But the girl had had a harsh childhood, beaten by the old woman each time she questioned why a princess was being raised in such squalor. The girl didn’t have the courage to go through with the impersonation. She, at least, had not been part of the plot hanging over the Stindals.
But this girl who had shown up today was something else entirely. The others had been children or stupid. This one wasn’t either. But he’d already tried to frighten her, obviously not enough to get a confession yet, so he’d keep that in mind. But seduction? When he had never been anything but straightforward with his women? He was more than willing to get her into his bed, though, and with the king’s permission! And it would be interesting to see how she would react to a change in tactics. . . .
Chapter Seventeen
IF THIS WAS HOW they treated long-lost daughters, Alana could just imagine how they treated enemies. She was actually going to enjoy being a princess just long enough to put Christoph Becker in his place!
She had been contemptuous of this country before, but now she was starting to despise it. If lives weren’t at stake, she would withdraw her claim faster than the captain and his palace guards could blink. Closed-minded, primitive lout, how dare he treat her like this when she’d done nothing wrong? Well, she should voluntarily have surrendered her weapons sooner, she supposed, before he discovered them on his own. That did look bad. But he’d rattled her so much she hadn’t even thought to do so sooner!
She hadn’t grown up knowing any sort of fear. Poppie had taught her how to handle dangerous situations, but not how to deal with this particular emotion. Having her natural indignation over her treatment mixed in with it was a horrible combination that put a painful tightness in her chest.
She was afraid the captain had provoked this fear deliberately so she’d end up telling him exactly what he wanted to hear instead of the truth. God, she couldn’t let that happen. Lives depended on her steadfast resolve. She needed to regain her confidence. She needed a stronger emotion to outweigh the fear. Indignation wasn’t strong enough. She needed to get her anger back, she realized as she stared at the metal-barred cell door. She noticed that the bars were not narrowly set. A man couldn’t squeeze through them, but she might be able to.
But the servant Boris arrived before she could test that possibility. “You’re not going to shoot me, are you?” he called from the doorway in a jocular tone.
He couldn’t be serious. He had to know she no longer had any weapons, so she didn’t bother to answer him.
Grinning, he came forward to give her a small lamp first, already lit, thrusting it through the bars and setting it on the floor of her cell. It was welcome because now, in the evening, no light was streaming through the high-set windows in the outer room. The sconces at the door to the detention block, which wasn’t far from her cell, provided the only illumination.
Next she heard Boris grunting as he carried a large, heavy brazier, which he placed outside her cell’s door. After he lit it, he put a folding contraption around it that funneled the heat into her cell.
“If you hadn’t angered the captain so much, he wouldn’t have locked you in,” the servant told her, “and this could go inside your room.”
It was a cell, not a room! she wanted to scream, but she held her tongue. Actually, if not for the barred door, it could be considered a room. It was larger than the other cells she’d passed, and it had been made somewhat comfortable, so she assumed it was for special prisoners of rank or importance. The bed was narrow, void of bedding, but the mattress was softly stuffed. She’d tested it. An oval rug was on the floor, with a pedestal table and that odious chair that she’d left right where the captain had put it before he’d shoved her down in it.
Boris appeared to be waiting for her to reply to his comment. A young man, he was as cleanly shaven as his master, with curly, brown hair worn a little long. His eyes were light blue, sharp with intelligence.
“I expect no less of a barbarian,” she retorted.
“I wouldn’t say that to him if I were you.”
“Why not? He’s blind and stupid and doesn’t recognize the truth when it smacks him over the head.”
Boris laughed and left her alone. Fully dressed now, she had been managing to ward off the chill in that prison block by pacing the floor. She welcomed the heat from the brazier, but not for long.
The room quickly got too warm. She rolled up her sleeves. She opened the bodice of her gown a bit. She took off her boots and stockings, even her heavy petticoats. Still she felt uncomfortably warm. When it occurred to her that this was a deliberate tactic intended to bake a confession out of her, her anger rose with the temperature.
She welcomed her anger. She could control it. Poppie had taught her to control all of her emotions. Look how well she’d done during that outrageous interrogation. Becker wouldn’t even see her anger, she could hide it so well. But this heat was too much!
She thought about shouting for Boris, but he wouldn’t come back if this intense heat was deliberate, and she was now sure it was. No one in his right mind would funnel this much heat at her by mistake. She thought about trying to knock over the brazier’s shield, but it appeared to be out of her reach, and she was afraid she’d get burned if she tried to get close to it. So she stayed as far back in the cell as she could, her back to the heat, and used her petticoat to wipe the perspiration off her face and neck.
Unfortunately, the heat soon exhausted her, draining away her anger. She lay on the bed, and soon the sweat on her cheeks was mixed with tears. Despite what the captain had said, she was afraid he wasn’t going to let her out of that cell. But soon she couldn’t even summon the energy to feel sorry for herself. She knew she was becoming dangerously listless, but she couldn’t muster the gumption to try to counter it.
She was almost asleep when she vaguely heard the door to the detention block open and heavy, military-brisk footsteps approaching. She tried to sit up, but couldn’t quite manage it and gave up the effort. She was utterly wilted, soaked with sweat. She opened her eyes only a smidgen to make sure it was the captain. It was, and he looked even bigger and more intimidating because he was wearing a long, shapeless military coat.
She saw him stop next to the brazier and heard him swear, knocking the shield to the floor, where it opened flat, then he shoved the brazier away from the door with his foot. That done, he glanced in the room at her—and drew in his breath sharply.
The long string of oaths that followed were so foul, Alana didn’t even recognize them. Not that they would have made her blush when her face was already so flushed from the heat. She knew she should brace herself. He was unlocking the door to come inside. But she was still too drained to care.
He picked her up and carried her out of there. That was at least alarming enough to make her find her voice, albeit barely a whisper, “Put me down.”
“I’m taking you to cool off.”
“So you didn’t mean to melt me?”
“Not like that.”
Remembering his earlier remark about her melting on him like butter, she actually understood he wasn’t talking about that brazier. The cool air from his brisk passage through the storage room didn’t pull her out of her stupor either. But the snow did, opening her eyes fully. He’d taken her outside to the ward, just outside his quarters. Darkness had fallen and with it, a steady stream of snow. It melted on her instantly, wouldn’t even stick to her warm clothes as it did to his. But that would change soon enough as cold as it was outside.
