The Secret Princess

Evelyn nearly jumped when her grandfather bellowed, and she tried not to let her embarrassment show as she presented herself, dropped to a deep curtsy and began clearing away the dishes at her grandfather’s orders. When she dared to look up, she saw Prince Luke watching her, his intelligent eyes noting everything.

He’d seen her hauling slop for pigs. He’d watched her answer to Biddy. Would he listen to her if she tried to help him again? Most likely not. She marveled that he could see her at all. Most often the serving girls were considered more a part of the palace structure than the household, more a utensil for serving than a human with feelings. A serving girl only ever took orders. She never gave them, not even if she was secretly the granddaughter of the king.

“We need this table cleared, and bring us more light!” Her grandfather gulped one breath between barking orders at her and calling to his men to bring him maps.

Evelyn grabbed the plates from the table and hurried to fetch candles, which were reserved for only special occasions. There was every chance her grandfather might berate her for choosing to use them when he hadn’t specifically asked her to, but if she brought him a torch instead, he might just as likely chide her for not choosing the candles.

To her relief her grandfather said nothing to her as she placed the lit candles in their holders. His attention was instead on the maps being spread out on the table in front of him. Already he quizzed the prince on the exact placement of the borders between them.

As Evelyn scraped plates near the kitchen door, she kept her ears alert to the sound of King Garren’s voice and so heard him suggest Prince Luke accompany him to the highest tower—to view the borders they spoke of, or so he claimed. Much as she’d have liked to follow after them, she had her hands full in the kitchen, and anyway, they’d smell her coming.

Though she resented trickery, she hoped for Prince Luke’s sake that the Lydian nobleman was up to something. Otherwise he’d find himself quickly outmaneuvered.

* * *

Luke followed King Garren down the dark, twisting hallways, paying attention to every curve and fork so he could find his way back—alone if necessary. He noticed that Garren had whispered something to a couple of his guards, who now trailed behind them. Luke was distinctly aware that he was outnumbered and surrounded and no longer had the added security of a crowd of witnesses to contradict any story Garren might invent.

Though Luke was not by nature a fearful person, the woman they called Biddy had warned him Garren might be up to something, and Luke knew enough about the man to be always on his guard around him. After all, King Garren’s illegitimate son, Rab the Raider, had killed Luke’s father, King Theodoric of Lydia, through deceptive trickery.

King Theodoric’s death had left Luke a grieving orphan. Surely he’d learned enough through that loss not to trust King Garren.

And yet, as they climbed the twisting stairs that led upward to the tower, Luke realized his thoughts were still focused on the pale-haired woman and the mystery of her identity. Though Luke had done his best to keep his attention on King Garren, all through dinner he’d watched the woman at her work, noting the way she kept her distance, darting in silently and unobtrusively, and the way she kept the king’s glass and plate full so he wouldn’t have to ask for anything.

The woman had a quiet dignity about her and a graceful way of carrying herself that was uncommon among servants. Even with her rag of a dress encrusted with pig muck, she was beautiful. For long months he’d feared his feverish mind had invented her or embellished her appearance.

To his amazement he found her to be more impressive than he’d first observed, for not only was she lovely to look upon, but her disposition and demeanor were just as attractive. In spite of King Garren’s harsh shouting, the woman neither shouted back nor hung her head, but simply did as she was asked quickly and efficiently, with such grace it caused his breath to catch in his throat.

They reached the top of the tower, and Garren held the thick wooden door open, gesturing for Luke to pass through. “The window to your left affords the best view of the lands in question,” the king told him.

Luke crossed the small round room and peered out through the indicated open-air stone frame. “Ah, yes. I can see the river.”

When King Garren did not immediately appear at his side, Luke turned back. In place of any words, the king’s response was a slamming door. Luke leaped toward it but heard the key click in the lock before he reached it. He peered through the small barred window in time to see King Garren and the two guards hastily making their escape down the stairs.

Looking down, he could see the sturdy door handle, its keyhole scratched from years of use. No doubt King Garren had often used this tower to imprison his captives.

With a sinking heart, Luke realized the deceptive ruler had planned to imprison him all along, probably from the moment he invited him to dinner. Everything else, then, had been a ruse.

Ah, but Luke had discovered much. And the door, though thick and heavy, was not an immovable barrier. Luke inspected what he could see of the lock, then looked around for something he could improvise as a tool.

A small bundle of straw had been scattered about at one end. From the looks of it, more than one prisoner had used the bale as both bed and blanket. Luke plucked up the sturdiest stems and carefully plaited them together to stiffen them. With any luck, he’d pick the lock and be gone before Garren thought better of leaving him alone and decided to post a guard.

He shook his head, laughing at his own foolishness. He’d gotten into worse spots before. In comparison, this imprisonment had been quite fruitful. He’d learned precisely how far King Garren could be trusted, which wasn’t far at all. He’d confirmed the pale-haired woman’s claim that Garren resented the peace treaty.

