Authors: C. K. Brooke
The Wrong Prince (23 page)
WELL, THIS WAS CERTAINLY UNANTICIPATED.
In fact, had someone alerted him to his upcoming predicament the day before, Robin Watkins would have laughed in their face. Surely, he’d never have believed that Rowena Wildaison, his steady girlfriend of the last six months, and Jules Adams, his best mate since grammar school, would betray him.
How long they’d been scheming against him, he could only guess. Why, had any of Wen’s love been true? If so, when had it turned false? And for how long had Adams’s friendship, too, been a farce?
The man repositioned his rucksack. It’d been a long day carrying it on foot, without the aid of his horse. Not to mention, the afternoon was dragging out for other reasons…namely, the stranger with whom he now traveled.
It was all her damned fault.
All right, the kid thought she was only doing him a favor, saving his life, acting the heroine, and all. No doubt the temple priestesses—from whom she was clearly fleeing—had filled her young mind with all sorts of useless, fanciful mythologies about goddesses and lady warriors.
Then again, Rob wasn’t one to judge a dreamer. After all, had he not spent the better part of his adult life chasing after a boyhood fantasy? Yet now, this Antonia girl, coupled with the dastardly actions of his former friends, had thrown a definite wrench in his plans.
Presently, his unfortunate companion issued a sigh of complaint. “How much longer ‘til we reach the woods?”
Robin snapped his fingers, beckoning his dog, Maverick, who’d darted off in pursuit of a squirrel. “You know, Annie, Elat is a lot farther away than the Greyer Woods.”
She said nothing, only hoisting up her pinkish robes to step over an upturned stone.
He couldn’t stem his curiosity. “What do you seek in Elat, anyway?”
“That is none of your business.”
Something about that baby-doll face wearing such a curt expression made him grin in spite of himself. “Oh, come on.”
She twisted her lips, her resolve faltering. “I seek my future,” she admitted, “in the King’s courts.”
“Oh?” Rob heightened his pace alongside her. “And does the court suffer a shortage of priestesses?”
“I am not a priestess,” she snapped. “And I never hope to be. Nay, I should rather voyage across Otlantica with one of the King’s brave knights, and someday see myself wed and content.” At this, she revealed a small smile, although it soon faded. “Priestesses, on the other hand, remain celibate. And they do not leave their temples.”
Ah. So she was a dreamer, like him. “You know,” said Rob, betraying a smirk behind his beard, “I’ve never heard of a knight taking a lady on adventures with him.”
Antonia Korelli’s plump lips puckered with conviction.
“My
knight will.”
They stopped for lunch in a meadow, and the girl extracted two pomegranates from her bindle. “These were ritual offerings to Azea,” she confessed with guilt. “I stole them.”
Forbidden fruit? Rob arched an eyebrow. “Don’t mind if I do.” He plucked the orb from her palm. Wen and Adams had taken most of his food. He was glad, at any rate, that this young woman had had the foresight to bring any with her. Once they reached his father’s home, he was sure they could stock up on victuals there.
Rob peered into the distance, discerning the mouth of the woods in the valley below. “The good news is, we’ll make it to Greyer soon.” He bit into the pomegranate. “The bad news,” he said through his mouthful, “is that we’ll likely have to spend the night there.”
Antonia swallowed.
“I’ve a tent,” he reminded her, indicating his rucksack.
This did not appear to assuage her. “Just one,” she pointed out. “And I am not sleeping in a tent with
you.”
He sighed, lying back in the grass. Already, he was beginning to wonder whether he oughtn’t to just let the girl go. She made her disdain for him obvious enough. Yet, for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to let her off so easily. Not after what had befallen him, with her unwitting assistance. And two heads would serve better than one in regaining his coveted map, wouldn’t they?
After lunch, they resumed the road. Antonia fell silent, though Rob could tell by the way she kept massaging her ankles that she grew weary. “Must I carry you the rest of the way?” he teased.
She shot him an icy look.
By late afternoon, they stared into the entry of the Greyer Woods. His companion squinted through the branches. “Is there a trail?”
Rob shook his head.
“Then how do you know the way through?” She sounded dismayed. “Have you a compass?”
He sighed. Was she serious? “It’s called the
sun.”
Again, those lush lips pouted. Rob waited until she made up her mind, however, and followed him into the forest. They were instantly cooled by the leafy thatch overhead.
The sun descended late, as it did that time of year. But, as Rob predicted, they’d not yet made it halfway through the woods by evening. Presently, Maverick drank from a stream while the girl splashed water onto her face.
“We should stop here,” Rob suggested. “It’s only going to get darker. And I need to build the tent while I can still see.”
Antonia stiffened. “I told you, I am not sharing a tent with you.”
“Then you can sleep outside,” he offered testily, “with the ciqédo eggs. Which may or may not hatch tonight.”
She grumbled incoherently, and he would’ve laughed, had he the patience for her. Alas, after that morning, Rob hadn’t much patience for any woman. He extracted the canvas from his rucksack and began erecting the tent, although it proved to be a rather difficult task alone. Meanwhile, Antonia remained by the stream, posing in some odd stance, eyes closed.
“Annie?”
She opened her eyes.
“What
are
you doing?”
She blinked. “Meditating.”
“Oh, of course.” He rolled his eyes, indicating the canvas and poles. “A little help here, please?”
She sniffed. “Nothing good ever came from helping you, Robin Watkins.” But she headed toward him all the same, and knelt at his side. With his direction, she assisted him in assembling the materials until, by sundown, the tent stood on the stream’s banks.
“Well,” Rob brushed his hands together, “that should do it.”
The girl only surveyed it warily.
He exhaled. “Antonia, look. I’ve no intention of trying to…” But his voice faded at the furious flush of her cheeks. By the gods, what did she think him? What had those priestesses taught her of men? He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’ll sleep outside,” he offered, more quietly, “if that would make you feel better.”
Her chest heaved somewhat as their eyes met. He realized hers were blue, like his, albeit several shades grayer, deeper. At last, she turned, saying nothing, and bowed her head to enter the shelter.
Rob knelt down to fetch his bedroll. He glanced into the evening sky, his gaze lingering on the leafy treetops. So long as the ciqédo hadn’t hatched yet, he could handle one night outside in the forest.
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