Chapter 2
Home. The word pounded through my head as the cottage appeared between the trees, promising safety if I could just reach it in time.
It was a modest structure with a weathered timber frame and moss-touched thatch, centered snugly within a manicured clearing.
Faint woodsmoke drifted from the stone chimney my father built, hearth fire lighting the single window a flickering shade of orange.
Home wasn’t far from where I’d rescued the hunter, but I made a good distance from him.
Not only was I a swift runner, but I had the advantage of familiarity with the forest, knowing where to avoid roots and tangling vines.
At the very least, I’d bought enough time to explain what had happened to my father.
He was stowing firewood in the lean-to, feeling my presence as I neared; despite his condition, the man was seldom taken by surprise.
Loosened bark and fibers clung to his sweat, but he was otherwise pristine for a woodsman.
We Chastains all preferred to keep clean—civility hadn’t been cast aside when my parents abandoned society.
“Alana?” Father asked across the field. No one would know by the sound of his voice that he couldn’t hear, for his deafness had come shortly before I was born.
Sometimes he struggled to carry a tune, but it was possible he’d never possessed the ability to sing in the first place. “Whatever’s the matter, little bird?”
I hurried across the small bridge over the property’s creek, pointing to the house.
He got the message, planting his axe in the chopping block.
With a wary look around the property, he headed to the door.
We convened inside, gathered around the built-in stone hearth while I retrieved the tablet.
I pressed the stylus into the warmed wax surface.
“Someone saw me.”
Time was of the essence, so I was careful not to be wordy. I handed over the tablet, then untied the burlap sacks from my person. Father read it swiftly and etched a reply on the second frame while I placed the valerian roots onto the table. “Did they hear you?”
Though I tried not to show it, shame crept its way onto my features. My parents had gone to such lengths to avoid a situation like this. Nineteen years I’d managed, enduring the worst of my loneliness until it was only a dull ache, and now I’d spoiled everything.
I smoothed over the wax and began to write a reply when someone knocked at the door. My eyes snapped to the sound, drawing Father’s attention. I quickly tucked myself behind the curve of the hearth; as small as the cottage was, there weren’t many other places to hide.
“It’s all right,” he soothed with a motion of his hand, going to greet the visitor.
I was surprised to see an entirely different stranger at the door; while bearing a similar youth to the other nobleman, this one sported a black suit of armor adorned with the crowned lynx of Hadria. His brown hair cascaded over dark eyes and the sharp, strong features his people were known for.
“My apologies for troubling you, woodsman,” he began, polite enough for someone with such a distinguished scowl.
A faint Hadrian accent tinged his words.
He spoke decisively, no pauses for breath or consideration.
“I am Viscount Quinn Navarro. I’m searching for a young woman—auburn hair, dark clothing.
She spoiled the prince’s hunt, and he claims she ran this way. ”
The prince. While I might have been a hermit, I knew the history of my country.
Prince Nicolas Callan, son of the Gallaean Queen Adelaide and the Hadrian King Elias, whose marriage had controversially brought the rival countries together as one.
It was said that the prince had the same temper his father was known for…
and here he was, a small army at his side, claiming not that I’d saved his life, but that I had interrupted his pursuit of rare game.
Father gestured to his ears. “Apologies, Lord Nefaro, but I am deaf and can only read lips. What is it you seek?”
The viscount’s stoicism faltered momentarily until he saw me in the back of the room. He pushed his way in, moving straight toward me with long, powerful strides, and took me by the wrist.
I wanted to scream in protest but held my tongue as the Hadrian man dragged me past my father and out into the open yard.
An entourage surrounded the property, mostly on horseback; I recognized the prince among them, sitting atop a flawless white gelding.
His expression settled into something neutral, almost bored.
“Is this woman your interloper, Your Highness?” asked Lord Quinn Navarro.
The prince didn’t have to say a word. Just a look of recognition, and my captor drew his sword. My insides went cold.
“Interference with a royal hunt is an executable offense. I should maim you and leave you to the wolves.”
To my dismay, this earned laughter from the hunting party. I cowered, still held fast by the powerful grip of this would-be killer, and shook my head in an attempt to silently beg for mercy.
