Chapter 19 Jess
Ihad planned to be the perfect daughter, the perfect princess.
Today was important to Father, and I desperately wanted to see approval in his eyes.
That’s all I ever wanted. Father taught me to be brave and independent.
He instilled a sense of strength, making me believe that one day I would be a great queen.
He painted images of my coronation that captivated my dreams and made me believe that anything was possible.
With one careless comment, he’d shattered his little girl’s fantasy.
What if it hadn’t been careless?
What if it was what he really thought?
Did he truly believe I needed some man to guide me, that I couldn’t think for myself?
Did he think the experience of someone older was more important than his daughter’s happiness?
The entire conversation made my blood boil.
These couldn’t be the words of my father. Perhaps they were those of the King, but not the man who said he believed in me.
Mother is behind this somehow.
The Queen had wanted to be rid of her troublesome daughter for years now.
What have I ever done to deserve to be tossed aside, to be sold off? I can’t believe this is happening.
Whatever I did to make her hate me, it’s gone on for too long.
I can’t take it anymore.
I paced my bedchamber, wearing a path of rage into the rug.
Then it came.
The knock.
The summons.
The executioner had arrived to escort me to the gallows.
Well, to dinner, but it felt like the gallows.
How am I going to get through this night?
“Stop knocking. I’m coming,” I barked.
“The King and Queen request your presence in the formal dining room, Your Highness,” the royal porter said.
The man had served the royal family for decades and had seen his share of royal outbursts. He barely flinched as I threw the door open and stormed past. A trail of fury stalked my path as I wound through the hallways of the Palace toward the dining room. With each step, my wrath and pain churned.
When I entered, everyone was already seated and talking quietly.
Servants in formal coats lined the walls awaiting the tiniest royal desire.
Unlike the intimacy of our private dining chamber, this room was vast and contained a table long enough to seat fifty guests comfortably.
Father held court in his usual place at the table’s head, while the Queen, who usually occupied the seat opposite the King at the table’s foot, was now seated to his right.
Treasurer Dask sat on the side opposite the Queen.
Uncle Ethan—General Marks, I mentally corrected myself—sat across from my chair staring blankly into the opposite wall. He looked almost as uncomfortable as I felt.
The chair to the King’s left remained empty, awaiting my royal presence.
Duke Kinsley Parna was seated beside me.
Empty chair beside an empty shirt. So glad they saved me a place of honor.
I froze at the far end of the table. I couldn’t move. Anger gnawed at my bones.
“Jess, please come join us. The cook made your favorite tonight, and I’m sure these gentlemen are eager to get to know you,” Father said in a tone I thought hinted at contrition.
Good. He should feel guilty.
I forced myself to step around Parna and take my seat. The King handed me a glass of mulled wine and raised his own. “To the future of the realm. To my beautiful daughter, Crown Princess Jessia Vester.”
“To the Crown Princess,” the men said in broken unison.
And so it began.
Lord Parna spent the night trying to whisper in my ear.
He reeked of old musk, and his breath was fouler than that of their twelve-year-old, nearly toothless hound.
Every time a servant brought a new dish or a different wine, the Duke spent the following moments droning on about how wines or beef or vegetables—or anything—from the East were better, and how, in great detail, the masters of that region made them so.
I might’ve found the lectures educational if the Duke had spoken in anything other than third person.
One can only take so much of one referring to one’s own person in the third, I thought, suppressing an eye roll.
And that infernal piece of meat lodged between his two front teeth threatened to fly out every time he lisped an s or tutted a t.
I kept my napkin at the ready in case of an unexpected shot across my brow.
As the Duke prattled, I daydreamed about a tiny cannon shooting roast beef out of his mouth.
That made me chuckle, drawing a sharp, questioning eye from my suitor.
I didn’t bother to explain myself.
Treasurer Dask looked quite handsome and might’ve been a worthy candidate if he hadn’t been so incredibly offensive.
He tried a fresh approach at impressing me, the bride-to-be, offering one inappropriate joke after another.
