Chapter 10
The Grand Duke arrived with a small company. He made his residence in the village inn located in the square. News of his arrival spread quickly. Papa bustled into the cabin that morning with an armload of firewood and his eyes alight with excitement.
“The Grand Duke is here!” he announced.
Serena turned from the washbasin, a dish still in hand. He wasn’t jesting. Maris dropped her needlework and jumped to her feet.
“Truly, Papa?” Excitement tinged her words.
“Whatever could he be doing here?” Serena asked, absently.
The last she heard, it was the king who was planning to visit.
“Oh, Serena, everyone knows the king has a son,” Maris said, clapping her hands with glee. “Perhaps the Grand Duke is here to find the prince a bride.”
And she hoped, no doubt, that bride would be her. Serena couldn’t blame her sister for wanting to get out of here. She, herself, wanted that, too, but she knew it was impossible.
“That only happens in fairy tales,” Serena snorted. She waved away the silly thought her sister could be the one to catch the prince’s eye.
It earned her a heated glare from Maris. “It could happen,” she said with a frown.
Serena ignored her. She doubted the Grand Duke would visit to pick a girl for the prince from their poor village.
There were likely better prospects throughout the realm.
Most in her village were struggling to survive like they were.
Thankfully, their autumn harvest had been plentiful, and Papa was able to keep them in firewood.
“I heard from Mr. Ironroot he’s in town asking a lot of questions.” Papa stacked the firewood in the log holder by the hearth, then dusted his hands and turned to face her. He folded his arms across his chest.
She did not miss the pointed look he gave her. “What sort of questions?”
“Apparently, word spread to the king about my recovery,” he said.
Oh, Gods. That wasn’t good. Mr. Fullhide was right, then.
“And…” He added, then paused, “that you paid the taxman for not only us, but another family. Is this true, Serena?”
There was a hard edge to his voice. One she didn’t like. Maris snapped her head in her direction. Her eyes were wide with shock.
The day Serena returned from the Well of Wishes with the satchel full of gold, she had told no one where she got it. Not even Maris. She simply handed over the gold to the taxman and then put it out of her mind.
But someone noticed and someone talked. She cursed herself for being so foolish. Her act of generosity garnered royal attention. Attention she and her family could not afford.
It wasn’t about the taxman, either. It was about the healing elixir. Dr. Graves had mentioned he hadn’t treated Papa, and someone told Mr. Fullhide.
She clenched her hand into a fist.
She said, “It is true.”
Papa’s face drained of color as he stared at her in stunned silence. “Serena—how—?”
“Please do not ask me to explain,” she snapped.
She whirled away and busied herself washing dishes once again.
“Did you…where did you get the gold, Serena?” Papa asked.
He sounded hurt, distressed, and worried.
How could she tell him the truth? If she did, she’d reveal the Well of Wishes and…the stranger. And Maris…well, she couldn’t be trusted. Her sister would tell anyone and everyone who would listen. Her sister would brag about their imagined wealth and then demand Serena share it with her.
Papa, on the other hand…she’d thought a million times about telling him. But she stopped herself because she’d feared he would not understand.
“Did you…steal it, Serena?”
The accusation hit her like a punch in the gut. She dropped the bowl she was washing into the hot soapy water and spun to face him.
“No! I would never do such a thing.”
“Then where did you get it?” His expression was tight, on edge.
Maris gaped, her gaze swinging between the two of them.
Serena pressed her lips together into a tight line. “I-I…” She halted, sucked in a breath, and then lied. “I sold a stack of animal pelts to Mr. Fullhide.”
Air whooshed out of Papa as he dropped his arms, relieved. But then, his expression creased with question. “And the elixir?”
She swallowed hard, her mouth turning to ash. “Papa, you know I have some experience with herbs. I made it myself.”
He stared at her a long, questioning moment as he contemplated this.
“But you left that night,” Maris piped up. “You were gone for hours when you came back with the elixir.”
Stars above. Why couldn’t Maris let it go?
“I think you’re mistaken,” Serena said, her voice tight.
“No, I’m not. I remember you—”
“That’s enough, Maris,” she snapped.
“But—”
“Maris,” Papa said, his voice soft. “It’s all right, little dove. Serena has her secrets. Let her keep them.”
But he gave her a warning glance. That she was not to keep her secrets from him.
Maris stuck out her lower lip in a spectacular pout as she stomped away to their room and slammed the door. Serena sighed and turned back to the sink to resume washing.
“I don’t know why you lied, Serena, but I hope it’s for a good reason.”
She gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white. One more lie, layered on top of the last. It wouldn’t hold forever. And when it shattered, so would she.
“Don’t ask me to explain, Papa. I cannot,” she said sharply.
His brow furrowed. “I’ll accept that. For now.”
He left the room. Alone again, she faced the suds and the silence—and the weight of every secret she wasn’t strong enough to speak aloud.
Later that day after their evening meal, they were enjoying amicable silence by the crackling fire.
Papa with his book. Maris with her needlework.
Serena trying to focus on her own sewing to repair a hole in her cloak.
But her thoughts drifted back to the stranger and the way he rebuffed her. Why did it bother her so?
Hope is dangerous, Serena Windriver.
Perhaps he’d given up hope long ago he would be freed from his duties at the Well of Wishes. Why did she care so much?
Was it because of the way he looked at her when she arrived that last time with the offer to release him?
