The Decoy Princess (8 page)

“The chancellor and the real princess,” I blurted, frightened. I waited, hope making me hold my breath. He shook his head at my unspoken question. Despair took me. He wasn’t going to let me go.

“No! Please!” I begged as he bent, grasping me about the waist and flinging me over his shoulder again.

I cried and cursed, filling his ear with the foulest language I had overheard on the docks. He ignored me, not even puffing is he climbed the two flights of stairs to my apartments. There were two unfamiliar guards outside my room, and one held the door open. Jeck flung me onto the floor of my sitting room. I cried out as I hit the rug. The door slammed shut. Sobbing, I twisted and squirmed until I got my bloody, sticky hands free.

“Coward!” I shouted, flinging an empty pitcher at the door before I even rose. It shattered into six pieces. Running to the door, I locked it from the inside. I spun, looking over the empty room that was now my prison. There was nothing in it to help me. Giving up, I flung myself onto the couch and cried.

He had killed those I had called my parents. He was going to kill Kavenlow. And I was helpless to do anything about it.

Five

Standing before my vanity mirror In my outer room, I tugged my skirt down over my narrow hips to try to make the hem meet the floor. The gray dress I had on was too short, but it and my red underskirt were the only things I could put on without Heather’s help. My eyes closed at the reminder of her. I hoped she was safe with her young man beyond the walls. The front gates weren’t visible from my window, but what I could see of the grounds looked normal, as did the streets. It seemed as if no one was even aware the palace had been taken over.

Slumping, I sat on the chair before the mirror with my elbows on the vanity—waiting. The night air pooled in my room, making goose bumps. I didn’t care. Pulling my gaze up, I found my eyes red-rimmed and miserable-looking in the light from the fire. My stomach growled, and I turned away, angry that my body went on while my soul had died. Earlier today, I’d thrown the meal the Misdev guard brought me out the window lest it be poisoned. In hindsight, I probably could have chanced it. Garrett needed me alive until he was sure Kavenlow wouldn’t be showing up with the real princess.

“Kavenlow,” I whispered harshly, feelings of betrayal making my shoulders tense. He had known I was a foundling and never told me. The chancellor had been more available than my parents, in essence raising me as he filled my days with diversions when no one else had the time.
And his devotion had
been a lie
, I thought bitterly. I had trusted him, loved him as a second father. I couldn’t be angry with my parents. They were dead. The blood pounded in my head as I held my breath. I wouldn’t cry. It had taken me all afternoon to stop the first time.

Hand shaking, I reached for my brush. My day spent wallowing in self-pity had left my cheeks blotchy and my hair a tangled mat. I welcomed the sporadic jabs of pain as I yanked the brush through my curls. It reminded me I could feel something other than grief and betrayal.

My reflection gray from the dusk, I began methodically arranging my hair. It seemed likely I would be dining with Garrett; I had a few extra preparations. Sniffing in a very unladylike manner, I piled my curls atop my head, binding the topknot together with a black ribbon. I wished I had a black dress to match it.

Gingerly letting the arrangement go, I pulled my hairpin cushion close and plucked one of my decorative darts from it. I glanced at my door before I touched the flat of it to my tongue. Immediately it went numb.

Satisfied the venom was still potent, I tucked the needle into my topknot.

I had never defended myself with my darts before, but I knew firsthand what the venom did to me.

Kavenlow had spent the last seven years conditioning me to it until I hardly noticed when I accidentally pricked myself. The convulsions and nausea had been frightening and painful until I passed out, leaving me ill and weak for days until my body developed the ability to throw the poison off quickly. Even now my left leg turned sluggish when I was tired. I had risked death every time. More proof I was an expendable pawn even to Kavenlow, bought to keep the real princess safe. Angels save me, I was a fool.

I continued arranging my hair, finding only four needles from yesterday were still good. The last had chipped and gone dry. I threw it into my sitting room fire, nudging the remnants of my nightgown stained with my mother’s blood into the flames. I had tried to wash, but with only a small pitcher of water, I still had a tacky residue on my hands and legs. I refused to look at my trembling fingers, knowing ugly black stains still lingered in the cracks of my skin.

