The Wrong Prince (9 page)

CAVE-DWELLING WAS THE MOST BIZARRE way of life Geo had ever seen. Yet somehow, it worked. The Atasi had access to underground freshwater ponds, with their dwellings stationed near openings out to the mountains above, where they could ascend to hunt or harvest food and lumber.

There were a few women who housed Lucie, as was only appropriate, while Geo expended many an hour deep in discussion with his friends. Rumors were circulating that the King of Llewes was currently lodging at Wintersea, a golden opportunity for taking him out in the process of rescuing Dmitri. Only, there were Wintersea’s guards to contend with, as well as the moat.

When not strategizing with his knights, there was only one companion Geo sought. He’d not realized how accustomed he’d become to Lucie’s presence until he found himself apart from her. Something about her stuck to him, whether it was her reassuring brown eyes, or the way she spoke her mind when words failed him. In spite of himself, he found he was becoming less able to imagine life without her.

But he wouldn’t be without her. They were going to rescue his brother, and she would join the Straussens in their castle, as family. And someday, when his parents were gone, Lucie would become his queen.

There was no getting around it. Sooner or later, Geo would have to accept that the woman was not for him. And he would have to learn to settle for her friendship. It was better than nothing at all, he supposed.

After meals, he had taken to strolling around the ponds with her, where meek sunlight illuminated the caves down the wide tunnels. For the first time during their turbulent travels, there was a sense of quiet, peace.

“How do you like it down here, with the Atasi?” he asked her one evening. He was curious whether she was feeling the same calm, or if her stay among the women differed.

“It’s a bit…” she searched for a fitting word, “unsettling.” She laughed. “I mean, I never knew such a civilization existed, tiny though it may be.” Her thoughtful sigh reached the high ceiling. “But I suppose it’s the safest place to be, for now.”

“Mmm.” Geo’s response was limited as he peered into the still waters of the black pool beside them. He thought on Dmitri, praying the man was still alive, all the while beleaguered by a creeping, inescapable guilt.

He could keep it in no longer. He had to tell someone. Besides, given Lucie’s intimate connection to the Crown Prince, she deserved to know. Geo only hoped she wouldn’t hate him. “Lucie?” He paused in their promenade. “I need to tell you something.”

She halted, her eyes finding his. “Yes?”

“I think…all of this is my fault.” He took a breath. “I believe the King of Llewes captured the wrong prince. It should have been me. For, I suspect it was my arrow that slew Prince Weyland that morning, and not my brother’s.”

Confusion imprinted upon her features. “But I thought Prince Dmitri’s arrow was withdrawn from the Prince of Llewes. It bore his initials and—” She fell silent as Geo shook his head.

“That’s just the thing.” His voice dropped. “No one but Dmitri and I know that, just moments before, I’d borrowed from his quiver. We fired identical arrows at the same time.”

Lucie spoke quietly as well. “And your brother just assumed credit for the shot?”

Geo shook his head again. “It wasn’t like that. When the arrow was shown as his, neither army questioned who’d slain Prince Weyland. And why would they? The Llewesians retreated, and our knights were already celebrating Dmitri’s triumph. Who was I to steal his glory? I’ve trounced so many in battle, while he’s championed over so few. I was happy for him.”

His throat tightened. “Yet now, I know not what to do with my guilt. My brother is suffering imprisonment—and God only knows what else—for what I did. Not to mention,” his voice hitched, “I killed a child, Lucie. A thirteen-year-old boy.”

“Oh, Geo.” Her soothing hand found his chest, eyes soulful. “You don’t know any of this for sure. It could’ve been your brother’s arrow; you’ve no proof either way.”

“Yes, but I’m the better shot.” He flashed a sorry, lopsided grin.

“Even if it was
you who struck the youth,” she returned gently, “you didn’t know it was Prince Weyland. From what I was told, the boy snuck into battle, unbeknownst to all. It was his own doing. He was too young to be fighting.”

“Don’t blame the child,” Geo chided. “I would’ve done the same at his age.”

Her lips formed into a small, adoring smile. “I know you would have.”

Their gazes interlocked for a long moment, and Geo’s heart hummed. She was looking at him the way she used to, on those stolen nights together in the pavilion between the castle and Backshore, at the lake.

The lake. A thought occurred to him as the cavern’s dim light sparkled off of the placid pool in his periphery. “Lucie, I….” His voice was husky, and he hurried to clear it. “I ought to teach you how to swim.”

She blinked.

“Down here.” He gestured to the underground pond. “It’s an important life skill. You never know when you might need it.”

She nodded, finally looking away to match his gaze into the water. “You’re right,” she acceded softly. “I think I’d like that.”

THE DAYS GREW STEADILY WARMER. Dmitri became thirsty more often, and was profoundly grateful for the skins Pavola regularly filled for him. It was a muggy evening when she had completed revising his newest chapter. She made a tiny notation in the margin with her quill.

