Page 59 of Feathered Thief

He reached for her hands and gently turned her back to face him, his lips twitching with amusement. “How remarkable that you think I’m supposed to be you! I mean, you’re such anaturalat being you.” His deep voice and his smile drew her like a moth to a flame, distracting her from his meaning.

When she didn’t respond, he asked, “Surely you don’t imagine that you’re Prince Kazimierz.”

His teasing tone flustered her further, and she squirmed her hands out of his grasp. “Prince . . . I don’t know who that is! I’m supposed to be . . . I am, um . . .”

Who am I?Suddenly the cave spun around them. She couldn’t remember any names at all, but her hands found their way back to his solid chest as if they belonged there.

His brows drew together, and he peered into her eyes, his hands moving to support her elbows, ready to catch her if necessary. “You . . . you really don’t remember me?”

He sounded hurt. She didn’t want to hurt him. Even with his dripping hair and stubbled chin, he was so handsome and kind . . . She shivered with cold and burned with embarrassment all at once. “I don’t understand! I’m . . . I think I do sort of remember . . .” The words dragged out of her mouth. “But . . . howcouldI know you?”

He raised one expressive brow. “You know me because we grew up together. We saw each other nearly every summer and often at Christmas from the time we could walk. Our parents were old friends, and we were friends . . . well, once you stopped despising me. I teased you a lot when we were little, and I guess you had reason to hate me. I mean, Iwasa pain-in-the-neck. But you’ve always been . . . well, you’re the only girl in my life. It was always you.” His voice roughened and cracked at the end, and she watched him blink back tears before one trickled down his face. “And now, you’re here!” His smile looked tremulous. “I could not be happier!”

Her own tears tickled her cheeks while she struggled to make sense of his revelation. He sucked in a shaky breath and continued, “You and I were betrothed to marry until my father ruined everything.” His tone darkened. “As soon as I suspected his plans, I rode hard to get here to Castle Valga to tell you and your father that I would defy my father and fulfill the betrothal contract he’d destroyed.” She felt his shoulders slump. “Obviously, that didn’t work out.”

The one bit of his confession that settled into her head and heart was the part about being the only girl in his life . . .

“But . . . I’m on a quest,” she told him.

“A quest? Can you tell me about it?”

She nodded slowly and began to speak, warming up as she went along: “Well, the King of Trinec sent me to find the golden bird that stole the golden apples, and then I met a fox who sent me to steal the golden bird from a baron, but I set it free instead. I was caught and maybe nearly executed, but then the fox took me to steal the golden horse. I succeeded, but then the fox was even angrier with me because I freed the horse too.” The words fairly rattled off her tongue as his eyes widened. “Last, I was supposed to wake a princess from a spell with a kiss, but, as you already know, I’m not a man, so that would never haveworked. But if I don’t bring Princess Helena of Zyrardów to the fox, I don’t know what’ll happen to me. I made a mess of things from the beginning, so Papa and I can never return to Bolislaus Castle.”

As soon as she ran out of words, shivers rippled through her body and her teeth began to chatter.

“My dear Helena,” his voice deepened with concern, “I can’t begin to express how sorry I am that you’ve been caught up in this tangled mess.” When his big hands gently squeezed her elbows, she couldn’t help spreading her fingers on his chest. “You need rest and a bite to eat, and then we can exchange our full stories and make plans. A good night’s sleep will make everything clearer.”

The man was a virtual stranger. Obviously, he was mistaking her for someone else. Did he just call her by the princess’s name? But he was alive and awake, and he had the kindest, warmest brown eyes. She was already sinking into a massive crush. “Are you sure Princess Helena won’t be coming to bathe tonight?” she asked, so exhausted that her words slurred.

His smile was quick, but he looked concerned as he answered, “No beautiful princess will surpriseyouwith her presence tonight; I’m the lucky one who received that privilege.” Then he turned her, gently grasped her elbows from behind, and steered her back toward the wardrobe chamber, supporting her every step on the damp stone path and comforting her spirit with a stream-of-consciousness monologue: “Are you hungry? You won’t go hungry here. The livestock are all asleep like the people, so I leave them be. Iga, my horse, and I arrived after the spell was cast, so we’ve been keeping each other company. Anyway, the kitchen stores never run out, and one of the pools under the falls is teeming with fish. Also, wildlife sometimes wanders onto the property, and I’m good with a bow. As are you, I recall.”

At those words, Lenka realized her lack of a bow and stopped short, feeling for a quiver that wasn’t there. “Where did I put mine? How do you know I’m good with a bow?”

“Don’t worry; we’ll find it.”

“And my quiver.”

“You’re quivering enough, I’d say.” He spoke in the kindest tone: “No one will walk off with your possessions . . . unless someone sleepwalks.”

That woke her up. “Do you sleepwalk? I don’t think I ever have.”

He chuckled. “No, don’t worry. I was joking.”

Still confused, she relaxed, and when he warned her not to trip on the step, she realized they were back at the first steaming pool. And there her quiver and bow lay near the steps, just where she must have set them down. “Whose bathhouse is this?” she asked.

“I heard long ago that it was your father’s special gift to your mother when they married. As far as I know, the hot springs are unique in this mountain range. Does the bathhouse seem familiar to you?”

“It did before . . .” She tried to concentrate, but only the vaguest of impressions came to her. “Not really. But it’s amazing. I would love to soak in that warm pool.”

“You can do whatever you like in your own home, but I suggest a meal and a good sleep before we make any plans. You look utterly exhausted. For tonight, let’s make our way to the kitchens. We can eat and sleep, then share our stories in the morning.”

He was right; her legs felt brittle, her vision was narrowing, and nothing seemed to make sense.

“Does porridge sound good?” he asked as they passed the wardrobes.

“Yes, but . . .”

Even as she spoke, her vision narrowed to a tunnel and her legs gave out. The ideal man scooped her up before she could hit the stone floor, and he kept talking while traversing passageways and stairs. She understood bits of his monologue here and there, such as “. . . and in all that time, the sleepers haven’t awakened” and “As things stand, I guess they’ll sleep until judgment day.”

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