Page 33 of Stolen Princess's Secret

‘Ildris’s horses are here.’

‘I believe they flew. Lord Ildris will be returning at the beginning of next week. He’s accepted a permanent consultancy position within the palace.’

More fool Cas.

‘Did you just...growl?’ asked Sophia with no little fascination.

‘I’m sure the Lord Falcon Master was just clearing his throat,’ Ana murmured. ‘As for the Princess Royal, I believe she’s staying up north for a week or two longer, maybe more. The mountains were calling.’

He had mountains. He had mountains on his doorstep. This very fortress had been carved into the side of one, should anyone want to get pedantic about their proximity to shouty big blocks of stone.

‘Come on, Soph. Time to go.’ Ana ushered her daughter to the door but spared him a glance at the very last moment. ‘You speak mountain man, don’t you?’

CHAPTER EIGHT

IT WAS COLD in the north. Claudia had forgotten the icy bite of the wind on any part of her not covered by wind and waterproof clothing. Not for this place the ballgowns and jewels of her brother’s palace. Not for these people the unbearable judgement because she was too confident, too immune to bribery and way too satisfied with her own good self to be of use to those who thought blackmail a legitimate political tool, just as long as it served their greater good.

Or maybe these people of the north had been there and done that with her already and figured she could use a break.

She was second-guessing everything about her world and the people in it. Why not second-guess them too?

Only the doctor, Ana, Cas, Sophia and probably Lor knew she was pregnant, but it wouldn’t be long before solid rumours started swirling. A small but powerful group of politicians and courtiers from her father’s era had already called for her removal from Cas’s court. They said she’d been seduced by the northerners and pressured into being their voice, as if she’d never had a conscience of her own. They called her a survivor of abuse, as if the abuse had originated with her captors rather than her parents. They underestimated her strength and her influence, those little men and women with their fat bank accounts and political portfolios and no interest whatsoever in fairness. They would pull her down at the earliest opportunity if she couldn’t find the strength to withstand them.

Unfortunately, she spent most of her strength these days on getting up in the morning and staying up rather than crawling straight back into bed after a bathroom stop, her mind a fog and her body not her own to command. What did she know about motherhood and babies? Her own mother had been a shadow of a woman—pitiful and broken. Her so-called father—King Leonidas—had been a monster. Her real father had thought nothing of bedding his brother’s wife. What kind of a family tree was that?

As for the people who’d kidnapped and then kept a small child out of pity and a vague idea that one day they could use her to advance themselves, she’d paid them back, hadn’t she? She’d secured their rights and way of life and owed them nothing more. She was square with them now. Surely they could ask for nothing more?

And maybe they wouldn’t want her around now she’d served her purpose, but she had nowhere else to turn to for comfort and support and possible solutions to a problem of her own making.

Why did she no longer know which way was home?

She’d been welcomed with fanfare. Her tent had been set up for her, bursting with warmth and furs and food after her journey. She’d been hugged and lauded—she and Ildris heroes. A feast was happening right outside her door.

And all she could think was that she didn’t belong here either. She wouldn’t wish this duality on her enemy, let alone her daughter, and since when had this baby become a daughter? She didn’t know that for sure. No one did.

‘Claudia, are you in there?’

She knew that voice. It belonged to her not-sister who’d been at Claudia’s side since they were seven years old. ‘Enter.’

Alya entered with a flurry of movement and a dusting of snow on her hair and the shoulders of her cloak. ‘Why are you missing the party? You’re the guest of honour.’

‘Just tired, I guess.’

‘You guess or you know? Because unless you haven’t slept in days, I’m going to drag you back out there. People want to see you. You’re our champion.’

‘I’m pregnant.’ There. She’d said it, but didn’t feel any lighter for sharing her load. If anything, she was waiting for the weight of Alya’s disappointment to rain down upon her.

Alya pushed back her hood, bringing her ebony curls, heart-shaped face and shocked brown eyes into the light. ‘Oh.’

Yes, oh.

‘Change of plan on the drinking front,’ Alya said next.

‘Indeed.’

‘And I guess it explains why you’re looking so pale and worn.’

‘More than likely.’ And she’d tried so hard to add a bit of colour using make-up.

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