As the servants began placing platters of various meats and vegetables on the table, he sprang from his seat, commanding everyone’s attention.
The King and Queen shared a startled, uneasy glance as Dask cleared his throat.
“I knew an old Bishop who had lost some of his teeth and complained that others were so loose they might fall out.
‘Never fear,’ said one friend. ‘They won’t fall.’
‘And why not?’ the Bishop asked.
His friend replied, ‘Because my testicles have been hanging loose for the last forty years, as if they were going to fall off, and yet, they are still there!’”
The King’s uneasy laugh broke the silence that followed.
The Queen glared daggers at Dask.
The Treasurer seemed pleased with his effort and laughed deeply before downing more wine and taking his seat.
I felt hope dim with each passing moment.
General Marks never spoke—not a single word.
He assessed those seated around the table as though they were players on some battlefield board game waiting to be moved or attacked or dismissed.
He barely even looked at me. When he did, pity and sadness filled his eyes.
In those moments, I thought he might have looked as trapped by circumstance as I felt.
As servants entered the hall carrying trays of decadent desserts, Duke Parna ran his hand up my leg for the third time, adding an extra squeeze of his greasy, sausage-like fingers when he approached the upper part of my thigh.
The indignity of the day finally snapped something inside me.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
Not one more moment.
I snatched up a two-pronged fork and stabbed him in the wrist.
Parna yanked his hand back and howled in pain, leaping from the table with a spray of blood splattering in his wake.
“That wicked, awful girl! She stabbed me!” he squealed.
“Jess! What have you done?” Mother rushed to the Duke’s side.
“What have I done?” I shot to my feet and flung my napkin and bloody fork onto the table.
“I did what you should have done. I protected myself from this disgusting pig and his wandering hands. Of course, you didn’t see or do anything. All you can see is how to get rid of me. Fine. I’ll go. You get your wish, YOUR MAJESTY!”
“Jess,” gasped the King, his eyes wide as he rose to his feet.
Something more was said but it fell on deaf ears.
I stormed out, purposely knocking a platter of vegetables out of the hands of a servant who was entering the hall.
Once in my chamber, I slammed the door shut, slid the bolt in place, and changed into my riding clothes without so much as a moment’s pause. I grabbed a travel bag and stuffed it full of everything within reach. I was almost out the door when I glanced back at my empty desk and released a sigh.
I can’t leave without any word to Justin.
I sat and scrawled a quick note, then rose and fled my room for the last time.
Most of the Palace staff had the night off in anticipation of a long dinner and an evening of the royals entertaining their small group of guests.
For once, I was thankful for Mother’s planning.
It only took a few moments to sneak through the corridors to the Throne Room, then perform my well-practiced dance with the guards and exit the Palace.
For the second night in a row, I found the stables empty and quickly saddled Dittler.
The reins were a comfort, though my fingers white-knuckled the leather.
Tears streaked down my face, clouding my vision as we entered the forest. The darkness that folded around me was absolute—and comforting. I relished the feeling of finally being alone, of being free.
I was so lost in my own thoughts that I barely noticed where Dittler was taking me until I glanced up and recognized the familiar break in the trees that led to the riverside I loved so much—the clearing where Danym and I would meet.
My tears subsided as I thought about Danym holding me, felt his arms warming me, making me feel safe and loved.
I dismounted and led Dittler to the stream, then aimlessly strolled the area, grasping for some sight or scent that would evoke Danym’s memory.
How can the thought of him soothe my anger so?
I took my waterskin out of the saddlebag and drank deeply. The adrenaline that fueled my escape was wearing off, as thirst and exhaustion crawled through my veins.
I kneeled to refill the waterskin from the stream.
Dittler snorted nervously and nudged me with his nose.
“What is it, boy? There’s nobody out here. Easy.”
The moon wasn’t as full as it was when I’d met Danym the night before, and I could only see a few paces away. I replaced the stopper on the waterskin and stepped around Dittler, scanning the forest darkness.
Something moved to my left, snapping my head in that direction.
Then the leaves rustled.
