“I think you gave me more than that. Diplomacy, the art of negotiating, a firm knowledge of every ruling house in Europe—including my own. I did pay attention to those lessons about Lubinia. The house of Bruslan ruled for centuries, but the last Bruslan to sit on the throne, King Ernest, made such bad decisions for his people that they rose up in a civil war, which ultimately killed him. The Stindals, father and son, ruled after him. Did I remember that correctly?”
“Indeed, but you were not told why the Stindals were chosen instead of one of the Bruslan heirs, and there were many Bruslans who might have been chosen. You’re actually distantly related to them, though the two branches of the family severed ties long ago and never reconciled. So while the Stindals shared the same royal bloodline, they were viewed as a change from the Bruslans, whom the people no longer trusted. This was why a Stindal was chosen. Tradition was satisfied, and the people were rid of a despised family who’d dominated the throne for too long.”
“It sounds as if the Bruslans would have much to gain if there were no Stindals remaining.”
“Indeed, and you and your father are the last two. But while it is logical to conclude that the Bruslans instigated the plot to assassinate you, your father would have realized that, too, yet he took no action against them. Until I know why he didn’t, I have to conclude he may have other enemies I’m unaware of. Now enough of history. You were taught well, though it still wasn’t enough. But your father isn’t an old man. You still have many years ahead of you in which to learn anything a royal should know that I’ve overlooked.”
A royal. How could he think she would want this? She did want to meet her father though. She couldn’t help but be curious about him, more than she cared to admit. But she didn’t want the responsibility that might come after that meeting. The thought of having a whole country dependent on her decisions someday was more than she felt capable of dealing with. Nor did she want the restrictions. And she certainly didn’t want a complete separation from Poppie, who wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms the way she would be.
She was worried about Poppie, too. He was going to devote himself fully now to what her father should have done years ago, finding the person or persons who had hired him to kill her. Until those people were gone, her safety was at risk.
“Did you ever kill again after you brought me to England?” she asked him one night.
They were on the way to the theater in Paris. They had traveled without stopping up to that point, so he was allowing them a day of rest, and a little time to see something of that great old city. The shock of who she was had actually tempered the shock of who Poppie had been. At least she could discuss it now without feeling sick to her stomach.
“No, though there was one instance when I might have had to,” Poppie confided. “It was only a few months after I sent that missive to your father. I heard that a couple of men, obviously foreigners, were visiting London’s immigrant neighborhoods asking if anyone knew of a Lubinian man with a child or children who had recently arrived. The Londoners weren’t very cooperative. I only heard about it, and no one ever showed up at our house.”
“So they might not have been searching for me?”
“It could have been unrelated, but I never doubted you would be searched for, despite my assurance to your father. He might have thought that he could protect you better than I could.”
She stared at Poppie hard. “So you would have actually killed my father’s men?”
“Do not mistake the situation, Alana,” he said gravely. “While I was as positive as I could be under the circumstances that my employer was done with the matter, convinced that you had been killed, I wasn’t going to completely dismiss the possibility that I could be wrong.”
They were traveling halfway across Europe, and it wasn’t the best time of year for it, with winter so soon upon them. There would be snow, and lots of it, the higher they got into the mountains. She had been taught about the countries they passed through, all of France, into the Rhineland, where they paused once more in the Grand Duchy of Baden, then on through Württemberg.
Halfway through the Kingdom of Bavaria, they paused one last time, in Munich. There, Poppie suggested she disguise herself as a boy for the last leg of the journey. She didn’t think at first that he was serious, but he was.
“You are too pretty,” he told her. “You draw attention to us, which we don’t want. And it bothers me that I don’t know if you look like your mother. It would be the worst luck for you to be recognized before we get to the palace.”
“And if I don’t look like her? How am I going to prove who I am?”
“With the truth. And with this.”
He took a tiny bracelet from his pocket and placed it in her hand. Made of gold and decorated with small gems, it had an engraving on the inside. She could only make out half of it, her name.
“The letters are so small I can’t read the first word. What else does it say?”
“It’s the Lubinian word for ‘princess.’ It says ‘Princess Alana.’ ”
She put the trinket in the small, silk-lined box that contained her jewelry and Henry’s carvings, which she kept locked and buried deep in one of her trunks. That small piece of her past brought home, more than anything else, that she was Alana, daughter of Frederick, current ruler of Lubinia. She cried herself to sleep that night. Nothing was ever going to be the same again.
Chapter Seven
THEY WOULD ARRIVE IN Lubinia today. Even though the trip had been long, Alana still thought it was too soon to reach their destination. They were high in the mountains, surrounded by a pristine white landscape. Then a furious snowstorm seemed to come out of nowhere, it was upon them so fast. The trail on the mountain pass they had to traverse grew narrower the higher they climbed. It was so steep that everyone, even the driver, had to get out of the coach and walk in front of it. The sudden snow now made the already slippery trail treacherous.
“It’s an ancient trail, rarely used anymore,” Poppie shouted above the wind that was blowing the snow in their faces. He was in the lead right in front of her, yet he still had to shout! Behind them, the driver carefully coaxed the coach horses forward. “Not many visitors come from this direction,” Poppie added.
“Nonetheless, it should still be made less dangerous,” she complained as she hugged the mountain rocks on the safe side of the trail. “At least a few fences or—”
“Something you can order when you are queen.”
She detected his humor. “Something I can mention to my father,” she countered. It made Poppie laugh.
It was so cold she was glad she wasn’t wearing a dress, which would have been troublesome in this wind. Her hair was tightly braided and tucked into her coat with its collar raised high. A woolen cap was pulled over her forehead, concealing the rest of her hair. She should have taken a scarf out of her trunks to cover her face though. She could feel her cheeks being pelted by some of the flakes, which were more ice than snow. Fortunately, her britches had been made for weather like this; they were so thick they almost seemed to be padded.
She kept one glove-covered hand on the rocks, while the other tightly clasped Henry’s hand. She thought she heard him whistling, or maybe that was the wind. But she knew he was viewing this as an adventure, silly boy. He’d been having the time of his life on this journey, asking questions and expressing fascination about everything they saw. She and Poppie had told him, of course, the reason for the trip, but they’d given him a simplified version that didn’t include royalty. They merely said that Alana was going to be reunited with her father, whom she’d never before met.