“Very good,” she concluded. “Only, I’d change the direction in which you state the wind is blowing. If the story takes place in the Lower Hemisphere, then the pressure gradient force would act from right to left, not vice versa.”

“Pavi, you’re a genius.” Dmitri folded his arms. “This is why I require your invaluable readership.”

She smiled.

“Who is your favorite character so far?” he asked her. He wanted to be sure his characters’ development was taking proper effect.

She thought. “I like Gustave,” she admitted. “Although at times he’s infuriatingly foolish, you somehow manage to make him sympathetic. But I’d have to say my favorite is Aquila.”

Dmitri laughed, delighted. “How predictable,” he teased. “Your favorite is the hero’s brainy sidekick.”

“If not for his brainy sidekick,” she replied, “Gustave would’ve bungled everything by now, reckless and gullible as he is.”

“Quite true, mademoiselle.” The man extended an arm for his papers, and she made to pass them back. “For the record,” he met her hazel eyes, “you were my inspiration for Aquila.” His hand lingered over hers until she finally released the parchments.

She took a step back, tucking her cropped hair behind her ear. Something tender stirred within Dmitri as he comprehended her glowing cheeks. Was she blushing? “Uh,” she stammered. He’d never seen her lost for words before. She finally settled on, “Th-thanks.”

His expression straightened. “Pavola.” He was sorry to dampen the moment, but he burned to know. The more time they spent together, the more the mystery of her identity, and why she resided at Wintersea, perplexed him. “Won’t you tell me who you are?”

“Even if I wanted to, Mit,” she shook her head, “I’m sworn to secrecy.”

He held out his hands, indicating his empty cell. “Whom will I tell?”

She gave him an even look, as if weighing his point. “If I tell you the truth, you must vow never to repeat it. Even I am not supposed to know.”

“You have my word,” he promised.

The girl inhaled, watching her hands. They were small, her delicate fingers dry from continual contact with paper. “Society takes little interest in King Ira’s youngest sister, the Princess Jinver,” she began cautiously. “Generally speaking, the woman has always been something of a wayward royal. And these days, I hear she’s rather a recluse.”

She sighed. “Few individuals know that, eighteen years ago, when Jinver was only fifteen, she became pregnant. Of course, she was unwed, and the man responsible was a lousy commoner. To cover it up, the royal family sent the baby away to Wintersea.” Her usually upright shoulders sagged. “And there, the Princess’s ill-conceived daughter grew up a lowly ward of the king, never having left.”

Dmitri was stunned. “You mean to say,” he whispered, “that
you
are Princess Jinver’s daughter?”

Pavola nodded heavily. “I was never supposed to know. I wasn’t even given a name. The handful of servants who’d raised me here simply called me ‘ward.’” Her face tightened. “But I always knew I was meant to be more than just a ward. At a young age, I taught myself to read. Even then, I suspected if I wanted to amount to anything outside these walls, I needed to at least be literate.

“As it happened, I delighted in the activity. So, I went about the fortress reading everything I could find, until one day, I stumbled across a plethora of documents and correspondences. Through them, I pieced together my identity. In time, I tested my theories on the servants, and they eventually caved. They told me everything.”

Her eyes shadowed over. “When the king found out, he dismissed them. All of them. The people who’d cared for me since birth, the only family I’d ever—” Her speech halted, and Dmitri recognized her distress.

“Oh, please don’t cry.” He reached through the bars to take her hand, and she let him. “I’m so sorry.”

She nodded bravely. “Well. With no one here to look after me anymore, I had to learn how to take care of myself.”

“You were a tough one,” Dmitri said.

“I had to be. Being told I ought not to exist only fueled my determination to educate myself. I renamed myself after Lu
í
z Pavola, the chemist I idolized at the time. And I read every book I could get my hands on, with the goal to break free of this godforsaken place, as soon as I came of age, to attend university somewhere. Somewhere
far,
far from here.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m tired of not existing. They can keep Princess Jinver’s daughter a secret, but they shall not suppress Pavola Ward. For I will go into the world and make a name for myself.”

Dmitri’s veins were aflame, his blood pumping both in indignation at her unjust treatment, and admiration of her ambition. “I’ve absolutely no doubt that you will,” he said, and he meant it. “But in the meantime, you ought to fight for your place in the kingdom. You are a rightful princess!”

She shook her head. “My father was a common scoundrel who seduced a fifteen-year-old girl. Just because that girl happened to be a princess does not make me one.”

“Actually,” Dmitri adjusted his spectacles, “technically speaking, it does.”

She waved him off. “I’ve no interest in royalty. And anyway, I would rather go to school and earn my renown than have it handed to me, on account of a pederast’s rape, no less.”

Dmitri glimpsed her remorseful expression as she turned away. “I—I need to go. I’ve said too much already.” She flushed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mit.”

He watched her dainty form receding from the tower room, and clamped the bars of his door with longing. “Pavola Ward,” he murmured, “would that I could make you my princess.”

“KICK YOUR FEET, LUCIE.”

