The Stolen Princess (Fated Royals 1)

“Speak, whore!”

“Twenty, then!” Angelica strained; her voice was hoarse and shallow from what I imagined was my father’s hand around her throat.

She was tough as nails, but one woman was only so strong against a group of men. I remembered then the knife that Bors had given me. It was heavy and cold in my pocket, its bone handle solid and intimidating in my palm. But it was useless to me and to Angelica both, and she wouldn’t thank me for revealing my hiding place.

“Where’s my daughter, cunt? Where have you put her?”

“She’s not here,” Angelica croaked. “She left at daybreak.”

“To go where?” My father asked.

Angelica gasped for a deep breath—he no longer had his hand around her throat, thank goodness. As she gasped, I felt like I was able to breathe a little better too, but only a little. “She’s gone to Westerville,” Angelica said, her voice gruff and strained. “Said she wanted to make a new life for herself. She said she never wanted to see her piece-of-shit father again.”

There was a laugh again from one of the other men, but my father’s voice cut across it. “She’d never, you liar. She’s got neither the wits nor the guts. You’ve got her here. I know it. So, where the fuck is she?” I heard the ominous sounds of everything being swept off the table as Angelica screamed obscenities.

But then a loud clang resonated through the house and I heard my father scream in pain. Through the floorboards trickled the tincture that Angelica had been simmering on the fire.

“You bitch,” my father said. “I’ll see you pay for this!”

“Get out of my goddamned house,” Angelica said. “All of you. Right now. Or I’ll slice the balls off every single one of you and feed them to the hogs.”

There were grunts and muttered curses, but eventually the heavy footfalls moved towards the door. For a long moment, I held perfectly still, neither breathing nor moving. Then, after what felt like an eternity, I heard the sound of the rug shifting above me and a patch of light made me squint in the darkness. Angelica knelt down and offered me her hand. As I emerged from the hidey-hole, I saw her hair was mussed and her clothes crooked and disheveled, but I was grateful to see, otherwise unharmed…thanks to the gleaming meat cleaver that lay beside her.

Angelica and I spent that day and the next laying low in her house. I pitched in around the cottage in order to help pay my way, and she complimented my cooking and my housework, thanking me for being such a help.

When she did, I realized just how desperately I had ached to be appreciated—how much I needed not only the passionate love that Bors inspired in me but also the simpler and less complex affection of friendship. Over dinner, Angelica observed that I was starved for warmth and affection. And I knew she was exactly right.

A second night passed, then a third day, and by the evening of the fourth I could tell Angelica was growing worried for Bors, too. She never said so aloud, but from her concerned glances at the window and the way she perked up anytime hoofbeats neared, it was clear to me his safety was of as much concern to her as it was to me.

“The garrison is only a day’s ride away. He should have been back by now, shouldn’t he?” I asked as I worked my way through a pile of potatoes that needed peeling.

Angelica nodded, worried, and untied her apron. “Let me see what I can find out,” she said as she gathered her things. “I have many sources of information around town. If something has gone wrong, word would have spread by now. You stay here, you understand?” Over her head she slipped a simple amulet that she wore on a thin leather strap. It nestled comfortably in her bosom. She wound her hair into a twist and fastened it at the nape of her neck.

“I won’t go anywhere. I promise.”

She eyed me knowingly. “No matter how curious you get, you must stay here.” She tapped the table for emphasis. “I won’t be more than a few hours. But in the meantime, don’t you dare leave this house.”

“I won’t. I swear.”

With that, she packed a satchel and I listened as the hoofbeats of her dappled gray mare bore her down the road, leaving me completely alone.

But as the sun began to make its way back towards the horizon the following day, she still hadn’t returned. I was worried for Angelica and terrified for Bors. Staying there one more minute in the cottage was unbearable, and I decided to break my promise. At nightfall, hoping that the cover of darkness would protect me from any prying eyes, I braided my hair off to the side, and set out for the village in search of answers.