He felt like a fool as he watched her walk past. Why did he do everything wrong in front of her? His stomach sank and his shoulders drooped as he faced the reality that his clumsiness didn’t matter. She was the princess, and what he wanted could never be. She would marry a prince, duke, or king and then he would watch her leave. She would ride out the gate waving from the carriage window, never to be seen again—at least not by him. He had always known she was beyond his reach. In all his daydreams, he had never once envisioned touching her, except that one moment when their fingers might collide as he handed her the cup of water at the well. The idea of kissing her lips was too absurd even for dreams. All he longed for was to do something right, to have her notice him, to see him as brave, or smart, or good. He wanted her to look back over her shoulder as they parted with an impressed expression that said, If only he were noble. He didn’t think that was too much to ask of the world, a simple moment of acknowledgment, an instant to turn her head and know that for one brief breath of time she saw him the way he saw her. He could suffer in silence the rest of his life knowing she had truly seen him and that maybe she felt the same way toward him that he did toward her.
Feeling as though he had been stabbed in the heart yet again, he followed the servant corridors the rest of the way. Grabbing a lantern, he went down the stairs and entered the castle dungeons. They were empty. The dungeons rarely housed prisoners, or when they did, it wasn’t for long. Justice was dispensed quickly in Medford. Thieves had any number of fingers or hands cut off. Debtors were beaten. Killers were hanged. Saboteurs were torn limb from limb and traitors quartered. The dungeon was merely the waiting place for hangings, and recently the lord high constable was being swift with those. Which made it the perfect place for isolation.
Reuben walked to the last cell on the last row, which being L-shaped was the perfect choice. In there a prisoner couldn’t be seen from the window. He unlocked the door with the key that normally hung from the peg at the top of the stairs, which he now kept. He had locked the door not to imprison her but to prevent anyone else from entering. As far as he knew, that was the only key. She was still there, huddled in a ball against the far wall, wrapped in the blanket he’d brought her.
“Morning, Rose, how are you?”
She opened her eyes and peered up, blinking against the light. This was the first time he had had a good look. She was cute, downright pretty, and he imagined she would be prettier without all the paint, especially since a good deal of it had been smeared by tears. She had a bruise on her cheek and ugly scrapes on her arms and legs from the climb the night before.
“It’s morning?”
“Yes.” He knelt down before her. “Are you hungry? I brought food.”
She sat up to look and took the block of cheese, biting into it. “Thank you,” she said, her words muffled.
He handed her the little skin of weak wine. She swallowed, then asked, “What’s going on? Is the king alive?”
“The king is fine. As far as I can tell, nothing at all happened last night. Well, except that everyone is looking for you.”
“Why? I didn’t do anything.”
“I don’t know.”
“What did your father say?”
“I haven’t seen him yet. He was on duty all night and hasn’t returned.”
“You didn’t tell anyone else, did you?”
“No.” Reuben shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. How not just anyone can get in that tower. That’s part of the royal residence wing. Only the castle guards and nobles are allowed above the third floor. Whoever you heard either had to be part of the castle’s security or someone important, and I’m afraid of telling the wrong person.”
“So now what? I just sit here?”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure it must be awful, but I think this is the safest thing. I don’t know what else to do.”
She nodded but he could tell she was disappointed. “I owe you my life. Thank you.”
A silly thing to say, but he could see she was sincere. He felt awkward. He wasn’t used to anyone being grateful for anything he did. “Most people would say I really haven’t done much.”
She gave him a sad, twisted smile. “I think most people would say my life really isn’t worth much.”
Reuben thought again about just how pretty she was—big trusting eyes, tiny nose, and round face. It felt like a crime locking her in such a horrible place.
“If my father can discover the traitor, it will be the king who will owe you his life. Who knows, maybe he will reward you with your own estate.”
“I’d settle for being back home and sharing a room at Medford House.”
He smiled at her. She smiled back.
He honestly hoped she would be rewarded, taken care of so she could live a different life. But Reuben had already seen enough of the world to know dreams almost never came true.
“Hilfred!” Alric called out as Reuben was walking back to the barracks in the hope of finding his father. Turning, he saw the prince flanked by the Pickerings. All of them in tunics he hadn’t seen them wear before. Reuben wondered just how much fine clothing the nobility could afford.
“Your Highness.” He bowed. “Your Lordships.” He repeated the gesture.
“Got your new sword, I see.”
“Yes, Your Highness, and thank you.”
Alric waved with nonchalance. “It’s one of my practice blades.”
Mauvin stared at his new sword. “May I?”
Reuben drew it and presented the pommel.
The elder Pickering took it and sliced the air, weaving the blade back and forth in figure eights. Then he released the grip, let the sword roll over the back of his hand, and grabbed it again. He tossed the sword up and caught it on his forearm where the hilt met the blade. He watched the balance for a moment before tossing it again and taking it by the grip once more. He looked down the length of the blade, turning it in the light, then glanced at the prince. “This has never been used.”
Alric shrugged. “I don’t do as much practicing as I should. But that’s why I need men like Hilfred to be well armed, yes?”
“A bit too heavy, and the balance is off about an eighth of an inch, but not bad,” Mauvin declared. “And I’d wrap that grip with a good rough hide or it will slip as soon as your hand starts to sweat, which will be exactly when you don’t want your grip to slip.”
Mauvin spun the blade expertly and presented the sword back to Reuben.
The prince pulled an apple from the small purse that hung from his belt and began tossing it up in the air and catching it. “How much trouble did you get in last night?” Alric asked him.
“My father was on duty all night, so I don’t know yet.”
“Oh right, I heard they had run some security drill or something. Luckily I slept through it.” The prince threw the apple up through the branches of the oak tree, where it cut through the leaves. On the way back, it glanced off a branch and bounced wide of his catch. Fanen was there to make the save and held the fruit up in silent victory.
Alric smiled. “Say, we’re thinking of doing some more hunting tonight. Interested?”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I can’t. Tonight will be my first shift as a real guard. I’ll be standing the front gate. And the big party for the new chancellor is tonight. Aren’t you expected to be there?”
They glanced at each other with sinister smiles. “These galas are boring. Our parents are always introducing us to people we don’t know and don’t want to know—like old women in jewels who like to kiss and smell of cheese. We thought we’d sneak out. Since everyone will be busy and the castle filled with people, no one will even know we’re gone.”
“Except the gate guard,” Mauvin mentioned, and raising an incriminating finger, he added, “Who would be you.”
“Oh … I see. You want me to pretend I never saw you leave.”
“Just if anyone asks, which I doubt.”
Fanen tossed the apple back to the prince, who threw it once more. It went up higher, sending a cloud of yellow leaves cascading down and making it difficult to tell where the apple had gone. This time the fruit bounced off several branches, and Fanen made a valiant grab before the apple hit the grass.
“These parties are hectic and go on all night,” Alric explained. “No one wants us around anyway, so you’ll be fine. What do you say?”
“What can I say? You’re the prince.”
Alric smiled. “What’d I tell you—I love this guy.” He turned to the Pickerings. “I’ve got to do a fitting for a new doublet. Wanna come watch me annoy the tailor?”
“Tempting,” Mauvin said sarcastically, “but I think I’ll stay here and give our new guard some tips. Who knows, maybe we’ll take him to Percepliquis with us.”
“Suit yourself.” Alric trotted back up the hill, forgetting his apple.