Princess Avenger - Brightcastle Saga Book 1 (12 page)

Huh!
If the
prince suspected for one minute the raging struggle within his
daughter’s guardian he’d kill Vard and stick his head on the wall
of the smoking room. Vard growled as he pictured his head alongside
that of the grizzled old wolf that already adorned the prince’s
retreat. Unbidden, the death of the black bearded mercenary flashed
into his mind, though what his wolf-self remembered was the blood
and the man-smell of the unfortunate fighter. Vard retained enough
to understand that the lad had killed the mercenary and that the
young man had, again, been aided by the witch. But why were
mercenaries being targeted?

The old woman
had told him nothing last evening, just as on their first meeting.
She could be a force for good or evil, just as he could. Hell,
sometimes the boundaries were blurred when it came to taking sides.
More importantly, did she know what he was? He couldn’t afford for
her to expose him. He had a job to do, and the note had urged him
to move ahead with all speed on the mission that had brought him to
Brightcastle.

Vard
swore and rose from the bed, pacing from one side of the room to
the other. He could see no immediate end to his quandary. Something
stayed his hand against Zialni
-- was it his concern for Alecia or the even deeper
instincts of the Defender? Had he got it wrong when he accepted
this mission? What would happen to the princess if he killed
Zialni? Alecia was not the heir to the throne. If Zialni were to
die, Alecia’s cousin Piotr would take his place -- and where would
that leave her? Was that the whole point of this task, to move
Piotr one step closer to the throne? It was Vard’s sworn duty to
protect the princess, and the responsibility lay heavily upon him.
Honor and his very essence might prevent him from leaving her,
prevent him from destroying her father; would they keep her safe
from
him
? From a
transformation he couldn’t control? He punched the wall, plaster
crumbling to the stone floor.
I need to act!
A bold plan would carry him forward from this quagmire, but
might it also destroy him…or the princess?

Alecia’s resolve to
act, to be her own woman, faltered before it could solidify. For
three days her waking dreams and nightmares were plagued by visions
of the Devil as he bled all over her and breathed his last. Her
appetite dwindled to portions that would not have kept a sparrow
from hunger and she kept to her room, though that had more to do
with her fear of confronting a certain man.

When her mind
didn’t torture her with visions of the dead mercenary, it haunted
her with the lips and hands of Vard Anton. Her moods alternated
between frantic weeping and furious curses at the injustice of it
all. How could he awaken her womanhood and then reject her? Had
their stolen moment meant nothing to him? Did he not know that she
woke in the night with the heat of his hands on her body, certain
he was in her bed? She did not want to hear the voice of common
sense that told her over and over that a mere kiss had no power to
change the life of a man such as Vard Anton.

Her
attempts to distract herself with plans for revenge against the
remaining mercenaries resulted in further frustration. The
self-appointed champion of her people could not even set foot
outside her apartments. She was her worst nightmare come to
life
-- a
good-for-nothing princess.

Prince Zialni
had visited her the previous day. He seemed content to think her
withdrawal was a result of their discussion regarding her upcoming
betrothal. On that topic he had no more to add. Alecia was certain
she would know the identity of her bridegroom before long. She
dreaded the day.

Vard appeared
to welcome the respite from her company. She could the weapons
practice ground from her chamber windows and his figure was a
regular sight. She was exhausted just watching him. Did the other
combatants tire of being beaten on a twice daily basis? There was a
sullen set to their shoulders as they faced up to him. If Vard did
not find some other activity to occupy himself soon, there would be
trouble. In her sillier moments, she fantasized that the purpose of
his weapons practice was to distract himself from thoughts of
her.

On the
afternoon of the third day after the kiss, Alecia sat on her sill
as Vard stalked towards the stables. Eyes glued to his form like a
starving man would view a pie on a window ledge, her fingers itched
to caress the hard muscles of his chest. As if he knew someone
observed him, he raised his head and their eyes met. He stopped and
Alecia held her breath, her heart turning back flips.

