Page 38 of Feathered Thief

The prince merely nodded. “Is he allowed another try, or may I have a go at it?” Prince Dominik was neither as tall nor as handsome as his older brother, but he seemed more genuine.

While the men discussed plans, Lenka slipped beneath the tree’s branches, placed her hand on its trunk, and pretended to study the pool of wax. “What happened to the apple?” she whispered.

Something like delight trickled into her spirit.Apples with friend.

She did her best to clarify: “The second apple was also taken by your friend?”

Apples.As the tree radiated contentment, Lenka sensed that wherever the apples might be, they were together.

“Very well,” she heard the king say. “Though I hardly expect you to have greater success than your brother.” As Lenka stepped out from under the tree’s limbs, he noticed her again. “What were you doing there under the tree, wench?”

“I was searching for clues that might help us solve this mystery.” Remembering her place, she quickly added, “sire,” and dipped in a low curtsy.

“And what have you found?” Prince Dominik asked.

“I believe the apples were stolen by the same thief,” she replied eagerly.

King Gustik’s lip slightly curled. “Why do you believe this?”

“Because neither theft left visible clues, and the watchmen at the garden gate saw nothing. Unless the thief entered the garden through Your Majesty’s private entrance, I expect it must have flown.”

King Gustik scoffed at her theory. “These apples are quite large, and once they ripen into solid gold, they are heavy. What bird or squirrel could carry one? And why would any bird or beast steal fruit that it cannot eat?”

Were the apples inedible? Lenka wondered.

“A small dragon, perhaps?” Prince Dominik postulated.

“I highly doubt it.” The king’s quelling tone irritated her. Unlike his brother, the younger prince possessed at least a modicum of initiative and imagination. He deserved a chance.

“Whatever the thief may be, I’m prepared to deal with it,” the prince declared. “I’ll return at sundown to stand guard at the tree.”

That night, Lenka dreamed.

In her dream she descended a set of steps built into a hillside—almost a cliffside. They led down to a misty field with an archery range at the far end. Dozens of boys were shooting at a row of targets. When she reached the lowest step and entered the field, she turned to look back and saw a castle high above. In her dream, she was delighted to be there. She even twirled once in happiness.

She carried her bow and wore her familiar quiver. Boys and young men stood around, talking and laughing, but none of them noticed her. No other girls were present. How was she there?

Uncertain, she paused, ready to retreat.

“Helena?”

Her heart leaped. That voice! She turned to see a young man trotting down the steps in her wake.

“H-hello,” she croaked, her throat feeling constricted.

She glimpsed his bright smile before dropping her gaze to the bow in her hand. Oh my, but he was handsome! Tall and broad-shouldered, with curly auburn hair in need of a trim. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Who was he? Why did his voice seem so familiar?

“My mother told me to look for you here,” he said, shifting his feet and fiddling with the strap of his quiver. “How . . .? I mean . . . Have you been practicing archery?”

“Yes!” she blurted. “I practice with Papa Hrabik sometimes.” Her heart drummed in her chest, both in her sleeping body and in her dream.

Was it possible to know that she was dreaming and yet remain asleep?

No matter. She couldn’t take her eyes off his beautiful face. Those thick dark lashes and that earnest expression melted her! His square chin and jaw were stubbly, and his waist was trim.

She longed to touch him. What would it be like to kiss him?

This was the very best dream she’d ever had!

---