The Secret Princess. Rachelle McCalla
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memorized her instructions, knowing well he wouldn’t have happened upon the path himself, certainly not in the darkness. “You’ll meet me there in one week?” He’d need that long to make the trip back to his brother, tell him what he’d learned, make plans and travel back again.
She nodded solemnly but added, “If I’m delayed, please don’t come here looking for me. I’ll try again the next day and the next.”
“I’ll try again every day until I see you again,” he promised.
She looked up at him, the moon casting just enough silvery light for him to see her face clearly. “You must move quickly. I will pray for your safety.”
“And I for yours.” He couldn’t help reaching out and trailing one finger softly against her cheek. She was real. After all his searching, all his fears that he’d only imagined her, she was real.
* * *
Evelyn stood still in the darkness near the narrow exit, listening to Prince Luke’s retreating footsteps until the sound disappeared into the distance between them. Then she waited a moment longer, tense, bracing herself to hear the cry of the guards spotting the man in the shadows or checking the tower to find him gone.
There was only silence.
Almost against her will she pressed one hand to the place where the prince had brushed her cheek. Though his fingers were calloused from bowstrings, his touch had been gentle, almost reverent. Evelyn closed her eyes, committing to memory every word, every look that had passed between them. No one spoke to her that tenderly. Only her brother called her by her real name, her Christian name.
Prince Luke had made her feel as though she wasn’t a slave at all.
It touched a raw part of her wounded heart, rousing it achingly to life as she pictured his face, his strong arms, the feel of his hand on her cheek.
Evelyn immediately chided herself for letting her emotions grow. Luke was a prince. And not just any prince, but a prince of the neighboring kingdom who her grandfather specifically abhorred. In fact, she realized as fear surged through her conscience, she should not have agreed to meet him in the woods again. She’d agreed because she wanted to see him again, to learn more about him, to bask in the kindness of his words.
How could she be so selfish?
Seeing Prince Luke again would only put him in more danger. If they were caught, her grandfather would surely make good on his threats to force her to marry Omar. What would happen to the prince? Surely King Garren wouldn’t be content to simply lock him away again. No, he’d do something much worse. Torture? War?
Evelyn’s blood chilled in her veins. Why did the prince want to visit this place, anyway? If he was up to no good, she should convince him not to return. If he was in danger, he ought to stay away for his own safety. Either way, she’d have to make the prince understand the importance of staying far from Fier. For that reason, she would meet with him again as promised. Once. But never again. She couldn’t endanger his safety or his people.
Her mind made up, Evelyn crept back the way she’d come, skirting the stables this time and heading back into the main hall via the rear kitchen door. She stuck her head into the laundry room where she and the servant girls slept. The girls appeared to be asleep, but then one of them sat up and blinked at her.
“Evelyn?” the girl whispered softly.
“Yes.”
“Omar has Bertie.”
“What?”
“He found him sneaking up to the tower. The prisoner is missing. Omar blames your brother for helping him escape.”
“Where has he got him?”
“They headed for the dungeon.”
“Does the king know?”
“I’m not sure. He’s gone to bed for the night.”
“Good.” It was a small consolation. Omar might be willing to hurt her brother, but he wouldn’t risk inflicting too much pain on the king’s grandson without Garren’s explicit permission. “You stay here.”
The little girl grabbed her skirt as she turned to leave. “Be careful. Omar is terribly angry.”
“I’ll be fine,” Evelyn promised, though her fears increased as she hurried through the hall to the steps that led downward in a steep spiral to the dungeons below. Should she go alone? It wouldn’t be right to risk the girls’ safety by asking them to come with her. And yet, who else did she have on her side?
Prince Luke’s face flashed through her thoughts, and she groaned when she realized how much she’d come to trust him already. She knew better than to trust a royal. Her grandfather had only ever deceived her. But Prince Luke was a Christian. Did his faith make any difference in his actions? Perhaps he might be willing to help her. He’d offered to help her escape. But Bertie’s capture was a sharp reminder of why she could never go with him.
All her previous efforts to run away had been thwarted by her grandfather. Though the king did not care for her and treated her harshly nonetheless, he kept close tabs on her, either out of spite or because of her value as a learned slave.
Worse yet, Omar had recently made up his mind to have her. Even if King Garren didn’t notice her missing, Omar would never let her get far from Fier. He’d track her down. If she and Bertie were found among the Lydians, her grandfather would happily use the incident as an excuse to start another war.
As she’d told Prince Luke, her reasons for staying were complicated. Even she didn’t fully understand her grandfather’s determination to keep her. But she knew the trouble that would follow if she fled. Better that she and Bertie suffer than all of Lydia.
Evelyn reached the bottom of the stairs in silence. The dungeon was too quiet. Torchlight flickered around the corner; otherwise she might have thought the dungeon empty. Cautiously, she stole a glance into the low-ceilinged space beyond.
Ropes bound her little brother’s arms behind his back. He lay on his side on the floor, his face turned away from her toward the wall. She stared for a moment, willing the twelve-year-old to move, to breathe, anything to reassure her he was alive.
Unable to see any signs of life, she took a tentative step forward.
A heavy hand shot out from the shadows, grabbing her by the wrist, pulling her against the cold wall.
Evelyn gasped.
Bertie rolled toward her, his eyes first surprised, then defeated. A rag in his mouth kept him from speaking, but his expression told her he wished she hadn’t come.
Omar chuckled, his rotten breath uncomfortably close to her face. “Figured you’d come looking for him. You know why he’s here, don’t you? You know he helped the prisoner escape.”
“Prisoner?” Evelyn tried to sound confused. Her grandfather hadn’t made it widely known that he’d imprisoned Prince Luke, though even the serving girls had figured out what he’d done.
“Don’t play stupid with me. Now that I’ve got you, we’re going to go wake up the king. He needs to know what you two have been up to.”
Across the room, Bertie’s eyes widened and he made desperate noises with his throat, but his bonds held him tight. He couldn’t help her.
With Omar’s grip digging into her shoulder, Evelyn had no choice but to go back up the stairs as he guided her. King Garren always hated bad news. But more than that, he hated being awakened in the middle of the night.
She was a little surprised that he hadn’t made good on his threat of marrying her to Omar already, though he’d muttered something once about political usefulness, which made her suspect the cunning king hoped to find a match for her that would benefit him more. After all, as the king’s granddaughter, she could technically be considered a princess—but that was only if the king acknowledged her. As