“What?” The prince quickly dismounted. “Quinn, sheathe your blade, idiot!”
The viscount dropped me. My knees sank into loamy soil as I caught a breath, the anxious haze of my thoughts slowly steadying.
The prince stood before me with an extended, gloved hand. I caught a flicker of something in his eyes: perhaps relief, or even concern, quickly masked by practiced indifference.
I begrudgingly took his offer, and the prince lifted me to my feet. “My lady, I do apologize for inflicting such a fright upon you. Look, Quinn, you’ve rendered her speechless.”
Amusement tinged his words, his eyes squinting through a carefully-withheld smile. My status was far below that of a lady, as I was sure he knew, but I could hardly protest. I glanced at Father, who struggled to recover from his alarm. The prince saw that look and folded his arms behind his back.
“You see, it was a good thing that my hunt was interrupted, for if I had stalked one step further, I would very likely have lost my life.” As he spoke, he occasionally spun on his heel to include his noble peers in the audience, unknowingly excluding my father from chunks of the speech.
“A mature bloodspine adder, of all things, lay coiled at my feet and awaited a chance to strike with bared, dripping fangs. Your daughter was a blessing.” He paused, returning his attention to me.
This close, I could see the unusual red tinge to his eyes, like honey and blood swirled together.
“It is just what I need, in fact: a fair lady who could spot a serpent at such a distance. My court writhes with them.”
Father tried to read the prince’s lips as well as he could, undoubtedly losing whole sentences to his performative turns. I wasn’t sure how much he’d understood, but found myself disturbed by that final statement. Freed from the prince’s gentle grasp, I hurried over to Father and grabbed his arm.
The prince and viscount exchanged a peculiar look, the latter growing perplexed at whatever message went unspoken between them.
Then the viscount went to his horse, a sturdy black cob, and retrieved a pouch from the belongings.
It clinked as he dropped it off with the prince, who then presented it to my father.
Judging by the bag’s swollen fabric, it was quite a sum.
“For your daughter,” he said, curdling the blood in my veins. “I would like to wed her.”
I dug my fingers into Father’s sleeve.
All my life, I’d wondered what other people were like, my curiosity exacerbated by my lofty appetite for stories. Mother said people were all sorts of things, but their unpredictability meant they couldn’t always be trusted.
“Be especially wary of men,” she’d warned. “What men desire, they must come to possess.”
The prince desired me from only a single word. It wasn’t quite the level of drama I expected; there was no rush, no bestial overtaking of his character. He had the decency to remain well-mannered, but the subtlety of his attraction was almost more unnerving.
At last, my father spoke, paying no heed to the pouch of coin. “I am deaf, Your Highness, and my daughter Alana is nearly mute and not at all bright. You do not want a girl like her.”
It was a lie, but a good one. Father was attempting to put a stop to this before it could escalate.
One person hearing my voice was bad enough, especially someone of such importance, but to put me into a position of politics, where talk would be my strongest line of defense?
It was a death sentence at best. Father knew that as well as I did.
“Alana,” the prince whispered, as if memorizing some foreign word. “Is it true, my lady? Do words elude you?”
I held my tongue and nodded. It was hard not to scowl.
The prince laughed, resting his hands on his hips. “Well, that’s hardly a curse, is it? A woman who keeps her mouth shut?” He pressed the coin pouch into my father’s hands.
My head shook. I silently pleaded with Father to construct another lie, to come up with something that would prevent these strangers from stealing me away, or at least to buy time.
Then a gruff set of hands took me by the waist and hoisted me up like I weighed nothing. The viscount placed me on the back of his horse, then climbed up behind me. These men in all their finery were no better than the barbarians of yore.
There was nothing my father could do but fall to his knees, a wide-eyed horror settling in. To shout in protest might earn a reaction from the hunting party—one did not say no to the prince.
A silent, wordless exchange passed between us as we drew further from each other.
Lord Quinn muttered something that sounded like disbelief in his foreign tongue, and the cottage slowly disappeared behind the vegetation of the forest.