The Runaway Princess (18 page)

Evangeline balanced her plate on her knees and took
her first bite and her second, her features smooth and serene with enjoyment. Danior thought that in her hunger she hadn't heard him, but she lifted her gaze from her plate and stared at him. “I don't understand. What about Revealing? If that's not magic, what is it?”

She popped a series of blueberries in her mouth, and as he watched her chew, ladylike and starving, stubborn and defiant and everything he wanted in his princess, an idea came to him—an idea so devious he thought his father would be proud.

Elaborately casual, Danior served himself and leaned back against a rock. “The whole tale is, I believe, suspect.”

“Suspect?”

“A thousand years ago a king and a queen quarreled so harshly the country was torn in half, forming the two kingdoms.”

“What's suspect about that? It's recorded in the histories of all the surrounding principalities.” Her
voice changed and took on a scholarly tone. “And historically speaking, such a split was not unusual. Peasants owed allegiance to the lord who protected them from marauders. If the king and queen couldn't protect their people together, a split was inevitable and probably in the best interest of the farmers, who form the backbone of any medieval domain.”

He stared at her expounding on medieval society, noted that her eyes were alight with interest, and thought she hadn't lied about doing research, at least. Obviously, she loved facts.

And the other girls at the convent must have teased her about her scholarship, for she flashed him a guilty glance and mumbled, “Forgive me.”

“Why?”

“Boring.”

“Not to a future king.”

She muttered something else, but under her breath.

He guessed what it was. “I'm pompous?”

“How did you know what I—” Filling her mouth with flatbread, she crunched defiantly.

“Our hearts are one.” And if not their hearts, then their minds. He had begun to understand how her mind worked—a useful tool for handling an unpredictable woman such as Evangeline.

Obviously, the thought of having joined hearts with him didn't fill her with the ecstasy he expected or his father had predicted. If anything, she looked dismayed as she finished chewing.

Blast it. Why couldn't the woman just react as other women did? Why did he have to keep thinking about new ways to handle her?

She swallowed, then picked up a berry between two blue-stained fingers and concentrated all her attention on it. “What part of the legend of the Two Kingdoms do you find suspect?”

“That nonsense about Santa Leopolda.”

“You don't believe in Santa Leopolda?” Her fingers closed, squashing the berry, and he couldn't tell if her appalled expression was from the waste of food or from his blasphemy.

“Oh, I believe there was someone who put the crowns and the scepters in the crystal case and used a special lock to close it.” He took a breath and tested Evangeline. “And stole the rings set with the royal seals while she did the deed.”

“Stole them?” She looked up, appalled accusation directed at him. “She didn't steal them. They're under the velvet the scepters are resting on.”

Danior took a bite of rabbit. Evangeline was falling into his trap without even a pause. “But there's no way to prove that, since the rings can't be seen.”

“Leona told me that Santa Leopolda placed the rings under the scepters, and Leona certainly seemed to know the history of the Two Kingdoms.” Evangeline's eyes snapped with indignation, even as she continued to pick meat off the bones. “Why would you think Santa Leopolda stole them? And why do you think there's a special lock that closes the case? The legend says that when she shut the case, fire ignited along the seam and sealed it.”

“By
magic
.” He made mockery of the word.

“It is impossible to open, you know.”

“It's not impossible.”
That
he truly believed.

She rapped her knuckles lightly on her plate and almost knocked the food to the ground—a true sign of her agitation. “Seven hundred years ago, the case was stolen by the Leons, by
your
family. Who kept it in
your
family stronghold for two centuries. If the case could have been opened, they would have done so and claimed the kingdom.”

“They couldn't claim the kingdom because that would have proven the prophecy wrong.”

“The prophecy says that anyone who can open the crystal case has the right to wear the crown within, take the title of king or queen, and reunite the Two Kingdoms.”

The trap was closing around her, and he was conscious of an almost imperceptible relaxation within himself. “Is that what the prophecy says?”

“You know it does,” she said, magnificently impatient with him. “And you can't tell me no one in your family tried to open that case! I heard that sometime while they had it, it was dropped from a castle tower onto the rocks below.”

Finishing his meal, he threw the plate into the fire. “I heard that, too.”

“And it never shattered.”

The flames blazed higher, reducing the bark and bones to ashes. He stared into the flickering light and pondered Evangeline's arrogant and unconscious self-betrayal. “England is a country notorious for being smug and bumptious. However did you hear such a detail about such an insignificant land so far away?”

“Leona taught me everything I know about Baminia and Serephina.”

“The language and the history and the legends.”

She heard his skepticism, for she said, “Oh, why won't you believe me? You don't doubt that I learned to descend a tower on a rope, or to kick a man where it hurts, or—”

“How a man and a woman make love?”

Crimson crept into her face, but she met his eyes without flinching. “Yes, I learned that from books, too. So why won't you believe that Leona loved to talk about the Two Kingdoms? She must have been Serephinian or Baminian, and in exile after the revolution, and wanting to talk about her home.”

“Anything is possible.” He didn't care about her imaginary Leona. He only cared that she had betrayed herself, and he wanted her to admit the truth.

For once, she would tell him the truth.

“Now, about that lovemaking . . .”

“You're distracting me on purpose!” she cried.

She baffled him with the twists and curves of her mind—maybe he didn't understand her as well as he hoped. “Distracting you?”

