The Stolen Princess (Fated Royals 1)

Perhaps all I could do was keep fighting, hoping that one day someone would end my misery.

I fucking missed her—her presence, her laughter, her lips, her smell, her sex. I wanted her with me, more than anything. But I couldn’t have her. And, glancing out the windows at the high walls of the castle keep, I knew I’d never see her again.

I thought of my seed deep inside of her. Wondered if it had found home. The fantasy of riding in and taking her back, her belly full pounded through me like a warriors call.

It was folly and my heart sank thinking of the precarious position our love had created for us both.

I downed the pint and tapped the bar for another. I needed to drown my sorrows and I needed to do it quick. So, I slipped a coin from the reward purse and slid it across to the barkeep. His eyes widened as he glanced up at me. “Sir?” he asked.

“Keep them coming. And don’t fucking water them down.”

A shitload of pints later, three of the King’s Guard entered the tavern and took seats near the low-burning fire. Though the day had been warm, the spring air turned cold with dusk.

During my time in the tavern, there’d been no celebrations over the returned stolen princess—no mention of her at all, in fact. It was strange, absolutely, but I knew these things were well above my experience and rank.

Undoubtedly, there was some official process of disclosing the news to the common folk. But the guards would know about it, I was sure.

Knowing nothing was fucking agony. So, taking my pint with me, I moved to a table near the King’s Guardsmen to listen to what they had to say.

They talked of soldiering and horses, of new swords and changes in the staffing of the guard. But they didn’t utter a word about Sara, not even in veiled terms.

Even through the many pints of ale I’d had, I could tell something was amiss. I waited for them to finish one round and then another, so that the drink would help loosen their tongues, then I ordered another round for them and one for myself before I made my approach. When the round of strong ale arrived at their table, they nodded their gratitude and I raised my mug to them in return. “Any word about the stolen princess?” I asked.

The captain scoffed. “Rumors like that crop up every few years. Pay it no mind.” He rose, slightly woozy with drink, and told the other guards he was going to take a piss.

Hazy though my thoughts were, I always kept my wits about me. I held my tongue as I watched him leave. Sara was no rumor; I could swear to that.

Now I turned my focus to the foot soldiers who might be more likely to speak without their captain nearby. I said, “I hear she’s the right age. Has the birthmark even.”

Their reactions were just the same as their captain’s. They didn’t seem to know that Sara had been returned, or to care about the news. “The child is dead, sir,” said the younger guard of the two. “Mark my words. Been dead for eighteen years. May she rest in peace.”

The other foot soldier nodded in sloppy agreement. “Aye. ’Tis the truth. And anyway, if the stolen princess had been returned, we’d all be celebrating. Bells ringing. Women opening their skirts.” He looked around, disappointed. “I don’t see any such wonders here, just ugly fucking soldiers with too much ale in their bellies.”

His companions laughed, but the boy spoke the truth, I had to give him that. The crowd in the pub was as quiet and reserved as any ordinary winter day in late afternoon. My thoughts had been so wrapped up in Sara that I hadn’t even taken the time to notice how strange that nobody seemed to be thinking about her except me.

I rose and straightened myself out, breathing deep to sober myself up. Then I stepped out into the cold chilly late afternoon, passing the captain as he came back inside.

Outside, the streets were quiet. The night soil men were beginning their rounds, the whores were starting up their evening trade, but there was no sign of celebration. I splashed my face with the cold water from the drinking trough that stood before the horses, and blinked away the ale.

Something was wrong, I was sure of it.

If news of Sara wasn’t everywhere by now, it meant someone was keeping her a secret. It meant King Rowan didn’t know she had returned. It meant she was in trouble.

I had to find her. There was no time to waste.

Sara

When my hood was removed, my surroundings had changed completely. I was in a set of rooms that were as luxurious as they were frigid. I looked out the window and saw there was no glass in the window frames, which were covered with lattice wound through with dry vines.