Page 75 of Songs and Spun Gold
“She is strong-spirited. If she and the prince approach his father together—”
“He will not budge. As I said, the magic is strong. They will not break it.”
Magic?
“Should we put a compulsion on the prince as well, just in case?”
He stiffened.
“No. He must agree of his own free will, or the agreement is void. Now stop wasting my time. I will be most displeased if you contact me again before our scheduled meeting.”
Heart racing, Axel rested a hand in the dry, prickly branches to prop himself up. He didn’t know what the two men were talking about, but he trusted it was nothing good. Compulsion? Magic? And what did Katy have to do with anything?
They hadn’t mentioned her name, but he had pled for no one else’s freedom.
“What was that?”
Silently cursing his movement, he tried to hold himself still. Too little, too late after the telltale rustle of the shrub’sbranches and crunch of gravel from his weight shifting. He could hear footsteps and the cracking of broken twigs as someone shoved through the intervening rows.
“Who’s there?”
He held his breath and hoped his dark cloak hid him sufficiently.
A light blossomed somewhere to his right. “Do you see anything?”
The light and footsteps passed him, and he began to relax. Then a hand grabbed the back of his cloak and jerked up and backward, hauling him to his feet and choking him at the same time. He struggled with the clasp, abandoning the garment as soon as it was free. Recovering his balance, he raced down the path toward the castle.
“I applaud your efforts,” the man that wasn’t Lord Ulrich said in a bored tone. “Useless as they are.”
Axel kept sprinting, not bothering with what that meant. He opened his mouth to yell for the guards—
And suddenly found himself flat on his back, gasping for breath after crashing into a wall in the middle of the garden path. His nose and forehead hurt, but he was more concerned by his inability to inflate his lungs after the rough landing.
“As I said, useless.”
Opening his eyes, he saw a tall, cloak-shrouded man standing over him. In the flickering light of whatever Lord Ulrich held, he caught a glimpse of red hair and perhaps a hint of green in the man’s eyes. “Who—wha—what—” He couldn’t draw enough breath to speak.
The man tilted his head as he looked at the helpless prince. “I suppose I could simplify things and kill you. But no, I think your death now would cause your father less grief than what I have planned for the future. Besides, we still need an heir.”
“But he heard,” Lord Ulrich whispered, eyes dartingaround. “This changes everything! We can—”
“You worry too much,” the stranger drawled as he lifted his hands and drew a sign in the air. Axel instinctively raised his arms over his face, wishing he had the strength for more. “And the alternative might not work. Control your flames, remember your training, and leave him to me. He won’t be a problem.”
~
“Your Highness!” A hand on his shoulder shook him roughly. “Your Highness! Wake up!”
Axel shivered, wrapping his arms around his torso and drawing his knees up toward his chest. He dimly wondered what fool of a servant had left his window open so early in the year; not only was it freezing in his room, he could hear the morning birds chirping happily.
“Prince Axel,” the voice growled, “if you don’t open your eyesnow, it had better be because you’re on your deathbed.”
Blinking, he looked up into Bertram’s irritated face. But why did the ceiling behind his guard’s head look like trees?
Why was his bed so hard?
“We know that you are upset by your father’s decision. But could you cut the dramatic statements? Your father will have my head if you catch your death of cold.”
“Dramatic statements?” Axel repeated in confusion as he pushed up into a sitting position on the bench. His cloak slid off his shoulder and landed in a heap on the dirt path below. “Why am I in the arboretum?”