She did as told, straining to keep her head above water. Somewhere in her knees, she leveraged her balance, and managed to bob. So potent was her exhaustion, however, she began to sink slightly.

Geo caught her, slick arms cradling her. “You were doing very well for a moment there.”

“I would’ve done even better, were I not so weary.” Lucie exhaled a breath of laughter, bending an arm around his neck.

“One last go, and we’ll call it day.” Geo nodded. “Ready?” He released her into the water again, and Lucie kicked steadily, rhythmically with all her might, extending her throat above the surface. “Excellent!” his deep voice bellowed throughout the cave. “Go!”

She swam around him, arching her arms as he taught her, propelling herself. When her arms tired, she wiggled her feet, shifting upright and treading water beneath her heels to stay afloat.

“You’re doing it!” The broadest of smiles brightened his already painfully handsome face. “Think you can swim out?”

“I’ll try,” she called, heading for the cavern shore.

“I’m behind you,” he assured her. She felt him move in her wake, their combined efforts casting ripples through the opaque waters.

They reached the stony ground and climbed out, the blouse and breeches Lucie had borrowed from the Atasi women sopping wet.

Geo glanced about for his shirt. Lucie saw it lying in the shadows, but hated to see him put it on. Her current view was too flawless and familiar. She pressed a hand to her brow, turning away as he finally discovered the garment.
Your
fiancé,
Lucie,
she hissed inwardly,
is this man’s brother.

The knight called Sir Aidan unexpectedly materialized through the tunnel. “Your Highness.” He inclined his head. “Miss Camerlane. I hope I’m not interrupting anything….”

“What is it, Aid?” Geo fastened the buttons of his shirt with lightning speed. The number of times Lucie had seen him do that….

Aidan hesitated. “We were hoping to speak with you. Will reckons he has an idea.”

“Very well.” Geo raked a hand through his damp hair. “Care to join us, Lu?”

Lucie paused. He had never used that nickname before. “Of course.” She released her moist hair from its bun and shook it out. She then caught Geo gawking at her. He was quick to offer the crook of his arm.

They followed Aidan to the common area, where various Tybirian knights, Atasi and rebel Llewesians converged around the stone table, sipping from their cups. A chopping block laden with shaved meats rested in the center of the table, along with a flagon of malt.

Lucie felt conscious of her dripping wet clothes, but no one seemed to mind as she squeezed onto the bench beside Geo. Sir Will seized the prince’s attention at once. “All right, I’ve got it.”

Geo watched him. “I’m listening.”

The knight’s dark ringlets shone in the firelight, his brassy smile rakish. “Let’s begin by going over what hasn’t worked.”

Geo sighed. “Must we?”

Will gave him a tiny wink. “What hasn’t worked, sir, is battle. Our men against Ira’s. Armies, cavalry, organized war.” He leaned forward. “But what if we scaled way back, and instead of enlisting all our numbers, tried enlisting just
one?”

Lucie’s eyebrows pinched together.

Will looked around the table. “Our goal is take out Ira, yes? Not even his own citizens are fond of him, apart from his army, which is admittedly massive. If we all went after the king, they’d defend him, of course, and outnumber us. But what if we didn’t
all
go after him?”

The cave was silent as dozens of faces—young and old, plain and tattooed—watched him with interest.

Will licked his lips. “What if we simply gave one person the task? Someone who would not arouse the guards, and could accomplish the deed with stealth? Ira will be gone, seeming by accident or mystery, the next in line will step up, and Llewes will possess a new leader with whom we can reason.” He held out his hands, as if to say,
simple enough.
“After a few discussions with your father and the rest of East Halvea, Your Highness, I’ll bet the war will come to a tidy end.”

“You mean, assassinate the king?” ejected Lucie. She quickly closed her mouth, realizing it was not her turn to speak. An Atasi woman shot her an amused glance.

Geo appeared to consider the idea. The knights bated their breath, until he finally answered, “And who did you have in mind for the job? Anyone specific?”

Will’s eyes danced. “I’ve heard of a formidable assassin in Belbarc, the village just outside Wintersea.”

“Wintersea?” Geo looked displeased. “But that would make him Llewesian.”

“Like I said,” Will appealed, “Llewesians are none too happy with their king.”

The Eindrow refugees grunted in assent. Lucie’s heart hammered as Geo studied Will, and the resolute knight stared back. “You think the assassin can be trusted?” The prince’s voice was no more than a breath.

Will spoke in a gravelly croak. “Oh, yes…for the right price.”

Geo’s lips tightened, and he gave a single, stiff nod. “I’ll ask you all to leave us in privacy, please,” he announced, lifting his gaze to the rest of the assembly. “I do not wish to endanger you with further knowledge.”

Looking disappointed, the others rose and made their way from the common area. Lucie, too, reluctantly joined their ranks. She headed toward the women who waited to guide her back to their quarters, and cast one last look over her shoulder at Geo.

Sir Will was whispering in his ear.