“Where will you be working tomorrow?’ Omar asked. “I will be discreet, I promise. More than anything, I want to be near you, Ellie. I’ve wanted to know you for years now. Do I annoy you? Tell me honestly if you’ve had enough and wish I would fade into the woodwork.”
He sounded so vulnerable. She believed he was sincere. But . . . he was a prince!
Ellie shoved her shaking hands into her coverall pockets and turned to face him with the solid warmth of the horse at her back. “I don’t think you should follow me, Your Highness. I . . . I can’t . . .”
He swallowed hard. “I’m moving too fast and scaring you. I’m no good at this. I don’t know how to talk to girls. Not about anything that matters. I never really wanted to before.” That quickly his demeanor changed back to self-conscious uncertainty.
She took a quick step toward him, saying, “No, no! You’re not the problem. I mean, not the real you. But you’re a prince, and I’m . . . I’m Cinder Ellie, the sprite wrangler.” Her hands flew up in frustration. “Omar, please go away!” But her voice betrayed her by breaking.
Renewed hope burned in his eyes, and he bowed gracefully. “As you wish. Until we meet again, Ellie Calmer.”
Ellie closed her eyes and clenched her fists until she knew he was gone. Then she let out a long breath. The more time she spent with Omar, the more she wanted him near . . . and the more complicated her life became. If he took her seriously and stopped coming around, she thought her heart might break. But it had to happen sometime—there could be no future together for a prince and a cinder-sprite wrangler.
Time to concentrate on important matters. Such as contacting the Gamekeeper.
That evening, back at her cottage, Ellie pulled a tiny silver tube from her pack, opened one end, and spoke into it. “Guests encountered a unicorn today near the cross-country course. I have a dozen sprites and two imps. Please come soon.” The Gamekeeper would understand the urgency of the situation when he heard her message.
As soon as evening darkened to night, she stood at her cottage door and gave a churring trill. Another trill echoed hers, and a shadow flitted past her through the open doorway and perched on the back of a chair.
The nightjar messenger and the magical speaking tubes had been provided to her by the Gamekeeper himself, and using them never failed to make her feel privileged and important.
She held up the tube. “To the Gamekeeper, if you please.” The bird made no objection when she slid the tube into a ring on its leg. “Thank you,” she said.
It bowed its head briefly, then opened its pointed wings and darted away. She caught only a glimpse of it against the sky before it disappeared into the night.
Omar’s rambunctious siblings often had dinner in the family suite under their nanny’s strict eye, allowing their parents and Omar one peaceful meal in a day. On this evening in the dining hall, Omar picked at his food while conversation buzzed around him, hearing nothing except highlights of his conversation with Ellie, seeing only the encouraging look in her eyes as they spoke in the stable, tasting only the sweetness of her face and voice.
More than ever before he believed she was the girl for him. Strange how he’d known before they shared even one real conversation. Over the years he had observed her, slyly asked questions about her, and admired her character and reputation as well as her undeniable beauty. He’d spent a lifetime surrounded by pretty girls, enough to know that physical beauty could never be enough. He wanted a lifetime mate he could respect and love, a friend and companion.
“Omar?” his mother said.
He realized tardily that she had spoken his name several times already. He blinked out of la-la land and into reality. “Yes, Mama?”
Then he realized that people, two of them ladies, stood beside their table, and he quickly rose, nearly tipping over his chair. The Earl and Countess of Roxwell and their daughter, the Honorable Gillian, greeted him with glowing smiles. A premonition hit him like a fist to his stomach.
“Lord and Lady Roxwell have invited us to their suite this evening, wishing to honor you, Omar,” his father said, evidently pleased and proud.
“To . . . honor me?”
“For your fearless rescue of our precious daughter,” said Lord Roxwell through a broad smile. His lordship’s hair was red-gold like his daughter’s, but there the resemblance ended. No doubt to Gillian’s relief, she was in all other respects the image of her beautiful mother.
There was further talk, but Omar, drowning in a sea of denial, heard nothing more until his mother spoke the fatal words: “We gladly accept.”
Afterward Omar was not altogether sure he hadn’t let out a whimper of horror. If he did, the noise of the dining room swallowed it.
As soon as the earl’s family departed, with Gillian casting Omar backward glances filled with promise, Queen Sofia tried to rush King Aryn through his dessert and brandy. “We mustn’t keep them waiting, dear.” Then she turned to Omar, squeezed his forearm, and laughed in delight. “What exactly happened today? How could you keep something like this from us, Omar? You never said a word!”
“I said nothing because it was nothing, Mother. A unicorn frightened Gillian’s horse, which dumped her into a copse of little trees. She’s never been much of a rider. She was screaming and swearing and couldn’t seem to move, so I hauled her out while another fellow caught her horse.” He rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs, desperately hoping they believed him. “But then she was hysterical, and her horse wouldn’t let her remount, so I let her ride behind me. That is the full extent of my heroism, I assure you.”
Queen Sofia’s pleasure dimmed. “Omar, it isn’t like you to speak ill of a lady. She must have told her parents flattering things about you, for they seem quite eager to befriend us.”
The evening went downhill from there. As they walked to the castle’s west wing, his parents seriously discussed the potential political advantages of an alliance with the island duchy of Roxwell, a manufacturing capital with financial and political ties extending over the entire northern continent.
And the visit with Gillian’s family only deepened Omar’s distress. Her parents urged her to relate her version of the adventure, which bore scant resemblance to his own: The unicorn had been huge and fanged, its horn and eyes glowing red, and Omar had dashed under its very nose, lifted the helpless lady into his arms, and snatched her away from certain death. Strong implications of passionate embraces and declarations of undying love laced every word.
Omar was hard put to keep his jaw from dropping at the lies. Nothing he could say dimmed the gratitude or determination of either set of parents, and Gillian glowed with adoration and triumph.
The visit lasted under an hour, but the king and the earl managed to imbibe a quantity of port while Gillian and the two mothers spoke of family traditions, travel, and fashion. Omar received the distinct impression that his mother wished to regard Gillian as a daughter, and his father seemed quite chummy with the fish-eyed earl by the time Omar helped him out the door and through a maze of halls to their own rooms.
Omar slept little that night. When morning dawned he was wide awake, staring over the edge of his bed at the place where Ellie had sat looking up at him only days before. The day his life equation started to become rational and real.
She was the only woman he would ever marry. That much he knew for certain. If anything, events of the previous night had cemented his decision, providing a stinging eyeful of the life he could end up with if he didn’t stand firm.
He flung himself out of bed, glanced out the window to see clear skies, and threw on running clothes. Some of his best thinking happened while running, and he could use a brainstorm or two.
A few minutes later, as he entered the lobby, he noticed someone else heading out the main doors, a guy in running gear. There were plenty of running trails, so not a problem. But this person turned, saw him, and waited for him to approach. “Omar. Want company?”