“Fortunately, I only wear a couple of pieces when I travel,” Rachel said, removing a bracelet and oblivious to Victoria’s stare. “It’s too easy to misplace them.”
“Kate, you already look mussed, but you should take off your locket,” Victoria said, vigorously shaking her head until several curls sprang free.
Kate’s quick review of her attire confirmed Victoria’s assessment. The single dark braid down her back was likely as unruly as Rachel’s hair, and her borrowed blue gown looked several days shy of fresh. Everything about her appeared rumpled, worn and tired. As Victoria hinted, the silver locket was likely the only thing that would draw anyone’s attention, but it would take a lot more than the threat of bandits to persuade her to remove it. It was not only her last tie to her mother, but her talisman rested inside—a coin-sized slice of polished malachite as green as summer grass and as necessary to her future as air.
Without the stone, she wouldn’t be able to renew the spell blocking her Gifts. Without it, Lord Morten would track her. Without it, she would be doomed to the life of a genie.
As Kate tucked the precious possession under her bodice, Stiles returned yet again.
“Their leader refused the ale as well,” the guard said. “He instructed me to announce he isn’t interested in breads, cheeses or trinkets either.”
“Are you sure they’re bandits and not Zafarians?” Kate asked.
“They’re not Zafarians milady. We’ve encountered them before,” he said.
“Then fight them,” Victoria said.
“They outnumber us three to one,” he said.
“I cannot believe two dozen royal guardsmen are being held captive by a bunch of grungy bandits,” Kate said.
“They’re heavily armed.”
Victoria flipped open a small wood box of jewels and pulled out a garish broach—thumb-sized mother-of-pearl petals arranged in the shape of a daisy and set in copper. It was the kind of broach you’d see on, well, no one with a hint of taste.
“Give this to him,” Victoria said, handing the piece to Stiles.
Following his path once again, Stiles disappeared.
“A gift from the new queen?” Kate asked.
Victoria nodded. “Designed to torment me.”
“Do you think he’ll accept it?” Rachel asked.
“Probably not,” Victoria said. “But I’ve been hoping to lose it for ages.” The thought drew a rare laugh from the princess before she sobered and said, “In truth, if we are to pass, we’ll need to go back to Cragmont for help. Our guards won’t mind a fight.”
“Surely, going back isn’t necessary,” Rachel said. “As you said, we’re a stone’s throw from the castle.”
“We’re not going back,” Kate said vehemently.
With matching regal expressions, the princesses turned her way.
“No?” Victoria said, raising a brow. “Are you now giving the orders?”
“They will just overtake us as we flee,” Kate said, shifting under the weighty gaze. Cousin or no, Kate knew she’d overstepped. “Please, there must be another way.”
Victoria nodded. “There is one last solution.”
Kate and Rachel both waited for the pronouncement.
“We will grant their request,” Victoria said.
A dainty gasp came from Rachel’s camp. “You’re going to kiss him?”
“Kiss a lice-ridden bandit?” Victoria said. “Of course not.”
“You can’t think I will,” Princess Rachel said.
“No,” Victoria said, turning her lovely eyes in an unfortunate direction. “Kate will do it.”
While Kate had agreed to tend to Victoria’s every need, that did not extend to appeasing bandits. “Kiss him? Oh, no. I have no intention—”
“I didn’t think so,” Victoria said, then leaned her head out the window. “Driver! Tell the guards we’re going back for reinforcements.”
Going back wouldn’t lead Kate to reinforcement, but to enslavement.
“Wait! Wait,” Kate cried.
Chapter 3
Stiles, not Rachel, rounded the bend yet again. The lass was sure milking the moment.
“What are they offering this time?” the bandit asked. “Pottery? Parchment? Poetry?”
“A broach,” Stiles said, tossing the offering to him.
“It’s hideous.” He laughed, turning the frightful ornament in his palm.
“She doesn’t know it’s you,” Wolfe said again.
“Of course, she knows it’s me. She’s playing along.”
“The last time we arrived, she ran all the way from the pond to greet you. The time before that, she didn’t even change out of her bedclothes. It’s been half a year. If she knew it was you, she wouldn’t be in that carriage.”
“Ah, hell. Stiles?” he asked, hoping the man would support his side.
The guard’s face pinched like he’d bitten a sour apple. “I believe she and her guests—”
“Her guests?” he said. “Isn’t she riding with Lydia?”
“No. She is accompanied by the princess from Cragmont and her lady-in-waiting. I think they are of the mind that you are bandits.”
“Ah, hell,” he said again, starting up the road. “Why didn’t you tell me!”
“I believe I did,” Wolfe said, falling in next to him.
Before they’d eaten up a dozen strides, a gypsy-haired maiden marched around the bend. Her blue traveling gown clung to her curves in a way that would make any man stare, but it lacked the usual glittering embellishments that the princesses of the kingdoms seemed to demand. And her hair wasn’t twisted atop her head like the royals wore it, but draped over her left shoulder in one long black braid.
The lady-in-waiting.
He hadn’t realized his feet had ceased moving until she stopped in front of him. Near enough to assess, too far to touch.
“Are you the scoundrels halting our progress?” the maiden asked, her sharp gaze gliding from him to Wolfe to their comrades.
“Some of us are scoundrels, milady, others are misunderstood,” he said, drawing her gray eyes back to his.
“I’m sure I can guess which camp you fall into.”
Laughter rumbled among the men.
What a contrast. Eyes cool as ice and wit hot as fire.
“Derek Wolfe,” Wolfe said with a quick bow. “Often the latter, occasionally the former.”
“His accent causes all the trouble,” he said.
“I doubt that’s the only cause,” she said, dark brows hitched expectantly.
She awaited his name, no doubt.
He should tell her the truth. He should end the charade and let her pass. But shoulds were so damned boring.
“May I present—” Wolfe began.
“Bregovi,” he said. “Bregovi the Bandit.”
More laughter among his men and the guards threatened to give him away.
“Bregovi?” she said, rolling the word over on her tongue. “I’ve heard that name somewhere.”
Bregovi could almost see her brain shaking the rafters for the answer.