Jaw gritted to seal away my grief, I closed my empty jewelry box. Garrett’s guards had looted my room, finding not only my jewelry but also my bullwhip, the knife under my pillow, the handful of unadorned darts I used for practice, and the rope I used to sneak out my window when the moon was full and I wanted to walk in the garden.

I stood before the fire and fingered my dart pipe, wondering if it might be recognized as a weapon and lead to my hairpins being confiscated as well. Unwilling to chance it, I snapped the wooden tube in half and threw it into the fire. I’d have to get close enough to scratch Garrett. I didn’t think it would be a problem. I was sure he would be here soon—gloating.

An unexpected pain prompted me to close my eyes.
They weren’t my real parents
, I told myself.

They used me, bought me in the village like a horse or dog. But even as I thought it, I knew whether bought or born, I had been their child. And they had loved me.

My throat closed in on itself, and I forced myself to breathe. Garrett had killed them. Tonight, I would return the favor, sending Garrett’s body back to his father with my regrets, blaming it upon the assassins who plagued us. Kavenlow might suspect what had really happened, but I didn’t care. The tears pricked, seducing a headache into existence as I refused to cry. I had thought Kavenlow loved me. It was all a lie.

Everything.

My threatened tears vanished at the sound of a key in my lock. I spun, frightened, as Jeck strode in unannounced. Past him in the torchlit hallway were two sentries. He tucked the key into an inner pocket.

“Your Highness,” the imposing, square-shouldered man drawled, and my heart pounded.

“Knock before you come into my rooms,” I demanded as I wiped the back of my hand across my eyes. “I may be a prisoner in my own palace, but I’m still the princess.” I took a false strength in that he would have to treat me as such even though he knew the truth.

“My mistake,” he said and smiled. It looked like an honest reaction, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. His gaudy hat with the excessive drooping feathers was missing, and I thought he looked better without it. “Prince Garrett has requested your presence for dinner,” he continued, standing with his hands behind his back at parade rest. “I’ll carry you if you refuse. You may want to walk, though. He’s undoubtedly going to propose, and you’ll want to look your best.” He hesitated, his brow furrowing.

“Don’t you have anything nicer than that to wear?” he asked.

My mouth dropped open—part anger, part embarrassment. “Perhaps if the Misdev dog gave me my court, I could manage a decent appearance,” I said stiffly. “Tell him if he wants a proper princess, he will have to supply me with the trappings. He should check with his guards first, seeing as they stole my jewelry.”

A smile quirked the corners of Jeck’s mouth, then was gone. “Prince Garrett has your baubles,” he said. “Tell him yourself.”

He reached for my shoulder, and I jerked back. Annoyed, he reached out again, gripping my shoulder with a painful strength through his soft leather gloves. My affront that he dared touch me warred with common sense, and I did nothing as he turned so the guards in the hallway couldn’t see his face. “I also found a knife under your pillow, darts, a whip, and enough rope to tie down a bull,” he murmured, a blatant question in his soft voice and brown eyes. They were the color of earth in the candlelight, with flecks of gold. “It’s unusual for a princess to know the art of defense,” he breathed, sending a loose strand of my hair to tickle my neck.

“But I’m not a princess, now, am I?” I whispered, my heart pounding as I shrugged out of his grip.

“So I’ve been told.” A wary tone had darkened his voice, and he rested his hand upon the butt of his sword as he gave me a visual once-over. “Out,” he demanded.

I draped the same black scarf that he had used to tie my hands with earlier over my shoulders like a shawl of grief, blew out my candle, and went before him. The way was darker than usual, with only every other lamp lit. We passed no one as Jeck and two sentries escorted me through the silent passages, and it felt cold. I walked beside Jeck, wondering why he asked the two sentries to slow when it was obvious I was having trouble keeping to their pace. He knew I wasn’t the princess. Why did he bother with any kindness?

I was getting the distinct impression that Jeck didn’t care if Garrett succeeded in his plans to take my mother’s lands or not. It seemed as if Jeck was waiting, riding the waves until he knew which way the wind was going to shift.
Waiting for Garrett to make a mistake
?

