CHAPTER 8 #2
Helena took a step back, surprised by the vehemence in her cousin’s tone.
She hadn’t seen Marielle in years, but she remembered someone a little more laid back.
Pursing her lips, she replied, “I told you that Le Capuchon shot me because he did. Then he took my bow after I dropped it, tied me up, and took off with my horse – and all my belongings in its saddlebags – when General Valentin’s men caught up with him. ”
Marielle scrunched her face and looked away, a surprising mixture of confusion and hurt spread across it. “I can’t believe he shot you. He never hurts someone without a reason.” Her words were soft, as if to herself.
Helena had no sympathy for the man who waylaid her, but her cousin’s distress compelled her to provide context. Shifting her eyes to the side, she begrudgingly admitted, “I might have taken off his hood with an arrow first.”
“Helena!” Marielle wailed. She widened her eyes, tipping her head back in frustration. “No wonder he shot you! He thought you were trying to kill him!”
Any sympathy Helena felt vanished. “Instead of scolding me for my choices, perhaps you should be thankful that he’s a terrible shot,” she snapped.
The phantom feeling of the arrow piercing her skin flashed through her shoulder, and she shuddered at the memory.
“If he wasn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. ”
Rolling her eyes, Marielle crossed her arms and scowled. “If he had been aiming for your heart, he would have hit it. Le Capuchon is the best archer in the kingdom; he hit exactly where he meant to.”
Even as Helena snorted at this unnecessarily supportive-of-an-outlaw response, she remembered Erwan’s comments and the injured guards. If he wasn’t an excellent archer, he had amazing luck.
“Looking back, I suppose I could have found a better way to see his face,” she allowed, not willing to admit that she’d been showing off.
“Did you see it?”
Marielle sounded hesitant, her eyes darting over and then away. One finger tapped her arm as she awaited Helena’s response.
“No,” Helena slowly replied, watching her cousin. “He reacted too quickly.”
“That’s too bad.” The younger woman let out a sigh, but it sounded relieved. “General Valentin has been trying to catch him for months, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
After another deep breath, Marielle turned back and set her hands on her hips. “Now for the rest of it: why didn’t I know you were coming? How did you get here?”
It was Helena’s turn to look away. “On a horse.”
“And your escort? Because I won’t believe that Le Capuchon killed your guards. Nor that Uncle Steffan sent you with men who would abandon you.”
Shrugging her uninjured shoulder, Helena strolled away a few paces and ran her hand over a side table. “Who said Papa sent me with anyone?”
“Helena.” Marielle let out a heavy sigh and rubbed her forehead with one hand. “Please do not tell me that you gave my footman your middle name because your family doesn’t know that you’re here.”
They didn’t, and she was sure they were secretly relieved by her absence. But she couldn’t tell her cousin that, so she scoffed. “I’m twenty-six years old, Marielle. I don’t need my parents’ permission to leave home.”
“Don’t need—” Sighing, Marielle dropped into a nearby armchair. She shot Helena an exasperated look. “You’re a princess. The rules are different for you! Even if you weren’t second in line for the throne—”
“Third,” Helena corrected, strolling to the next piece of furniture. “Amadeus is second.”
Marielle blinked. “Oh. With everything going on here, I’d forgotten that Axel finally has a son.
” The fact only derailed her for a moment.
“Regardless, you’re still too high in the succession to be gallivanting about the countryside on your own.
What if someone were to find out and hold you for ransom? ”
“Why do you think I didn’t give Le Capuchon my name?”
“Not the point.”
Helena turned her back to her cousin, debating her next move. When she heard the soft scrape of wood, she spun to see Marielle pulling a sheet of paper from a drawer. “What are you doing?”
“Writing a letter to your brother,” her cousin replied without looking up. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, but I have to let him know you’re here.”
“No!” Darting across the room, Helena snatched the paper from her cousin’s hand. “If he knows where I am, he’ll drag me back. I won’t go back.”
Marielle stared up at her, her mouth hanging open. “But—you have to go back eventually!”
