths, clouds and grasshoppers and sunlight. The horses stank and swished their tails, and Dmitri sat silently in the leather saddle with his betrothed, barely listening to the knights’ banter. It had never felt stranger to see the spires of the castle looming closer as the sky shifted to a balmy dusk, and the horses trotted onto the cool, fertile grasses of home.

His escort trumpeted and
huzzah
-ed, and Dmitri recognized Kellan, Roc and the others as they emerged, flabbergasted, from their posts. His reception was a haze of shouts, cheers, confusion, bowed heads, and bent knees. The prince was dizzy as he and Luccia were helped down from their horse with far more assistance than necessary, and ushered indoors by an unrelenting entourage brimming with countless questions, fussing and chatter. Dmitri wished to cover his ears against the amplification of the voices echoing off the limestone walls and marble floors as he entered the castle. He hadn’t realized how fatigued he was until that moment. As he endured the tearful, suffocating embraces of his mother and father, he suddenly desired nothing more than sleep.

Eternal, numbing sleep.

THEIR RECEPTION WAS OVERWHELMING, TO understate the matter. After so much freedom and openness on the road, Lucie felt smothered by the swarm of staff and servants fretting over her and the princes.

“Miss Camerlane,” gasped the maids, in a tizzy. “We thought you’d been abducted, too!”

“Nay,” Geo announced to the room at large, “she went after the Llewesians herself, and helped rescue the Crown Prince. She ought to be decreed a national heroine.” His gaze latched onto her, and Lucie stared back.

He appeared to wish to say more, but decidedly closed his mouth, stepping away. Lucie could only whisper his name as she was swept by a gaggle of maids, who clucked about alerting her father and returning her home. Geo did not watch, only turned, his shoulders slack, and disappeared through the crowd.

Lucie felt like crying as the king and queen interviewed her briefly, ensuring that she was all right and had not been harmed, before ordering a carriage to chauffer her to Backshore, with accompaniment. When the transit was prepared, the castle guards gently guided her outside, and helped her into the vehicle. Lucie peered out the windows, searching hopefully for a last glimpse of Geo. Alas, he was nowhere to be seen.

Her heart lodged in her throat as she watched the castle shrink behind her. The road curved around the long lake, its shadowy waters dotted with peaceful swans. Somehow, it seemed larger to her than she remembered. Perhaps she’d grown accustomed to the intimacy of the small, shallow pools in the Atasi’s caverns, and had forgotten just how much distance truly existed between her and Geo.

She looked down at the carriage floor, resting her chin in her hands. Things would not be the same without his daily companionship. Would he act upon the love they had professed, down in the dungeons of Wintersea? It wasn’t her place to say anything; she was powerless. But the prince could appeal to his parents, couldn’t he? Was it not too late?

Perhaps it was, though. She stifled a sniffle, glum. She had been lifted from the castle—and from Geo—against her will, as if by an uncompromising tide. The manner in which she was made to ride home in silent compliance, and proceed with the plans that had been laid out before her, only reinforced the strength of the system she was up against. She and the prince were outnumbered by a dynasty, a nation. They were required to do what was expected of them.

Still, she couldn’t picture a future as Prince Dmitri’s wife, ever kind though the young man was. And worse, she hated more to imagine Geo marrying another girl. Reeling from the thought, she glanced up to realize they were just arriving home.

The horses slowed, and Lucie took a moment to appreciate the momentary calm. She waited as the guards opened the carriage door and helped her out into the evening air. Up the brick path they walked her to the manor’s front door, past the garden trellises climbing with ivy and vines, and had barely administered their knocks when the door swung open. Lucie braced herself for the next round of excitement as the staff erupted before her.

She was hugged and coddled, prodded and scolded, and Cook even cried for joy. Lucie embraced the old woman, who had nourished her since the day she outgrew a wet nurse. Yet, she wished they would stop treating her like a child. She was twenty summers old. If only they knew the woman she was…and had been, for a time.

Her father was out riding, she was told, but a messenger was dispatched to alert him of his daughter’s return. With the promise of a merry reunion, the maids herded Lucie up to her quarters for a much-needed bath. She had no strength to argue, but conformed to their will, begging her tired legs to rise with each step. They led her to the vanity, where they rolled up her sleeves and began massaging balm into her chapped hands as the others drew her bath.

“Don’t know what you was thinking, venturin’ out on an exploit like that,” chided Anabel, although she swatted a tear from her eye. “Had us all pinched up in knots, worryin’ after ye.”

Another maid, Moira, embraced her a second time. “We’re so happy you’re safe. It was utterly foolish, what you did.” She lifted the silver brush from the table, and raked it through Lucie’s hair. “But very brave.” She smiled.

“Aye, you must love the prince,” crowed Susan.

Lucie bowed her head, watching the iron manacle still fastened around her wrist. In her weariness, she was inundated with memories of Geo dancing with her at the inn, teaching her to swim in the cavern’s placid pools, kissing her with the plentitude of his affection when they sat bound in the dungeon, believing themselves condemned to their last hours.

“Yes,” she replied. “I do love the prince.”