Many have tried. None have succeeded.
And why was she so determined to succeed?
“Serena, you all right?” Papa asked.
She realized she was holding the needle and thread and staring into space. She blinked to clear the thoughts from her head and focused on her father. She managed a smile.
“Lost in thought.”
Maris cut her a sideways glance before returning to her own sewing. Her father returned to his book. Serena focused on the tattered cover and the faded gold embossed lettering of the title. Folklore and Fairy Tales.
Idly, she wondered if there was something in that book to help her break the stranger’s curse.
She shoved the thought away as she stuck the needle into the fabric of her cloak.
There were no answers in a book about fairy tales that could help her.
A knock sounded on the cabin door. Immediately, Serena’s heart clawed its way to her throat.
Papa snapped his book closed and rose to answer it while Maris continued her sewing by the fire.
The Grand Duke stood on the other side of the door.
Tall and lean, snow dotted the shoulders of his thick fur-lined cloak which was draped like a mantle of command.
His black hair was slicked back from his high forehead.
No hair was out of place. Steel-gray eyes peered out of an angular face with high cheekbones giving the air of aristocracy.
A thin mouth gave the impression he seldom smiled.
“Your grace.” Her father bowed. “You honor us with your visit.”
Maris dropped her needlework and shot to her feet, her eyes alight with surprise. Serena, her breathing shallow, slowly rose and placed her cloak in the seat of her chair.
“Master Windriver, is it?”
“Yes, your grace.” He stepped aside. “Please come in out of the cold. Would you like tea?”
He ordered his guards to wait outside in the snow as he stepped into their small cabin.
His posture was impeccable, his stance authoritative.
He pulled off his cloak with a flourish, the snow falling to the floor around him and immediately melting.
He handed off the cloak to Papa with practiced precision as her father closed the door, then hung up the cloak.
He removed his gloves, his sharp assessing gaze taking in the confines of their small cabin. It was clear the man missed nothing.
“Tea, yes.”
“I’ll fetch it,” Serena said, glad to escape the tiny living room. The air had become oppressive.
“My daughter, Serena,” Papa said. “And my youngest, Maris.”
The Grand Duke nodded, the only acknowledgement. “There’s talk in the village about your family.”
With shaking hands, Serena prepared the tea, thankful the kettle was still on and warm. She poured it into the porcelain teapot that was her mother’s, then arranged four cups, the sugar bowl, and the creamer.
“Folks like to talk, your grace. I’m afraid there’s not much else to do during winter.” There was a smile in her father’s voice as he tried to disarm him.
But the Grand Duke was not to be disarmed. His expression remained hard and unrelenting. “Nevertheless, word made it to his majesty, the king. That’s why I’m here. That taxman reports you paid in full. Curious, when your family is said to have so little.”
He punctuated that with another glance around the cabin. No doubt noticing their worn and scuffed furniture.
Serena carried the tray into the living room as Papa offered the Grand Duke his chair. His booted feet left puddles of melted snow across the floor. When he sat, his flinty gaze moved from Maris to her.
She placed the tray on the low table between the chairs. He watched with feigned interest as she poured the tea then handed him the cup.
“Cream or sugar, your grace?” she asked.
He waved it away. Then to Papa, he said, “His majesty is keen to know how you were able to pay the taxes not only for yourself but for the other family.”
Tense silence stretched. Serena busied herself with pouring another cup and handed it to Maris with a warning look. She prayed to the stars above her sister remained mute. Maris took the cup, holding it between shaking hands.
“A bountiful harvest, your grace,” Papa said. “And my daughter is a fine huntress. She traded pelts for the gold.”
“Is that so?” He peered at her over the edge of the cup, the steam rising from the tawny liquid.
Serena poured more tea and handed it to Papa. He waved it away. She plastered on a smile. “Indeed, it is.”
“You're telling me you sold animal skins to raise enough money?”
“Yes, your grace,” Serena said.
His gaze turned to her father then. “And your recovery, Master Windriver. Dr. Graves says it was a miracle, that even the best healers from the realm could not heal you. And yet, you stand before me. Hearty and hale.”
Papa cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. But Serena saw them shaking before he did so. He was nervous.
So was she.
She cast a glance to her sister, who remained pale faced, wide eyed, and mute. Thank the stars.
“An elixir, your grace,” she said, stepping forward. “I am good with herbs and the like.”
A dark brow lifted as he pinned her with his cold stare. “You cured him?”
“Yes.” It was not so far from the truth, but her voice shook a little with her response.
“Rather the miracle worker, aren’t you, Mistress Serena?” he said, snidely.
Silence stretched as he peered at her, then took a sip of tea. He leaned forward and deposited the cup on the tray, then rose. His height was imposing. His gaze unflinching. And Serena suspected he saw through her. The only sound was that of the thudding of her heart in her ears.
The Grand Duke paused so close to her, she smelled horse and leather. She lifted her eyes to his and met his gaze.
“A lie is a dangerous thing, Mistress Serena. Not because of the telling, but because of the keeping. They weigh heavier than gold.”
Hot fear pulsed through her as the man stepped toward the door and removed his cloak. He pulled it on around his narrow shoulders.
“I take my leave.” But his cold eyes landed on her once more. “The king is interested in miracles, Mistress Serena. Expect me again.”
And then, he whisked open the door and was gone.