Most of all, he’d found the pale-haired woman. His imprisonment was worth it if only for that. But he wasn’t about to waste what he’d learned. He had to escape and see her again.

He tried the plaited straw in the lock but found the stick he’d made wasn’t nearly sturdy enough to budge the tumbler inside. He searched the empty space a bit longer but, still finding nothing, went back to plaiting straw again, hoping to make it stronger this time. From what he could tell, the tumbler that kept him imprisoned was heavy, and would require a prod nearly as strong as King Garren’s key to unloose it. Perhaps he wouldn’t escape as quickly as he’d like, but he wasn’t about to give up, either.

The sun was dipping low in the sky when Luke heard soft footsteps on the stairs. Judging by the muted sound, he doubted it was a guard coming to check on him. Hope rose inside him that the pale-haired woman might have come to pay him a visit. When he caught a glimpse of fair hair rounding the corner, his heart leaped for joy, only to come crashing down in disappointment when the hair proved to be far shorter than that of the woman they called Biddy.

Indeed, this pale hair belonged to a freckle-faced youth, who looked at him curiously through the barred porthole. Luke stared back in silence for a moment, wondering if this boy was friend or foe. His features, along with his distinctive pale hair, convinced Luke the youth must be related in some way to the pale-haired woman. So he took a chance.

“Have you got a key to this door?”

“There’s only one key, and King Garren keeps it.”

Luke had feared as much. At least the boy seemed helpful. “How can I open the lock, then?”

“I’ve tried it all the times I was locked in there. Never could get it without the key.”

Only slightly discouraged, Luke tried to glean as much as he could quickly in case the youth was called away—or caught. “Is there a guard stationed at the base of the tower?”

“Yes, but I brought him a drink earlier to help him sleep. He’s dozing now. That’s how I got past. I’d have brought you something to eat, but I didn’t think he’d be asleep so soon. I saw a chance and took it.” The youth peered at him curiously between the bars in the small opening in the door. “They say you’re a prince and a Christian.”

Luke suddenly felt his heart beating hard, though he wasn’t sure precisely why. “That I am.”

The boy whispered something. Luke couldn’t quite catch his words, but it sounded almost as though he’d said, “So am I.”

But before Luke could ask him to repeat himself, the boy spoke again. “I belong in the Holy Roman Empire. If I help you get out of here, can you help me get home?”

Luke felt his sympathies soften immediately at the youth’s earnest request. “I would do everything in my power.”

Suddenly the boy’s face brightened, and Luke had no question the two pale-haired servants must be related. The boy had Biddy’s smile.

“And my sister, too. Can you help my sister escape from this place?”

“Your sister.” Luke’s heart hammered inside him, and he fought the urge to barrage the boy with questions about the young woman. Instead, he agreed quickly. “I would gladly help her, as well.”

“Good.” The boy shoved something long and pointed through the window to Luke. “This might be of some help to you.”

Luke took the object—a rough sort of knife, probably fashioned by the boy himself out of a cast-off piece of metal. As he tried it in the lock, he started to inquire of the boy about his sister. But the youth had turned his attention to the stairs.

“I shouldn’t tarry any longer. You should wait for darkness before you try to leave. Garren’s men drink heavily at dinner. You’ll find your passage through the rest of the fortress much easier if you wait until after then.”

“Thank you,” Luke whispered hurriedly as the boy retreated down the stairs. “And tell your sister not to worry about me.”

He didn’t hear any response but listened carefully, breathing freely only after some time had passed without any sound that might indicate the youth had gotten caught.

Luke was glad for that. The boy had brought him a useful tool as well as valuable information about the guard below. It was sure to increase his chances of escaping.

And just as certainly, Luke intended to do all he could to make good on his promise to help the slaves escape. The woman they called Biddy had saved his life. He owed them both.

Rather than pick the lock now and risk discovery, Luke decided to wait until closer to sunset to make his bid for freedom. For now he leaned on the windowsill and looked out over the stunning vista. King Garren might have only used the view as bait to lure him to the tower, but indeed, the vista provided an unparalleled picture of the lands between Fier and Lydia. In the distance Luke could see a charred spot amidst the woods—the tiny village of Bern, where he’d lain injured. The very spot where the pale-haired woman had saved his life.

At the thought of her, Luke felt his stomach lurch, and he mulled the reason for his response. Granted, the woman was kind and lovely, gracious and gentle—all things a man might appreciate in a female. But she was also a slave. Any affection he felt toward her was mere gratitude for the sacrifices she’d made on his behalf—first in saving his life and then in rightfully trying to warn him from this place.

Gratitude. That was all he felt, that and reciprocal generosity—an urge to fulfill his promise to the boy that he would somehow help the siblings return to their homeland. Certainly the lurching in his stomach could be no more than that. Luke had no interest in romance. Never had. Someday he’d perform his duty and marry a bride befitting a prince, a noblewoman whose connections could solidify peace in Lydia.

Until then he ought to put thoughts of other women far from his mind...except that the pale-haired woman had already proven to be unforgettable.