Page 18 of Arrows and Gems
Facing the door once more, she reached out and pulled the cord, grimacing at the wall. Hopefully, Erwan wouldn’t tell General Valentin about her odd behavior. She preferred to stay inconspicuous to those in charge of the kingdom.
And she’d already drawn the regent’s notice by her encounter with Le Capuchon.
Her brows drew down. Shouldn’t Queen Valerie or Prince Raphael’s younger sister be regent? Even though as women, they couldn’t inherit?
The soft sound of a releasing latch brought a smile to her face and her princess poise to her spine and shoulders. If she intended to convince the proper-looking footman to let her inside, despite her single guard and lack of luggage – not to mention her dress, which had seen better days – she would need to sell her story.
“May I help you?” he asked, his tone perfectly polite and his eyes skimming her before darting over her shoulder. He seemed torn between an instinctive reaction to her personal presentation and what his eyes were telling him about the trappings of her reality.
“I am here to visit my friend, Lady Marielle. Is she in?” Helena replied, drawing herself up a little straighter.
His eyes flicked behind her again as he weighed his answer. “I will check. Who may I tell her is calling?”
“Margit. From Ralnor.” Then, in case her cousin needed another hint, she added, “Tell her that I’m the reason her copy of the latest Stewart mystery went astray.”
A tiny lift to his eyebrows accompanied his brisk nod. “If you’ll wait here, please.”
He hesitated, looking torn, then motioned her inside. She caught a subtle head twitch in the direction of another young man. The footman who admitted her disappeared down thehall, while the other young man discovered a sudden need to rearrange the items on a small table nearby. Helena didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended.
Several minutes passed before a black-haired woman in her mid-twenties strolled into the entry hall. Her mouth, usually a little too wide on her face, was pressed into a polite but wary smile. When she caught sight of Helena, it stretched into a broad – if confused – grin.
“Itisyou!” Marielle exclaimed, rushing forward. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? And why did you give your name as Margit?”
Keeping her smile firmly in place, Helena widened her eyes. “Because that’s my name.”
Marielle wrinkled her button nose, but instead of pursuing the issue, she said, “Marcel, if you could fetch...my friend’s things and—” She broke off, eyebrows drawing together. “No, you said she arrived without any, didn’t you?”
“I had a little trouble along the way,” Helena grimaced. “My things didn’t make it.”
Marielle’s eyes darted back to her, jumping up and down as if absorbing her full appearance for the first time. “Your dress—and is your arm in a sling? What happened?”
“A little run-in with the bandit in your woods,” she said as nonchalantly as she could. When her cousin blinked at her, she supplied, “Le Capuchon. He shot me in the shoulder and then ran off with all my belongings. My dresses. My horse.” Her jaw clenched. “Mybow.”
Marielle’s mouth dropped, her lips forming a large O. “He—but why?”
“Why did a bandit rob me?” Helena scoffed. “Despite what that guard out there – and you, apparently – think, he’s no saint.”
“But he—” Snapping her mouth shut, Marielle turned tothe footman again. “Please prepare a room for—Margit. I assume you’ll be staying with us?” Helena nodded. “And show her guard where he can stay.”
“Actually, he isn’t mine,” Helena cut in. “Erwan is on loan from General Valentin. But he planned to wait until I was settled.”
The color disappeared from Marielle’s already pale face. “He’s one of the General’s men?” Bringing her hands to her waist, she pressed her palms together and took a deep breath. A calm mask settled over her features, but Helena could see an edge of concern around her eyes. “Marcel, please let the guard outside know that he is no longer needed. Margit will be safe here.”
Without waiting for the footman’s response, Marielle grabbed Helena’s arm and took off down a nearby hallway. Helena followed meekly, preferring to endure the impending conversation where the servants couldn’t overhear.
As soon as the sitting room door closed behind them, Marielle released Helena’s arm and spun to face her. “Would you care to explain how you ended up in my home with no notice, no guards except a tool of the General, and the claim that Le Capuchon hurt and robbed you?”
Helena took a step back, surprised by the vehemence in her cousin’s tone. She hadn’t seen Marielle in years, but she remembered someone a little more laid back. Pursing her lips, she replied, “I told you that Le Capuchon shot me because he did. Then he took my bow after I dropped it, tied me up, and took off with my horse – and all my belongings in its saddlebags – when General Valentin’s men caught up with him.”
Marielle scrunched her face and looked away, a surprising mixture of confusion and hurt spread across it. “I can’t believe he shot you. He never hurts someone without a reason.” Her words were soft, as if to herself.
Helena had no sympathy for the man who waylaid her, but her cousin’s distress compelled her to provide context. Shifting her eyes to the side, she begrudgingly admitted, “I might have taken off his hood with an arrow first.”
“Helena!” Marielle wailed. She widened her eyes, tipping her head back in frustration. “No wonder he shot you! He thought you were trying to kill him!”
Any sympathy Helena felt vanished. “Instead of scolding me for my choices, perhaps you should be thankful that he’s a terrible shot,” she snapped. The phantom feeling of the arrow piercing her skin flashed through her shoulder, and she shuddered at the memory. “If he wasn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”
Rolling her eyes, Marielle crossed her arms and scowled. “If he had been aiming for your heart, he would have hit it. Le Capuchon is the best archer in the kingdom; he hit exactly where he meant to.”
