Chapter 1
About the Author
Also by Rachel A. Collett
Royal Prisoner
Rusted cuffs bit into the flesh of my ankles, shooting sharp pains up bruised legs. My heart pounded and my head throbbed as I shuffled down the cell corridor in a red, shapeless prison gown. Red signified female, though I hardly felt like one anymore.
Once a week. Just once a week, we could escape our hell on earth and breathe the air outside of the piss-saturated, rat-infested walls of our confinement. Ten cells a day were given their freedom for an hour. That was what the king of Anolyn granted, which was kind compared to what my uncle would have allowed.
I paced my steps and thoughts, hiding my excitement from the guards who unshackled the manacles from my bare feet. The cement stairs were ice cold. As we climbed in single file, the wind blew through the cracks of the prison doors. Then they were thrown wide. Light poured in, blinding me.
Water fell from a bloated sky. The wind chilled my wet skin, and goosebumps shivered down my back, but I didn’t care. The rain was a blessing. It was the only shower I had had since being captured by Riaan’s men. I lifted my face to the heavens of Anolyn, letting it wash away months of dirt and grime.
An automatic grunt bubbled from my lips as Lucan shoved past to go sulk in the corner of the arena with the other prisoners, his broad shoulders and large biceps too big for the prison garb given to him. A mop of dishwater blond hair hung down his pale face. Under the protection of a large oak, he scowled at me. Another reason why I was thankful for the rain. He would leave me alone for once.
Retracing the muddied circle entrenched in the ground from countless other prisoners, I walked my laps alone, lifting my shackled hands as high in front of me as I could to stretch sore muscles. I almost looked tan, but it was only dirt that darkened my skin.
This was my tenth walk, my first given to me after healing from a severe beating by an overzealous guard upon my arrival. In his defense, I deserved it. He would never regrow the ear that now rotted in the dense soil of Varian Forest.
It had been approximately three months since my capture, and I was nowhere nearer to escape. Not that I was trying. Riaan’s prison was luxury compared to what awaited me when my uncle reclaimed me. Death came to those who he deemed a traitor—and I was a traitor.
I rolled my neck, feeling the tight strain of my skin and the burn mark from my uncle. The scar stretched from just beneath my ear to right above my collarbone—a reminder of a past treachery, and only one of many. Blood or not, he did not tolerate dissidence.
The sound of hooves arrested my attention as a man on his horse cantered into the arena. The prison guard whistled—a signal that our recess was over early. My shoulders hunched as I walked back, the muddy ground squishing between my toes. The rain grew heavier. By the time the last man entered the prison doors, I couldn’t see a foot in front of my face.
Which was why I ran headlong into the horse’s ass… and his black steed.
Letting out a surprised curse, I pushed away, but kept my head down.
The man brushed at the watery filth left behind on the sleeve of his black uniform and tsked. “That’s not very becoming of a lady.”
My face burned, but I swallowed my sarcastic reply. I had never been a lady. Born as a girl, I was already thought weak. Second-rate. Seventeen years of fighting proved I was anything but. Now I accepted the truth that I was a woman, but a lady? No.
That station only came with additional costs. Costs I was unwilling to pay. But if I wanted to remain hidden, I needed to pretend for the time being.
“Nothing?” His deep voice was gruff and unnervingly calm. I didn’t like it. His very presence radiated authority. His eyes bore through my face as he stood silently watching me, waiting for me to say something imprudent—to fall into some unknown trap.
I mumbled my apologies and prayed to be excused. Rain dripped from my dirt-crusted hairline, down my face, and onto my soiled feet, but still the man stayed where he was. The mud coated his once nicely polished boots and I fought the growing temptation to look up. Enlightenment could sometimes be deadly.
“Sir.” A panicked guard rushed from the prison doors, grabbing me roughly by the arm.
Despite the pain, relief flooded through me. I was happily ready to be dragged back to my cell.
“Bring her to my office,” the man said.
The guard stuttered, surprised. “Sir?
“Now.” Then he spun on his heel and led his horse away to the stables. He vanished through the downpour.
My heart dropped.
“What did you do?”
Before I could respond to the infuriated guard, he knocked me to the ground with a solid backhand to the face. Shock and then anger surged, but within seconds, two guards rushed me and I had barely enough time to block my face from a kick—missing the one to my side. The air knocked from me, my lungs seized in pain, then another blow to my head—
I came to when my legs crumpled on a hard floor. Wet, weak and annoyed, I allowed the cold of the concrete to seep into my skin, glad to feel something other than my throbbing body. I pushed my hands against the ground, rising partway.
At first hazy, my gaze darted about an expansive and impeccably clean room. A huge stone fireplace blazed, warm and alive. A window was cracked open to allow a small breeze from outside, although the rain still poured in sheets.
The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, seizing almost every sense. A crystal goblet, a smaller wooden cup, and a platter with half a loaf of steaming bread teased from the top of an ornate wooden desk that faced the door. My stomach growled pitifully, but I forced myself to ignore the irritating hunger.
Masses of papers and folders littered the top of the desk. Books were scattered about the room, stacked upon the floor and lined within rows of a private library. The owner of this receiving room was important. Advisor to the king? The king’s commander?
“What is this?” His voice was instantly recognizable and so were his boots now cleaned from the mud.
I inhaled a ragged breath as the guards gripped my arms and dragged me to my feet. I swayed on the spot but managed to stay upright.
Three guards stood at attention behind me. The one from the prison spoke. “The prisoner, sir.”
Clean and dry in new black pants and a white shirt unbuttoned at the top, the man with the impossibly deep voice finished drying his thick black hair cropped tight on the sides, then tossed the towel to the ground. He ran his fingers through the tresses, calming the damp mess.
I cursed beneath my breath.
The King’s brother. Prince Castiel Anouk of Anolyn, known for his cunning in battle. I had yet to face the renowned warrior. Something within warned me that I never wanted to.
The room went silent. His piercing blue eyes scanned my appearance, then that of the guards. “It’s Lieutenant Scores, correct?”
Scores nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The prince scrutinized each guard from top to bottom. “I don’t see a mark upon anyone else. Did she attack you?”
Scores’s head twitched. “No, sir.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “She must have attacked someone. Why else would you have beaten her to a pulp?”
The two other guards gawked at each other, their faces pale.