The Knight’s Forbidden Princess. Carol Townend
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by the sun. Scorched weeds lined the route and there were few signs of habitation. Still, Leonor wasn’t going to allow that to lower her mood.
Leaning forward, she patted Snowstorm’s neck. As her name implied, Snowstorm was the palest of greys. Almost white, she was an exact match to her sisters’ horses. Silver bells were attached to the braids in the mares’ manes, and a gentle tinkling accompanied their every step. As their party covered the miles, the dry air was filled with faint, otherworldly music.
There were restrictions on this ride to her new life. A palace eunuch was riding at Leonor’s side. Ostensibly, he was there to hold a sunshade over her head. The sunshade didn’t do much. She knew the eunuch was really there to keep her in line. For once, she didn’t care.
It was stifling beneath her veil and she didn’t care about that either. Not today, when she was out and about in her father’s realm. Naturally, she wouldn’t be human if she didn’t resent having to look at everything through a haze of fine silk. However, today, none of that mattered. Her father had come for them. He had realised that she and her sisters had grown up and they were about to start afresh in Granada.
The previous night the royal party had taken shelter in one of her father’s hunting lodges. That had been exciting too, it was the first time that the Princesses remembered sleeping anywhere except in their apartments in Salobreña Castle.
The horses slowed. There was a disturbance up ahead, which was odd. Leonor hadn’t expected delays on this, the final leg of their journey. The King had sent heralds out in advance of their departure and his subjects had been ordered—on pain of death, apparently—to remain indoors as the royal party rode past. No one should be abroad to slow them down.
Privately, Leonor suspected that the real reason her father’s subjects had been told to stay indoors was because Sultan Tariq didn’t want anyone to see his daughters. Which was ridiculous. We are wearing veils, and one veiled woman looks very much like another. No one would see as much as an eyelash.
None the less, Leonor prayed that her father’s people had obeyed their orders. Whilst she hadn’t come up against the Sultan’s temper personally, there were tales that froze the marrow in her bones. Imprisonment—well, she’d seen that for herself—but she’d also heard that whippings and starvation were commonplace. She’d even heard whispers about summary executions.
Her saddle creaked as she peered ahead. Her father’s personal knights were bunched up in a knot. There was a lot of shouting. She clutched her reins and prayed that nothing dreadful was about to happen. Her father had made it clear that delays wouldn’t be tolerated. Whilst he had been kind to her and her sisters, Leonor couldn’t dismiss the rumours about his bloodcurdling rages.
What would happen if they stumbled across a stray peasant who hadn’t heard the orders to stay indoors? Leonor’s brow knotted. Her optimistic mood faded, like a flower that had stood too long in the searing sun. She held Snowstorm at a standstill under the sunshade so helpfully held over her and told herself firmly that they would be on their way soon.
An arm’s length away, Alba and Constanza sat on their grey mares amid a froth of full skirts and rippling veils. Like Leonor, they were wearing circlets starred with gemstones; like her, their wrists were adorned with heavy gold bracelets.
Snowstorm tossed her head and the light chime of bells shimmered about them.
Alba guided her horse closer. ‘I didn’t think this journey would take so long,’ she murmured. ‘Are you as stiff as I am?’
‘I’m a little sore, but I don’t care. Father has come for us and we shall live in a tower and look out across the mountains. We shall have our own household.’ Leonor tried to sound bright, even though she had a terrible feeling that something awful was about to happen. Could Alba hear the worry in her voice?
‘Leonor.’ Alba switched quietly to Spanish, in the way the sisters did when they wanted to converse privately. Of all the royal servants, only Inés spoke Spanish. ‘Life in the Alhambra might not be quite as you expect.’
Behind her veil, Leonor’s eyes went wide. She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘You also doubt Father?’
‘I suspect he only came for us because Inés wrote to him after you visited the prison.’
Leonor stiffened her spine. She’d told her sisters what she had done and they had been so shocked, she regretted mentioning it. It seemed all she had achieved was to worry them. ‘Alba, I won’t apologise. I wanted to know about Mamá.’
Alba leaned in. ‘I don’t blame you. I am as curious about her as you.’ She gave a small sigh. ‘Inés, on the other hand, was frantic.’
Leonor didn’t need reminding. ‘I know, and for that I am deeply sorry.’
‘I’m pretty certain she told Father we’d been watching the Spanish captives when their ship arrived at the quayside.’
Leonor’s heart sank. ‘You don’t think she mentioned my visit to the prison?’
‘I doubt it, Father has shown no signs of anger.’
‘I pray you are right.’
‘Be careful, Leonor. It’s my belief Father came to fetch us so that he could keep an even closer eye on us. Life in the palace might not be the paradise you are hoping for.’
Leonor gripped her reins, it wasn’t pleasant having Alba echo her fears. Yes, the Sultan had come to escort his daughters to the palace. The question was, what would happen after that?
The horses walked on a few paces. Craning her neck, Leonor saw what was holding them up. The Sultan’s personal guard clustered around him. Nearby, a line of prisoners was lying face down in a dried-up gully by the side of the road.
Oh, no! What about Father’s orders that his subjects remain indoors? The guards in charge of these men could not have been told.
Goosebumps ran down her neck. Her father’s black horsemen lined the route. Even they didn’t dare look at the Princesses’ escort. All save one had turned to face resolutely away from the road. The lone horseman who had not turned was screaming at a prisoner. A prisoner who was on his feet. Worse, he was staring directly at the royal entourage.
Leonor’s mouth dried. Didn’t he understand? Her father would kill him! Leonor willed him to lie down with the other prisoners.
The prisoner stood straight and tall by the side of the road, apparently oblivious of any danger. His crimson tunic hung in rags from his broad shoulders and, even at this distance, his casual arrogance was unmistakable. It was the commander of the garrison at Córdoba, Count Rodrigo Álvarez.
Ice filled her veins. She ran her gaze along the prisoners prostrated along the highway. Apart from Lord Rodrigo, two other prisoners were also standing, a man in blue and another in green. Despite the irritation of having to see through her filmy veil, Leonor knew them for the Count’s comrades. One was the knight with the injured leg, the other had helped Lord Rodrigo keep him upright on the quayside.
‘The three knights,’ Leonor murmured. God have mercy.
Her father, the Sultan, may he live for ever, was glaring at Count Rodrigo. With a sense of dread, she watched her father snatch out his scimitar. He was preparing to charge!
Leonor spurred forward amid a tinkling of silver bells. Dust fogged the air, blurring the expression on the Sultan’s face. It was impossible to judge the level of his anger. Given his order that his subjects should remain indoors whilst the royal party rode past, he was likely in a fury and had only stayed his hand because Lord Rodrigo’s effrontery had temporarily stunned him.
‘Father, stop!’
The Sultan turned to her, dark eyes incredulous. ‘Daughter?’
His scimitar glittered. Leonor’s insides quivered. No one, no one, questioned Sultan Tariq, never mind gave him a direct order. She swallowed hard, desperate to avoid bloodshed. ‘The prisoner doesn’t