Page 13 of Stolen Princess's Secret

‘He raised his voice. To him that’s a failing.’

Tomas Sokolov was a big baby. A big, beautiful, unforgettable infant.

‘Is there anything I can help you with?’ the man continued.

‘I want to set a date for bringing two of my falcons here permanently.’

‘With due respect, ma’am, you’re the Crown Princess. Pretty sure you can do that whenever you feel like it.’

‘I know. But I know it’ll be a stretch on resources, and he said there was an information sheet I had to fill out...’ And she’d wanted to see him again... ‘He wasn’t really upset about that loud conversation, was he?’ She refused to call it an argument.

‘It’s like this. Staying calm and in control is like the first commandment around here. We need it when handling the birds. We need it when conveying information respectfully and effectively to titled idiots who think they know everything about falcons when really they know nothing.’

‘You mean me.’

‘No, ma’am. No one here has any complaints about the way you handle and care for the birds. But you don’t know Tomas, if I may say. And he doesn’t do strong emotions. He locks that sh—stuff down. Maybe he got trained to bank it down hard, you know? Maybe it’s just his way. But riling him’s not the way to make a connection. He won’t stick around for it.’

‘So you’re saying it’d be a bad idea if I confessed to him that I quite liked seeing him all heated, and that I was enjoying myself. Immensely. He’s very, ah—’ she waved a gloved hand around in the air to explain what she meant while she searched for the right word ‘—compelling.’

The man couldn’t quite hide his amusement. ‘Right.’

‘But I certainly don’t want to rouse his, ah—’

‘Passions,’ supplied the apprentice, suspiciously deadpan.

‘Right. I wouldn’t want to rouse those to the point of no return. That would be bad.’

‘Nah, do it. Do him good,’ said another apprentice, sticking his head out of an enclosure to join the conversation. ‘Junior apprentice Bran at your service, Your Highness.’

‘Hello.’ So many apprentices with advice and no Tomas. ‘Call me Claudia.’

‘No can do, ma’am. But I’m the one in charge of the paperwork this week and if you don’t mind walking with me to the office I can print out those information sheets you’re after.’

‘Great. And when will Tomas be returning?’

‘The problem is that when he sees you flying in, he heads out,’ said the ever-helpful Bran.

‘Tell him he’s a coward.’

Bran laughed long and loud and the older apprentice simply shook his head. ‘Yeah, I don’t think anyone’s going to be telling the Master Falconer that.’

CHAPTER FOUR

WHEN IT CAME to hatreds, Tomas strove to be even-handed. Take capital cities swarming with people, and royal palaces swarming with courtiers, for example. Tomas happily loathed both. Not for him the niceties needed to traverse such terrain. He didn’t suffer fools. He wasn’t one for idle conversation. Even his conversations with Casimir bordered on brutally brief.

He was heading into the mountains tomorrow to check on the greater spotted eagle pairs, because at some point he wanted to introduce a new pair. All he had to do before he left was dress up in his royal finest and travel to the palace for an afternoon audience with his king and some kind of banquet in the evening. Didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember what the banquet was for, they were all the same. Get showered, get dressed, go to the capital and the palace he loathed because it was too full of random guards he didn’t recognise and Claudia hadn’t been safe there, and see duty done. That was the shape of his day, and he was all for getting through it efficiently.

Shower first, to wash off the stench of owl droppings and get clean again.

And then the rest.

Five minutes later he made his exit from the shower as Lor entered his quarters without knocking. She didn’t usually intrude on his private space unless she felt it necessary. Like that time when a golden eagle had scored his shoulder and all down his back in a botched landing. Or when that fighting hawk had almost taken his finger off. Or like now, as she carried a pile of spruce green fabric and gold braid over one arm.

‘I freshened your coat. It was dusty.’

‘Thanks.’ He tightened his grip on the towel that covered him from low on his hips to the start of his knees. While the trousers and shirt of his dress uniform fitted him well enough, the coat was a masterpiece fit for a coronation. It was tight fitting through the shoulders and chest and split back and front for ease of riding, but that was where practicality ended and the dust-collecting gold braid began. Embellished cuffs ran from wrist to elbow, tightened by leather buckles. He supposed a raptor could land on his forearm easily enough without damaging his skin, but the heavy gold braid embellishment didn’t stop there. It formed a stiff collar around his neck, became a tight belt around his waist and dripped from the coat shoulders. It was terrible, and beautiful, and ridiculous. It was the King’s Falconer’s ceremonial dress. ‘Do you have any idea what all this is about?’

Lor too wore her finest royal livery and her eyes, kind as they were, suggested she knew something he didn’t.

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