Page 10 of The Prince and His Stolen Groom
“Don’t worry, everything will end up as it should,” she replied, patting my shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should try to get toknow my fiancé.” Her expression grew bemused as she added, “However I’m supposed to do that when he’s wearing a suit of armor.”
I tried again to convince her of the problem. “Fran, I don’t think that’s the prince.”
“What do you mean?”
“If it was really the prince, why would he need to cover his face?”
She frowned at me in disapproval. “We shouldn’t judge other people’s customs.”
“How do we know that’s true? I’ve never heard of anywhere forbidding the bride and groom from seeing each other. Like, maybe thedayof the wedding, but that’s not for a week. Is he going to wear that armor the entire time?”
“I don’t know, but it’s his right to do as he pleases. I won’t start our marriage off by questioning his choices, so long as they have no negative effects on our people.” She flounced away, leaving me to limp along in her dust.
“But that’s not even him,” I said to the empty courtyard.
Chapter Five
By the time I caught up with everyone else, the imposter had been hustled away to the guest suite assigned to them. When I tried to bring the subject up again with my parents, they brushed me off. Father even patted my head like I was five instead of twenty-two and said, “All will be well, Freddy.”
“Rick,” I corrected.
He didn’t hear me, too focused on finishing up details for the welcome feast honoring His Highness the Fake.
To prove to them that the imposter was a fake, I needed to find out more about my opponent. I grabbed Chester from the stable—much relieved to have him instead of Primrose—and headed straight for my magic tower.
Outside of it, I looked up to the window, for some reason expecting Brandan to be staring forlornly out of it, waiting for someone to rescue him. Instead, I saw a rope made of bedsheets dangling a few feet below the edge.
That wasdefinitelynot long enough for a safe escape. Panicked, I searched the ground, worried the man desperately tried to climb out the window anyway.Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.
I only relaxed when I saw no body, no blood, and no footprints.
To the side of the tower was a small visitor’s stable that could fit two horses. Once a month, someone came out to stock it with fresh grain and supplies, but I was responsible for the rest of the upkeep. Isettled Chester in one of the stalls with fresh water and an apple for his hard work, then left him to his horsey daydreams while I checked on the prince.
Unlocking the tower door, I peeked around inside. Brandan was sprawled on one couch, a book in his hand. Good, he’d settled in—that would make this much easier. He only noticed me after I stepped through the door.
Eyes widening in shock, he cried, “Don’t close the door!” He tried to get off the couch, but his legs caught in a blanket, and he faceplanted on the floor. At least he hadn’t brained himself on the table. He recovered quickly and ran toward me, hand outstretched as if he could stop the inevitable, but the door had already closed while he was fumbling around.
Still, he rattled and tugged on the knob. It refused to budge. Cursing, he ran a hand through his hair until it stuck up in wild red clumps like a campfire. He looked at me with genuine sorrow and said, “I’m so sorry, but it seems you’re locked in here with me now.”
What?
“Did that crazy bitch trick you too?”
What?
“She didn’t have to lock me up in here just because she doesn’t want to marry me,” he said morosely as he returned to the couch. He slumped and put his head in his hands, shoulders drooped in defeat.
Oh right, I was cross-dressing yesterday. Even though I’d dropped my voice at the end, he must have still believed I was Francesca. If I allowed him to keep thinking that, I could build a rapport with him and it’d be easier to convince him to cancel the wedding. And if he didn’t agree—from a sense of duty or stubbornness—I might at least get some information about the imposter. Maybe he didn’t even know therewasan imposter! He might be so insulted he’d help me discover who had stolen his identity!
I opened my mouth to go along with his assumptions, except the words lodged in my throat. My sister was willing to serve our country, no matter what it cost her. Even though ruining her reputation would probably make him more eager to break off their engagement, I couldn’t let him think badly of her. “Hi,” I said, waving awkwardly, “I’m the crazy bitch.”
His head shot up and he gaped at me. “What?You mean … the princess didn’t kidnap me?”
“Nope.”
Looking me over, he grudgingly admitted, “You looked quite convincing in that dress.”
Not sure if that was supposed to be a compliment or not, I ignored it and walked to the kitchen. Any minute, he would ask who I was, and then I’d have to decide whether to keep up this honest streak or try to bluff.
