The Secret Princess. Rachelle McCalla

opened her mouth to assure the man that many of the king’s decisions could be described as such. In fact, King Garren tended toward unwise decisions as a rule. But before she could speak, a familiar scream rang out from the kitchen.

      “Cook.” Evelyn saw the man’s concerned question clearly on his face. “Probably saw a large rat or—”

      “A bear!” The cook’s shrill scream echoed against the stone walls.

      “—a bear,” Evelyn finished.

      “My bear.” The man turned back toward the great hall.

      “You brought—?” Evelyn started to ask, then realized the answer. “The pelt?”

      “With the head,” he explained, quickly skirting the worst slime of the barnyard. “It adds value.”

      Evelyn’s stomach swirled with sickening fear as she followed him back to the kitchen and through to the great hall. There was no stopping him—he’d gotten too much of a head start, and he was vastly bigger than she was. Even if she threw herself on him to stop him, she’d only succeed in smearing him with pigs’ muck. The man seemed determined to walk straight into danger.

      Perhaps if he was so determined, she ought to let him do as he pleased. He could find out for himself the wisdom of her warnings. She adopted that approach often enough with her brother, Bertie—not that he ever seemed to learn, no matter what chastisements he brought upon himself.

      Evelyn entered the great hall behind the man to find a crowd converging around the pelt. The bear sat atop a bench in a heap, its teeth bared, the head balanced above clawed paws in such a way that even if Cook had not smelled heavily of drink, she might nonetheless have been excused for thinking it a live bear.

      Certainly some of King Garren’s men looked determined to give the creature wide berth.

      The man from the woods stepped boldly toward it, grasped it by one furry shoulder, and unfurled it gracefully, the furry hide rippling impressively in spite of the lack of light in the hall.

      “Oh!” Cook shuddered and hid her eyes.

      King Garren bellowed a laugh, his mood considerably better than it had been during Evelyn’s encounter with him earlier that morning.

      “A gift for you, King Garren.” The man bowed with a flourish and held out the weighty pelt. “A symbol of Lydia’s commitment to peace in the borderlands. Any threat to the peace between us shall be similarly—” the man paused a moment, eyes twinkling “—disemboweled.”

      Still chortling, King Garren advanced with one hand outstretched cautiously, as though the hollow creature might bite him yet. He felt the fur, relaxing visibly when the animal made no move to attack. “Quite the surprise, Prince Luke—your visit and your gift.”

      Evelyn shuffled backward toward the kitchen, her heart hammering inside her. Prince Luke? She recognized the name—the man had been discussed often enough in the great hall, though from the words she’d overheard, she’d expected an awful half demon of a man. But the figure holding the bear pelt spoke eloquently and graciously, visibly charming King Garren, who was not easily charmed.

      “You’ll join us for a luncheon banquet in honor of your visit.” King Garren’s words weren’t presented as a question. Evelyn’s heart sank at the invitation, her eyes still riveted on the prince. Cook was in no condition to prepare a banquet, certainly not on such short notice. Evelyn would have to do most of the work herself, but first she’d run to find the serving girls—she’d need all the help she could get.

      “Gladly.” Luke accepted the invitation with a slight bow, a sign of deference to the host.

      Evelyn could only stare as she continued to back toward the kitchen doorway to find the servant girls. This man was Prince Luke? His behavior was certainly princely, even if his garments were those of a woodsman. She’d suspected him to be a nobleman of some rank, given her grandfather’s insistence that she save his life when he’d lain injured in the hut in the woodland village.

      But a prince! He’d touched her hand. He’d pulled her out of the pigpen. Embarrassment scratched its way up from the pit of her stomach to her throat. He’d seen her covered in muck. How could she face him again?

      “Biddy!” King Garren shrieked in that awful, goading tone he’d surely perfected with the sole intent of humiliating her.

      She’d have dived out of sight if there had been anywhere to hide, but she was only halfway to the kitchen and the crowd still hovered near the bearskin across the room. There was nothing for it but to respond, or she’d find herself chastised in front of the prince.

      “Yes, Your Majesty?” She crossed her ankles and curtsied.

      “Bring the prince a drink.”

      Evelyn nodded, risking the briefest glance at the prince in time to see him staring at her, his mouth set in a grim line that looked distinctly displeased.

      Chapter Three

      Evelyn hurried away, her ears burning with shame. If only God had seen fit to free her from her servitude before the prince had arrived to witness her humiliation.

      And what was he doing in Fier? King Garren hated the man—no matter that he smiled charmingly now. He had ranted many times against the rulers of Lydia, especially since the peace treaty barred him from the borderlands. Though he greeted the prince warmly today, King Garren could be as deceptive as any thief.

      As Evelyn searched the shelves for the best cup, she couldn’t help wondering if Prince Luke was as great a deceiver as King Garren. She might have hoped that as a Christian, the Lydian would be an honest man, but her experiences with royals in the region had taught her they weren’t to be trusted. What was the Lydian prince up to?

      For his sake, she hoped he had a plan. Otherwise Prince Luke should not be here, certainly not alone and unguarded. She’d tried to warn him away when she’d thought him merely a soldier of mysterious importance. But if this man really was a prince of the Lydian people, then he was in even more danger than she’d originally thought.

      Evelyn tried to stay in the kitchen, but Cook was not up to serving the meal, and the serving girls, once she finally found them, weren’t much help. Judging by the way they gawked and giggled, the girls found the visiting prince quite handsome.

      It didn’t surprise her that her grandfather had invited the prince to dinner. How better to entrap the nobleman than to get him to let down his guard over the course of the banquet? No doubt King Garren realized Luke was strong enough to fight off half a dozen soldiers at once if they tried to pounce. No, her grandfather was a crafty man—spineless and deceitful, but cunning when it came to deception.

      The best Evelyn could hope for was to go unnoticed, to follow the prince’s movements closely and see where her grandfather chose to imprison him. If she knew the king—and after five years in his household, she knew him well—he’d put the prince in the tallest tower. It was either that or the dungeon, but it would be vastly easier to trick the prince into walking up than down. Then it would be only a matter of getting the door locked securely after him.

      She hovered near the hearth with the excuse of stoking the fire, listening carefully as the prince casually asked her grandfather a series of prying questions—about the size of his army and cavalry, his contact with Constantinople, his feelings about the peace accord.

      She noted the king downplayed the number of men he had trained and ready, stationed on this very mountainside. Prince Luke’s right eyebrow twitched upward slightly, the only indication that he doubted Garren’s claims, unnoticed by the king, who had always had trouble making eye contact when lying.

      Though she found herself almost impressed by Prince Luke’s insightful questions, the fact that he’d asked so boldly only increased her fear for his safety and her confusion over his intentions. The prince seemed to be up to something. Was he spying on them? Distracting them while his men launched a surprise attack?