He
frowned and strode past the front gates and into the garden,
stopping abruptly to retrieve something from the base of a huge old
oak. Alecia’s breath caught in her throat.
It is a baby hawk!
Vard tucked the tiny bird into his tunic
and began to climb. Alecia clutched the windowsill, hardly daring
to breathe as Vard climbed higher and higher. He never slipped,
never hesitated for a hand or foothold. Just short of the top
branches, a misshapen pile of sticks blocked his way, and Vard
gently placed the baby hawk beside its two siblings.

Alecia
knees suddenly felt weak and she slumped against the windowsill,
heart pounding as if
she
had
climbed the tree. Though he had made the task appear simple, she
knew from painful experience that it was not. And all for a baby
hawk… When she sought the nest again, Vard was gone. Abruptly, her
world seemed duller.

Alecia
snorted and began pacing the room. What ailed her? She hungered for
a glimpse of the man but feared to come into his presence.
It makes no
sense
. Perhaps she
should talk to him -- her stomach lurched at the thought -- so that
they might clear the air. It could not be quite so bad to confront
Vard as she imagined.
What if it is worse?

There was a
knock at the door and Millie entered. The maid carried an embossed
envelope on a silver tray.

“Excuse me,
Princess. I have an invitation from His Highness.”

Alecia’s hand
shook as she picked up the missive. “Does my father wish for a
reply, Millie?”

“
He said
to tell you that your presence was
required
, Princess. He didn’t mention a reply.”

Alecia
flinched at the prince’s choice of words. Now she was even more
nervous of its contents. “That will be all, Millie.”

The maid
dropped a curtsy and left.

Alecia ran her
fingers over her name, written in flowing silver script on the
envelope. Why had her father not spoken of this yesterday? Were the
contents so dire that he could not talk to her face to face on the
subject? She removed the stiff parchment from the envelope and took
a deep breath before unfolding it.

Princess Alecia
Zialni’s presence is requested at a ball to honor His Majesty, King
Beniel, to be held in Brightcastle audience hall on the morrow at
dusk. The princess is to be accompanied by Captain Vard Anton on
this auspicious occasion.

The note was
signed “His Highness, Prince Jiseve Uinnis Zialni, heir to the
throne of Thorius”.

The
paper dropped onto the amethyst and gold-patterned rug that lay
between the bed and the fireplace. Her escort would be Vard! She
would have to dance the first and last dances with him as tradition
dictated. Perhaps there would be other dances as well. Alecia
rubbed her stomach in a vain attempt to quiet the butterflies as
she anticipated the strength of his arms, hard body moulded to
hers, his lips… Heat suffused her.
Do I have the courage to look him in the
eyes after he rejected me so completely?
There was nothing for it but to bear up as best
she could.

She focused on
the other news contained within the missive: King Beniel was to
visit. Alecia had only seen him twice in the past six years, most
recently at her mother’s funeral and before that at her debut when
she was eighteen. She and her parents and Squire Jorge had traveled
to the King’s seat at Wildecoast where she had been presented at
court with other royal young ladies. Jorge was her escort on that
occasion and she smiled as she remembered his nerves. She, of
course, had not been at all uneasy. After all, coming-of-age
ceremonies were only important to young women who had nothing
better to do than pose and preen themselves before the men of the
court.

A
niggling worry dragged her back to the present. The King was to
attend a ball here tomorrow
-- and she was just learning of it. What did it mean?
Nothing good, Alecia was sure. True, it paid to keep state visits a
secret, even from those closest to the throne, but this was
ludicrous. How long had it been planned?

Alecia
smoothed her skirt where sweaty fingers had gripped the fabric
moments before. She contemplated the guest list. Ramón was certain
to attend. There were not so many nobles in Brightcastle that her
father could afford to leave the squire off the invitation list.
Perhaps the prince would need to invite several of the more
influential merchants and the heads of the guilds as well. And King
Beniel would bring along his own contingent of lords and
ladies.