“No sooner than I can help it,” Helena grumbled, crumpling the sheet of paper into a ball. Memories of the night she left battered her mind, fueling her tight grip.
She didn’t want to relive it. She certainly didn’t want to speak of it.
But taking one piece of paper wouldn’t stop Marielle from writing later. If she wanted to keep her anonymity, she had to convince her cousin to let her.
Taking a shuddering breath, she corralled her emotions and focused on a spot to the right of Marielle’s face.
“In Ralnor, the council can require an heir to marry if said heir is still single on his or her twenty-fifth birthday. They have decreed that I must choose a husband by the end of the year, or they will choose one for me.”
Marielle’s expression softened. “I’m sorry to hear that, Helena. But staying here won’t solve that problem.”
“Of the two main competitors, the more tolerable one is in love with my best friend.” Gritting her teeth, Helena forced her eyes a little closer to her cousin.
She could say it. She had to, or she would never convince Marielle to not write the letter.
“The other is only interested in my title. He tried to kiss me after I had made my distaste perfectly clear. He seemed to think his amorous behavior would win me over.”
Marielle didn’t say anything, but her eyes flitted away.
“That was the night I left.”
For a full minute, the little sitting room was silent.
Finally, Marielle folded her hands in her lap and looked up.
“I understand that the situation is less than ideal. But the council isn’t going away.
As for the young man who tried to force his affections on you, surely Axel and Uncle Steffan would gladly handle him if they knew. ”
Helena took a step back and collapsed onto a settee, letting her head drop against the backrest while her right arm flopped to the side.
“They would. But that wouldn’t make Luther more desirable.
And if they took him out of the running, that would leave Tobias.
I refuse to marry someone who’s in love with someone else. ”
Looking hesitant, Marielle suggested, “Couldn’t you simply let the council choose? I know it would still mean marrying someone that you don’t love, but perhaps in time—”
“The leader of the push for me to marry is Tobias’s father,” Helena cut in with a mirthless laugh. “If I don’t choose, Lord Carolus will convince them to pick his son. Then Tobias, Liesl, and I will all be miserable.”
“Does Liesl like Tobias back? If he’s competing for your hand…” Marielle trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
Helena returned her eyes to the ceiling.
“She won’t admit it. She’s sweet and clueless, so she thinks he’s not interested because he can’t openly pursue her.
” Her voice turned wistful as she pictured them.
“You can see it in his eyes, though. If his father weren’t forcing him to pretend interest in me, he wouldn’t spend a minute away from her. ”
What would it be like to have someone look at her like that?
Shaking her head, she pushed such thoughts aside. She didn’t need a man to be happy. All she needed was a bow and a destination, and she would be content.
“Please, Marielle. All I ask is a haven while I heal.” The lie fell easily from her tongue. “After that, we can discuss my home.”
“I suppose,” Marielle slowly replied. Looking sideways at Helena, she continued, “And perhaps you could find a solution to your problem. We have nice young men here. My cousins—”
Helena rolled her eyes. “I’m not looking for a husband. And even if I were, Prince Raphael is in the wind, and Prince Cedric is only eighteen. An eight-year difference is a bit much, don’t you think?”
“I was going to say that my cousins could introduce you to some of the nobles.” Marielle lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “I doubt you’re Cedric’s type. Although Rafe…” One corner of her mouth curved. “The two of you might suit.”
“Even though word on the street is that he murdered his father?”
Marielle’s lips smashed together. “He didn’t. It’s a lie.”
Helena lifted an eyebrow. “But General Valentin—”
“The General is either lying or didn’t see what he thought he did,” Marielle stubbornly insisted. “Rafe and Uncle Antoine had a good relationship, and Rafe was in no hurry to be king.” Pursing her lips, she looked away. “Besides, whatever else he may be, my cousin is not a murderer.”
Helena didn’t actually care. What was it to her if her cousin’s cousin was guilty of patricide or not?
“Then do you promise not to write my family? Or let anyone else know that I’m here?”
Marielle looked torn as she directed her gaze out the window, staring off over the forested mountains. “Yes,” she finally said. “I promise. For now.”