“Wait!” She followed. “I’m sorry I was rude.”
“Most people are rude,” he said, marching through the net of narrow passages. He navigated the castle with the perfect assurance of a resident rat. “But my lord is not, so watch your tongue.”
They came to a narrow door leading into a sparsely furnished chamber. A bed in a corner, a chest, a desk with a jug of water, a cup, and a leather bag on it. The only clue that someone inhabited it was a fire burning in the fireplace.
“Wait here,” Telani said. “He’ll come when he’s finished with Gospodar Echton.”
When he shut the door behind him, Liana snooped around. She found a saddlebag filled with clothes beside the chest. It smelled pleasantly of soap and bergamot, but the touch of the fine wool and linen felt too intimate so she refrained from searching it. Instead, she opened the bag on the desk. It revealed even less—there were a couple of maps of places she didn’t recognize and a stash of letters and documents. Liana’s grandfather had taught her to read and write, but the letters were all battle reports and documents written in an impenetrable legal language.
Liana put them back and yawned. It had been a long day.
She didn’t want to sit on the hard, high-backed chair and lying on the bed would be looking for trouble, so she settled on the faded rug in front of the fireplace. Time trickled slowly, measured only by the crackling of the fire, as the evening slipped into night. Brano was probably looking for her, if he wasn’t too busy drinking with his men, and would be irritated if she if she wasn’t waiting for him. Anxiety gripped her for a moment before she realized she didn’t care one bit about what he was doing.
And the prince, did she care about him? She knew the basic facts, like anyone else: the younger son, the military commander and regent after his brother’s death, married to the elusive heiress of Elmar. People spoke well of him, mostly, even though there had always been a dose of resentment for the court. The royals were imaginary beings, creatures of luxury and leisure in faraway palaces; hardly anyone Liana knew had ever seen them. Gospodar Echton didn’t count—he was one of the great lords with royal ancestors somewhere down the line, but he was also a grizzled old bear preoccupied with his horses and hounds and the restless brood of children and grandchildren who drained his coffers.
She wondered what the prince wanted from her. The whole setup certainly didn’t look like a tryst, and his secretary haddenied it—but if it wasn’t that, what was it? What business could a prince have with a huntswoman? Curiosity kept Liana stuck to that rug on the floor, even if common sense told her it would be better to slip away and pretend none of this ever happened.
She must have dozed off because the sound of the door opening woke her, followed by light footsteps and someone saying, “Gods, I’ve forgotten you’re here, I’m so sorry.”
She turned and the prince stood a few paces away, unbuckling his sword belt, shaking his head. He was tall and lean, broad-shouldered and long-legged. Handsome up close just as he’d been from afar, although she’d seen better looking men. A different quality attracted Liana: a presence more solid than most people, an acute three-dimensionality that bent the world to him. Unlike the insecure men she knew, who were obsessed with their image, with other people’s opinions of them, all he projected was a self-contained poise. It pulled her in like a magnet.
“Your Highness.” She rose and bowed her head.
He studied her face. “You’re Darin’s girl, aren’t you? I recognized you immediately, you have his eyes and mouth.”
These were not the words she’d have expected in a million years, and they kicked the air out of her lungs. “I never knew my father,” she said.
“Oh,” the prince said, “of course.”
The news of Captain Darin’s death had reached her the previous summer, and she felt a pang of loss, though it was hard to grieve something she’d never had. His absence had been a constant in her life, unchanged by his death.
“Did you know him well?” she dared to ask.
“Yes. Knew him, liked him, respected him immensely.”
She nodded. It was a strange thought: The Darin the prince had known was not the beardless boy her grandfather and other hunters remembered, but a grown man, with a life she knewnothing about. She wanted to find out more, but she wasn’t brave enough to ask.
“Please sit down.” He offered her the chair, and she almost refused, mortified by the thought that he would remain standing, but then he sat on the heavy wooden chest and she reluctantly accepted.
“Echton tells me you’re a superb hunter and the best scout he has.”
She blushed at this praise, wondering whether he knew about her mother. Very few people did: her grandfather, Gospodar Echton, and—obviously—her father. Had Darin mentioned the Goddess of the Hunt to his prince? Was there something deeper than curiosity in his eyes?
People were intrigued with the touch of the divine when it came neatly packed inside legends, but in reality it frightened them. Liana had always hidden the more uncanny of her abilities and worked hard to justify her skills. She stayed in the background, leaving the praise and glory to others, happy that most men’s interest never went further than her looks. She knew deep inside that if they ever realized Liana could beat them at every challenge, they’d hate her. More than hate her, actually; they’d find a way to hurt her.
Was the prince interested in her divine blood?
She studied him as he absentmindedly rubbed the golden stubble on his jaw. Dark circles of exhaustion framed his eyes, and he stifled a yawn. He didn’t look like he was fishing for the uncanny.
“Is there something I can do for you?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t demand some kind of divine miracle.
“Oh no, quite the opposite.” He paused, measuring his words. “Your father left no will and gave no instructions, but he told me about you, and I believe it was intentional. I owe it to him to make sure you are all right.”
“All right?” She bit her lip, wondering what Brano, what any of her companions would think about this situation: a prince of the realm checking if she were all right. She almost laughed at the improbability, but she swallowed it at the last moment. The prince wasn’t joking. His words were serious, weighted with the power of the royal command.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” he clarified. “You have a secure position in Lord Echton’s household, but perhaps you want something better? I can’t offer much, with half the kingdom in flames, but if you want to join my mother’s household or find a noble husband, I can help.”
Embroidering or bearing children, were these the only options? She reminded herself that the prince didn’t know her and was trying to be generous. Paying a debt to her dead father.