My mind whirled as we passed from the corridor into the formal banquet hall. It echoed with a high blackness, but a warm yellow light spilled into the spacious room from the small dining room between it and the kitchen. Jeck took my elbow, his grip tightening when I tried to pull away. “Stop touching me,” I demanded, and my face burned when he outright ignored me.

We entered to find the room empty but for the long table. There were only two chairs—one at either end instead of the usual three clustered in the middle—and a wave of grief almost buckled my knees.

With more grace than I would’ve credited him, Jeck guided me to a chair and made me sit before the elaborate place setting. I was too upset to be amused that I didn’t have a table knife. And sitting with my back to the archway to the kitchen instead of the hearth made me uneasy.

“I’ll stay,” Jeck said to the guards who had accompanied us. He shifted a step away from me and fell into a parade rest. “I want Olen as Prince Garrett’s escort, then you’re relieved.”

The two sentries left the way we had come. Looking over the familiar room, a pang of heartsickness settled heavy in my middle. This was where I had eaten most of my meals with my parents. The room had no windows but was bright with oil lamps. Sitting between the kitchen and the large banquet hall, it served as a staging area for food on the occasions we had a large function. There was a fireplace we used in the winter. Right now the ugly black hole of the empty hearth was hidden behind one of the ceiling-to-floor tapestries that softened the room.

Jeck stood with a relaxed tautness, his well-honed body held still while thoughts unknown occupied him. I watched his square jaw alternately tense and relax, and I wondered if he would leave when Garrett came so I could kill the Misdev cur with no interference. “Are you the captain of Garrett’s guard?” I asked suddenly.

Jeck shifted, seeming surprised that I had broken my silence. “I act in that position.”

“What else do you do?” I persisted, hearing the lack of completeness in his words.

“Keep him alive when he does something foolish,” he muttered.

Nodding, I shifted my empty wineglass to the proper side of my plate. He was charged with Garrett’s safety just as Kavenlow had been charged with mine. Garrett had said he was acting without the blessing of his father. Perhaps Jeck might be open to working against Garrett’s interests in order to maintain his king’s? Starting a war with your neighbor is not undertaken lightly, and embarrassing if your son does it without your knowledge.

“Jeck,” I said, hesitating as I fumbled for the proper term of respect. “Captain,” I added. “I don’t have the luxury of time to be delicate. Are you King Edmund’s man, or his son’s?”

There was a creak of leather as he looked at me, then away. “You are a nosy woman.”

My boot tapped silently under my skirt. “I won’t sit idly by and let Costenopolie fall to Prince Garrett,” I said as I turned the plate so the pattern was right side up.

Jeck made a puff of amusement. “Prince Garrett’s chances of success are excellent. And you have overestimated your reach, Princess. I’m charged by my king to protect his son. I’ll kill you before I let you harm him.”

It wasn’t a boast—it was a simple statement—but I was too drained to be afraid. My eyes rose at the soft cadence of boots in the banquet hall. Garrett entered, accompanied by the old sentry from this afternoon.
Three men
, I thought as the older man took up a position behind Garrett. I had four needles—two of which would be needed to kill Garrett. The odds were not slanted enough in my favor.

I was shocked to find myself thinking Garrett looked all the more handsome. He entered the room with a poise and confidence that hid the ugliness of his true nature. His fair hair had been slicked back, and his jawline was firm. Moving with a predatory grace, his every motion screamed of his comfortable expectation of supremacy. But then I noticed his riding boots gave him more height than he deserved.

And when he met my eyes with a cold distaste, my impression of him reversed from a powerful man to a spoiled child.

Garrett’s brow rose mockingly as he took in my subdued attire and black shawl. He had changed into a more decorative uniform. Gold glittered from his sleeves and collar, and I wondered if they were my father’s adornments.
Yes, my father
, I thought as grief pulled my eyes down. My entire life was a lie, but they had been my parents, and I would have my justice.

“Princess Contessa,” Garrett said with no emotion. He went to the far seat, not bothering to take my hand in greeting as I deserved and so denied me the pleasure of kicking his shin. “How gracious of you to join me for dinner,” he added as he shook out his napkin and sat.

I let mine lay where it was. I had no intention of eating, starving though I was.