Lord
Finus would be there, of course. Alecia’s lip curled at the thought
of her father’s advisor. After she had removed the mercenaries, she
would dispose of the manipulator. Now
there
was the man Ramón should be warning her against.
She shuddered. Finus’ eyes were always cold and cunning when they
rested upon her, as if the man calculated how Alecia could best be
used in his schemes.

She forced the
lord from her thoughts and removed a dress wrapped in a silk sheet
from her wardrobe. It had been her coming-of-age gown, and wearing
it would honor the King. He would remember the gown, or someone
would mention its significance. She sighed. If only her father were
more like dear Uncle Beniel.

Alecia laid
the bundle on her bed and removed the sheet. The cream satin gown,
with pearl beading and gold thread embroidery on the bodice, was
even more beautiful than she remembered. She retrieved the cream
satin slippers from the chest at the end of her bed and opened her
jewellery box. The amethyst necklace and earrings that had belonged
to her mother would be perfect. She would leave her fingers bare,
as her mother had always done, no matter how much the prince wished
for her hands to be cluttered with gaudy baubles.

As for Prince
Zialni, Alecia could imagine his excitement as he prepared for the
occasion of the King’s visit. How had he kept the event from
Millie’s ears? Surely he had an army of servants working on the
audience hall right at this minute. If this had been an event long
in the planning the hall might have been readied quietly and with
little fuss. If Alecia had not hidden away in her chambers the past
three days, she might know more of the goings-on in the castle.

But all this
preoccupation with the King and her gown and how long the event had
been planned was merely a distraction to avoid thinking about the
serious problem the ball posed. Her escort for the evening was the
man she had avoided for the last three days.

A sharp knock
at the door made Alecia jump, but it was only Millie who bustled
back into the room.

“Princess,
I’ve come to see if there’s anything you need prepared for the
ball.” She gazed upon the cream dress. “Is that the gown you’ll
wear?”

Alecia laid
the amethyst necklace beside the ball gown. “Yes. It will need a
steam.”

Millie
rewrapped the garment and lifted it from the bed, taking the
slippers as well. “I must go and deliver the captain’s dress
uniform.” Her eyes unfocused as if she saw something Alecia did
not. “Now there’s a man to marvel at. I hear tell he can’t be
beaten at arms. The men are angry but you won’t hear me say
anything against him, not when he’s taken young Billy under his
wing.”

The maid
bobbed a curtsy and left. Alecia barely noticed so distracted was
she by Millie’s words. Vard Anton was an enigma, a hard fighting
man with hidden demons, who still cared for the least fortunate
creatures in his domain. How was she to prepare for an entire night
in his company? And how could she possibly resist the lure of this
unfathomable man?

Vard’s boots crunched
on the autumn leaves as he leaped the last few paces to the ground.
The reality of his current dilemma came crashing back in as the
Defender drive to protect left him. His best-laid plans to avoid
Alecia had not been sufficient to evade escorting her tomorrow
evening. He was trapped but didn’t need to be so, if only he could
deal with Zialni. The man was like a wound that wouldn’t heal,
sapping the strength from good people who deserved better. Vard
couldn’t even take the simple steps that would rid Brightcastle of
the tyrant. The prince should now lay dead after a hunting accident
but Vard’s fingers had frozen on the arrow, doubt over his purpose
crippling his resolve.

As he sat upon
a stone bench under the huge oak tree, frustration boiled up within
him. He pushed his face into his hands while images of sharp fangs
tearing flesh bombarded him. Never before had he had so little
control: of himself, of his life and especially of his emotions. He
spent too many of his waking hours fighting the transformation.
Twice he’d had to pull himself back from the brink, forcing himself
into the hawk, a shape he could control and one from which he knew
he could return. The last two evenings, he’d dreamed of
transformation, waking in a cold sweat moments before the change.
He had no idea what would happen if the change were completed in a
dream, but he feared it could lead to a waking transformation that
would be impossible to reverse.