A quick polling of the townsfolk at the base of the mountain had revealed the young man matching the description of the goosenapper had been none other than Jacques, the youngest prince and a known troublemaker.
The guard shook his head. “I’m sorry, s–sir. The princes aren’t here.”
“What are you saying? There must be some representative of the royal family that I can speak to.” Atlas forced his words through clenched teeth. “I need to lodge a complaint.”
“I’m sorry,” the guard repeated. “You’ll have to come back later.”
Atlas closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, forcing himself to remain calm. “Fine.” He opened his eyes. “Last question: You wouldn’t have happened to see a goose somewhere around the castle, would you?”
He didn’t think it possible, but the guard paled further. “A–a goose?”
“Yes. You know what those look like, right?”
“Well, see, the thing is…there have been an awful lot of geese a–and ducks and swans on the grounds. It was a harmless prank, I’m told.”
“And…?”
“Well, some of them are still here, but I saw several flying away towards the lake earlier today.”
That must be Phoebe. She’s probably trying to find her way home.
With a muttered, half-hearted word of thanks, he turned on his heel and stalked back down the road in the direction of Lake Lossos. His long legs ate up the distance easily, and the dark expression on his face ensured that he remained unbothered and that anyone he passed on the road stayed far away on the other side.
Still, it was late afternoon by the time he reached the lake, and he was morethan ready to find Phoebe and return home. His shoulders slumped and he let out a growl of frustration as he took in the expanse of water before him, realizing that locating Phoebe somewhere in the miles of shoreline would be more of a wild goose chase than he had anticipated. Lake Lossos was large enough that he couldn’t see across to the other side, and the shore was dotted with rock formations and thick patches of grass and other greenery that would be the perfect hiding place for a frightened goose far away from home.
He started walking along the edge of the water, choosing the direction that would keep him on the side of the lake closest to the castle, and cupped his hands around his mouth to yell, “Phoebe! Where are you?”
Nothing but the sound of the water lapping against the pebbled sand and distant birdsong from the surrounding forest met his ears. He trudged forward, moving slowly and swinging his head from side to side. “Phee, it’s time to go home.”
A flash of white on the water caught his eyes, and the tail end of some kind of water fowl disappeared behind a large, rocky outcropping. Atlas quickened his step. “Phee?” He had to climb up a short hill to get to the other side of the rocks, and as he crested the hill, he froze.
The small flock of swans drifting in the water and sitting on the shore was disappointing, but expected.
The woman with the flaxen curls and a face that would make an artist weep with joy, sitting barefoot in the sand while pulling apart what appeared to be a pile of plant stems was…not.
She startled at his approach, looking up at him withthe bluest eyes he had ever seen. They widened at the sight of him, and he could see her entire body tense like a coiled spring.
“I’m sorry.” He held out his hands and stopped moving. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She continued to eye him warily.
“I’m looking for a goose. I don’t suppose you’ve seen any around here?”
Atlas looked at the swans as he spoke, hoping that perhaps Phoebe had hidden herself in their ranks. He stepped toward them for a closer look, when suddenly the woman was on her feet, planting herself between him and the birds, holding her arms out at her sides as if somehow, she could keep him from seeing them. Her eyes sparked with fierce determination.
“I’m not going to hurt them. I’m just looking for my goose.” He tried to step around her, but she moved with him, blocking his way.
His patience, already worn thin, snapped, and so did he. “Get out of my way.”
She held her ground, moving with him step for step as he attempted to go around her the other way.
Atlas had enough. “Move.” He wrapped his hands around her upper arms and picked her up, setting her to the side.
As soon as he released her, she leapt at him like a feral cat, pounding her fists against his back and trying to pull him backwards by his shirt. He turned, gripping both her wrists in one hand and holding her in place against his side while he searched the area of the water obscured bythe grass and rocks. “I told you: I’m just looking for my goose.”
Once satisfied that Phoebe wasn’t concealed somewhere in the vegetation, he released the woman and put some distance between himself and the swans. They floated in the water, looking on with a detached interest and showing no signs of feeling threatened.
The woman, on the other hand, was glaring daggers at him. She rubbed her wrists, and the movement drew his eyes to the red, irritated skin on her hands. Guilt prickled in his chest. Ms. Fumley would have his hide if she knew how he had just manhandled a defenseless woman. “Did I do that?” He gestured with his chin to her hands. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. You just…wouldn’t get out of the way.”