“Because you don't want to talk about your family stealing the crystal case and dropping it out of the tower in a despicable attempt to rule the Two Kingdoms without the Chartrier family interfering!”

Her very indignation gave her away, and satisfaction rolled over him.

She must have seen the complacency imprinted on his features, for she pointed one slender, greasy finger at him. “And get that expression off your face. I'm not angry because I'm the princess, I'm
angry because I'm English, and the English always root for the underdog!”

“Of course,” he said smoothly.

“You're maddening.” She took a long, indrawn breath. “Any woman who marries you will spend her life fuming.”

“I won't allow that.” He caught her gaze through the small ripples of heat created by the fire. “The woman who marries me will be gloriously happy. I will demand it.”

She challenged him with a lift of her chin. “You don't always get what you want.”

“I will this time.” They sat still, silently testing each other for character and determination, neither giving way until he nodded and made judgment. “You, dearling, are my princess in waiting.”

“I am
not
anybody's princess. Santa Leopolda predicted it would take a thousand years before a prince and princess were born at the right time to marry, fulfill the prophecy, and unite the countries. Now, when you should be out searching for Princess Ethelinda so you can take command of your country, you are sitting here with me.” She picked among the remains of her meal for the last blueberries. “I'm not the princess, and I can't open the crystal case.”

If she worried about her capability to open the case, if that was the reason she denied her destiny, then he well understood and would soothe her misgivings. “You won't have to. I will.”

“How?” She flung out an arm. “We're on our way to Plaisance. Suppose we get to the city without being killed. Suppose we are taken to the Palace
of the Two Kingdoms, there to rest and wait for our wedding. Suppose we rise on the morning of Revealing, dress in the garments of the ancestors, and go to the town square. Suppose we climb the steps to the cathedral and stand in front of all of the people of Serephina and Baminia who have gathered to see the miracle. Suppose that together we place our hands on the crystal case—and suppose nothing happens.”

Standing, he went to the pool and washed his hands.

Her voice took on a pleading note. “Suppose for one moment I'm right and you're wrong. Suppose I am not the princess. The magic will not work. The people will kill us.”

He went to the bed and dismantled it, folding the cloak and the rug, scattering the branches.

“And all because you're a thickheaded swine.”

She bristled with exasperation, but he gave her insult the consideration it deserved.

That is to say, none.

“A thickheaded swine?” He placed the blankets into the bag. “On the contrary. I'm being inordinately clever.”

Agitated, she pitched her plate into the fire. “We don't dare take this chance.”

He took up the container of herbs and walked to her. “It's time for me to examine your foot.”

“Really, it's not hurting . . .” Her voice trailed off as she viewed his determination. “I suppose there's no escaping you.”

“There never has been.” Kneeling before her, he removed her shoe and unwrapped the bandage. The
wound had indeed closed. The edges of the thin red slash looked clean, and nowhere beneath the skin were there pockets of purulence. Evangeline was a healthy young woman, the pond's heat and sulfur had worked to cleanse the cut, and the royal maywort had promoted healing.

His own contribution he did not dismiss—he'd done a good job of removing the dirt and grit that would create infection. Not a royal magic touch, as the old ladies prated, but the touch of good sense and battle-won experience.

Yet he lifted Evangeline's foot and pressed a kiss into the arch.

She wrenched back. “Why did you do that?”

“The royal touch will heal you,” he told her. Better to tell her that than to have her realize how much he wished to kiss her other, more secret places.

Maybe she sensed his longing, for she said, “Let's go. I can walk today.”

“For a while,” he conceded. Opening the jar, he stirred the mash and spread the vivid green herb on her wound.

She sniffed the delicate, minty scent. “What is that?”

“Royal maywort,” he answered.

“Really?” With her finger, she took a dab from the jar. She smelled it, rolled it between her fingers, and murmured, “Fascinating. It grows only in isolated pockets of these mountains. I'd heard of it but never seen it.”

Very isolated pockets, he thought. If she knew how far he'd had to roam to find the rare plant, she would be dismayed at the effort he'd made.

Bless her, even now she didn't realize he would do anything for the woman who would be his bride.

From the bag he removed the boots and socks the good nuns had given him. As he rolled the socks onto Evangeline's feet, he told her, “From the time of the first revolution when I saw my parents . . . blown apart . . . by a bomb—”

Evangeline lightly touched his hair.

“—I have had nightmares about my future wife and me standing in front of an immense, faceless crowd. Only too clearly can I conjure up the image of us placing our hands on the crystal case. And when it does not open, I hear the crowd's derision, picture my helplessness as the woman I love falls beneath a scythe”—the hair on his arms rose as he brought forth his nightmare—“and I am unable to fight my way to her side.”

“Well, then, you don't want me.” But she sounded troubled.

“I must have a princess, a
true
princess, at my side for that ceremony, not because I believe in magic but because I will marry that princess and the royal integrity of my line must continue. And Princess Ethelinda must be there to fulfill the prophecy as the people know it.”

“What do you mean, as the people know it?” she asked suspiciously.

Carefully, he laced the boots over the socks. “Perhaps I could say that your courage marks you as the princess, but you would say nobility is no guarantee of courage nor does common blood prove a lack of it. In that, you're right, for I've met courageous women in all classes. Perhaps I could say
your knowledge and abilities characterize you as royal, but you would say those were the consequences of your rebellion against a desolate childhood. And I would never deny that the fire that melts the candle also tempers the steel.”