“Who’s there? Show yourself,” I said, trying to sound brave as a bolt of fear shot up my spine.
Dittler’s ears flicked and he pranced in place, nostrils flaring.
Another snap from behind made me spin around.
A man in a long robe crept through the trees, headed straight toward me. He was only a few paces away.
Our eyes locked, and the man bolted forward, his arms outstretched, fingers curled like claws reaching for me.
I leaped onto Dittler’s back and spurred him forward.
The man dove out of the way with a muffled curse, but reached up and grabbed one of my boots, nearly yanking me out of the saddle.
I pulled free and managed to get my feet into the stirrups.
A second man appeared to my right.
He grabbed at Dittler’s reins, but the horse was quicker, bolting deeper into the forest.
“Go, go,” I screamed.
I gripped both reins and mane and prayed they would be enough to keep me in the saddle. My knees clamped tight against Dittler’s sides.
Another horse whinnied from behind.
I urged Dittler for speed.
Still, the other horse edged closer.
I could hear it, hooves against packed earth, its heaving breath.
My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest.
We entered a clearing and wove between fallen trees and resting boulders.
My path was blocked.
Dittler, unable to clear the way, reared high, throwing me to the ground, then bounded off into the darkness.
I lay dazed, surrounded by chunks of stone and towering trees, terrified and alone in the woods.
I’d never been thrown before. The ache was like nothing I’d ever known.
The impact drove the air from my lungs. Dirt and leaves caked against my hands when I finally managed to push myself off the ground.
The taste of salt from flowing tears tickled my senses.
I’d bitten through my lower lip, and copper now clung to it in a crimson flow.
Hooves crushed leaves.
My pursuer neared.
Then a man’s voice called out, “I think she went this way. Over here.”
I had to move.
Stumbling forward those first few steps, I let adrenaline be my guide.
The forest had never seemed so large; being alone had never felt so terrible.
My head whirled around, searching for anything familiar.
But I was lost.
The trees had long since shed their leaves, coating the forest floor and making stealth impossible. I heard men searching, no longer concerned for secrecy as they crunched through the woods. All I could do was hide and remain as still as possible, hoping the robed men would go away.
I tried to slow my breathing, to be quiet and still. I couldn’t stop my hands from trembling.
Spirits, what have I done?
Finally, the sounds of pursuit faded, and I released the tension I’d held, taking deep breaths to calm my racing heart.
I lay on a rough bed of twigs. Cold rocks dug into my side.
Clouds had obscured the moon, and darkness descended upon the forest, leaving me confused, terrified, and virtually blind.
Ever so gently, I pushed myself up into a sitting position, careful to make as little noise as possible.
A twig snapped behind me.
I froze.
My heart stilled.
A hand reached around from behind and covered my mouth, while a powerful arm encircled my waist.
I thrashed and squirmed.
I tried to scream.
The arms were too strong, the grip too tight.
“Jess, stop. It’s me,” a familiar voice whispered.
“Danym?” I mumbled beneath his hand.
He loosened his grip enough to let my head turn. My eyes widened, and I threw my arms around his neck and buried my face into his shoulder.
“Shhh. Quiet. Those men are still out here looking for you. I found Dittler wandering through the woods and tied him up by my horse. If we can get back to them, we can get out of here.”
He wrapped his arms about my waist and held me close.
I nodded into his shoulder, still squeezing him with all of my strength. He had never felt so good.
He saved me.
Danym saved me.
Nothing made sense . . . except Danym.
We couldn’t linger, and I was forced to creep through the forest on unsteady legs. It helped that Danym never released me. His arm about my waist gave me strength. His breath against my skin gave me hope.
Nearly an hour passed as we wound our way through the trees to the waiting horses.
Only once did we spot one of the robed men. We ducked behind a large tree and held our breath until he passed.
When we reached the horses, Danym pulled me close and whispered, “Do you want me to take you back to the Palace?”
I stared into his eyes and shook my head. “No. I never want to go back there again. Take me somewhere safe, just you and me.”
My heart thrilled as Danym smiled.
PART IV
And so it begins . . .