BELLS COULD BE HEARD FROM the manor and all throughout the surrounding villages, drifting above the peaked rooftops and chapel steeples. The late summer heat settled into the atmosphere, promising another sweltering morning for the royal wedding. In spite of the day’s pending event, Backshore seemed remarkably quiet, an anticipatory hush settling among the servants as they prepared the bride for the ceremony during the last moments she would call the manor home.

Lucie had not returned to the Straussens’ castle since the evening she’d arrived from Llewes, and had not seen or heard from the princes, either. Since her excursion, she’d been closely monitored—although on more than one occasion, she’d gone to the pavilion to check whether Geo might have left her a note. It was how they had always communicated in the past. But the moons had come and gone with no word from him. Lucie had hoped something might have changed. But then, why would it?

It was time to accept the course of her future. By the close of the morning, she was to exchange vows with Dmitri Straussen, and forever hold her peace. She had considered everything from running away to refusing, but would not disgrace her father and the royal family. Neither would she endanger Geo. She was a woman grown, and childish behavior was behind her. Life demanded maturity and sacrifice. Lucie would not cower, but meet her fate with grace. She had no other option.

Resigned, she stood tall before the gold-rimmed mirror in her dressing room as the seamstress made final adjustments to the bridal gown, and her maids carefully clipped a veil into her hair. She stared emptily into the reflection of the stoic bride swathed in pale pink tulle, a chiffon mantilla ornamenting her long hair.

“You look radiant,” whispered the seamstress, stepping back to examine her handiwork. “I can tell you’re nervous, but you worry needlessly. You will make a fine princess.”

Lucie nodded, but could not bring herself to smile.

Her father and grandmother had already departed. The guests were convening at the wedding site, which would take place outdoors, where the Reveal Banquet had been. Lucie climbed into the carriage with her ladies-in-waiting, careful not to crease or else rumple the fine fabric she wore, and rode to the castle in silence.

She watched the lake drift past, and blotted her damp palms on her gown. It was bad enough exchanging vows with a man she didn’t love, but she hadn’t even permitted her mind to wander to the details of the wedding night—until then. Her heart rattled fretfully as she wondered if she would really be required to share her new husband’s bed. Perhaps she could manufacture some excuse to avoid it? Still, she would have to succumb, eventually…and when she did, would he realize her virginity was not intact? How would she explain then?

“Breathe easy.” The maid beside her patted her arm. “‘Tis common that a bride should be anxious before her wedding. But you’ve nothing to fear. Everything will go perfectly as planned.”

That’s exactly the problem,
thought Lucie. She massaged the empty space at her left wrist. A locksmith had since visited Backshore to release her from the iron manacle she’d worn home from Wintersea. Very soon, the same wrist would be wrapped in another binding chain—a nuptial bracelet, branding her as wife of the Crown Prince, and as such, forever forbidden from his brother. Lucie nearly preferred the manacle.

They arrived through an exclusive entrance, where she would remain hidden from the wedding party until summoned for the ceremony. In a small, clean room overlooking the gardens and lawn packed with gathering guests, Lucie waited, growing nauseated. Despite the number of times the maids asked her to sit, she only paced before the open windows, rubbing the moisture from her hands.

Finally, at the turn of the next hour, a duo of knights arrived to escort her down. Lucie took their elbows. She watched her shoes as they descended a short succession of stairs and stepped out onto the grass, where violins whined and the guests fell into a pregnant hush, but for a few whispers and sighs of delight to spot the anticipated bride.

The knights bowed, and Lucie was left alone to approach her groom. He stood before the onlookers beside an officiating priest, with a painfully familiar figure stationed behind him. Off to the side stood the king and queen, with Lucie’s father.

Freshly shed flower petals lay in her path as she treaded them reluctantly to reach her destination. Among the staring crowd, Lucie recognized her mother’s relations, and even the dark faces of her father’s cousins, who had sailed all the way from Heppestoni to attend the event. Although she dreaded the moments to come and the vows she would be required to repeat to Dmitri—in the presence of Geo, no less—at least she wasn’t alone. Her family was present to support her.

She spotted her grandmother seated in front. The old woman flashed her a watery smile, and Lucie finally grinned back, slowing before the Crown Prince. Mustering her courage, she raised her chin to look at him. The first emotion to strike her was a frivolous sense of amused relief; he wasn’t wearing those hideous spectacles! She absorbed his features without them. He didn’t much resemble his brother, but wasn’t bad-looking. Regardless, she was doomed to marry a stranger.

She didn’t look at Geo—she couldn’t. Lucie felt the weight of his presence behind the groom, and wondered if he was watching her. There was no way she could bear his face. She returned her gaze to her delicate shoes and suppressed a panicked urge to beg Geo to say something, anything, to step forth and cause a scene, overturning the whole ceremony. Alas, how selfish of her to entertain such a cruel fantasy.

The priest began with a traditional blessing, and the audience circled their brows in a gesture of holiness. The holy man then commanded Lucie and Dmitri to join hands and cross their wrists. Lucie had barely grazed the Crown Prince’s trembling fingers when a breathless voice ejected: “Wait—
I object!
”

Lucie’s head shot up, pulse thumping in amazement. The voice had not belonged to Geo. And neither was it male.