Royal Outlaw: (Royal Outlaw, Book 1) (34 page)

She did not lower her sword from its guard position, especially when she saw what was wrong: the doors to the balcony were wide open with wind blasting inside. She had personally locked those doors before going to bed. More wood had been added to a fire that should have died more than an hour before without tending.

Someone was in the room, someone who was not supposed to be.

The flames on the candelabra flickered in the wind. Setting the light on the table, and keeping her back to the wall and her eyes scanning the room, she slowly walked toward the balcony. She shut the doors and the room stilled without the wind to stir it up. She could hear nothing except the crackle of the fire in the hearth and a low murmur of talk from the guards outside her door. Save for those sounds, the room remained quiet, and apparently empty, until a voice spoke out of the dark.

“Congratulations, you’re more alert than your guards. I’ll have to do something about that. Won’t I, Green Eyes?”

Mariel’s heart fluttered in relief as the young man materialized out of the dark and stepped into the light of the fire. He wore a familiar smile and Mariel could not begin to express her joy and relief at seeing him. Without much thought, she set down her weapons and ran at him. Expecting an attack, James tensed his body and bent his knees. But a fight was not Mariel’s intention. She threw her arms around his middle and pressed her cheek against his chest.

“I missed you,” she whispered, not wanting her guards or anyone else to walk in and get the wrong idea.

Mariel released James and stepped back before he could overcome his shock.

“Now
that
is the way you welcome a friend. You’re improving, but a kiss would be even better.”

Mariel scowled. “Don’t push your luck.”

“I’ve heard that you’ve been pushing yours,” James teased. “What’s this rumor going around that Sir Mathias finally captured the elusive criminal mastermind Mariel Quickwit and nearly managed to hang her, only to discover she was the princess?”

Not wanting to remember that particular night and day of her life that had almost ended in her death, Mariel shrugged and brushed off the subject. “I’m sure Sir Mathias has lost his mind now. Last I heard he was drowning his miserable wealthy sorrows in a large tankard of ale.”

James chuckled. “I’m sure.”

“I didn’t think you were coming back.”

“Don’t worry, Green Eyes, I didn’t find my heart-mate and go running off with her.”

“You seem able to find your heart-mate with any pretty woman willing to share her bed with you.”

“Do you want to be my heart-mate?” James asked, grinning wickedly.

“No.”

It was James’s turn to shrug. “Then I don’t suppose you want your gift and letters from our mythical striped friends?”

Mariel perked up. “The zreshlans sent things?”

“I’ll give them to you, if you give me a kiss.”

“If you kiss me, I’ll scream and my guards will come running.”

James gave her an odd look and then pulled a large pack out of a dark corner.

“You scaled the wall five floors with that on your back?” Mariel asked in disbelief.

“Impressed?”

She was, but she would not admit that to him. He did not need an ego boost.

“How are our friends? Who sent me letters? Do they really not mind that I’m princess? Do they miss me?”

“I thought noblewomen were trained to be polite and not seem overeager or curious?”

“Shut up.”

Smiling, James pulled a stack of letters from the pack and handed them to her. Mariel retrieved the candelabra and set it on a table nearby. She sat on the floor near the fire and began to devour the contents of the letters with an insatiable hunger. It was wonderful to hear from the place she used to consider home and from the people she loved and trusted.

She was halfway through Molentre’s letter when she noticed James leaning against the hearth, watching her. “Has my nose turned into a stick or something? Why are you staring?”

James looked at her with a serious expression. “I’m observing a de Sharec reading letters. Aren’t all princesses supposed to have their loyal servants wait on them hand and foot and watch them like they are goddesses?”

“Do you see that painting on the wall over there? The one of the Battle of Carring? I think a snakeskin would be a nicer decoration.”

“I recommend a gaboon viper. We have such pretty coloring in a lovely pattern.”

“I was thinking something plainer, like a black mamba. Their poison can kill a person in twenty minutes, that’s more impressive than looking pretty.”

In a heartbeat the human body of James vanished, replaced by a deadly snake with a triangular head and a body of brown, copper, and gold displayed in a gorgeous pattern. He slithered over to Mariel and raised himself up on his coils. He hissed impressively, revealing two-inch long fangs.

“I’m absolutely terrified,” Mariel said in a flat voice. “Somebody save me.”

James morphed back into his human form crouching in front of her. He struck, gently pressing his lips against hers and stood in the same motion.

“You wouldn’t want a black mamba. They have nasty tempers.”

Mariel spluttered and failed to come up with a good response to that. Quietly seething, she returned to reading her letters. When she finished the last letter she looked around for James, only to find him with her sword in hand.

“Careful, that’s sharp. Little boys shouldn’t play with sharp objects.”

“But it’s pretty,” James whined.

“Pretty things can be dangerous.”

He grinned. “Lesson learned.”

Mariel laughed. “You said the zreshlans gave me something else?”

James sighed dramatically and set down her sword. “A true princess. Demanding things from her poor, humble servant . . .”

“
Humble
is a poorly chosen word.”

“. . . her poor, humble,
and
sadly misunderstood servant. I suppose you’ll be greedy now and make me show you the gift like the bully you are?”

“Yes, I will.”

The serpentramel stood and crouched over the pack. Curiosity piqued Mariel’s interest, but James made her stay where she was.

“Close your eyes.”

“No, you’ll kiss me.”

“I swear in the name of Serpía that I will not kiss you tonight while you have your eyes shut.”

Mariel did not believe in gods, but James did and she did not think he would go back on his word when he had brought the snake goddess into the deal. She closed her eyes, but made sure James knew she was not doing it happily.

Without sight to aid her, she strained to hear what James was doing. After a few moments of shuffling things around he set something metal in her hands.

She opened her eyes and gasped. The object was a crown, but it was unlike any she had ever seen. Most crowns were made of thick bands of gold shaped into pointed tips and studded with a multitude of jewels, but this one was different. It looked as though someone had taken leaves and woven them into a circular crown and then turned them to silver. The crown was not made of silver though; she knew this because it was too light and strong. It was made of puilion, the same type of metal Aracklin was forged from.

Mariel slowly turned the piece of art in her hands, running her fingers over the leafy pattern. But then she noticed a slightly different shape. She brought the crown closer to the light of the fire to see it better and realized that at what must be the front of the crown, the silver vines transformed into an elegant serpent. The silver serpent had been the symbol of Natric for hundreds of years, and when the de Sharecs overthrew the serpentramel monarchs, they had not replaced the symbol.

“It’s for when the king officially claims you as his heir.”

Mariel knew she should say something in response, but her throat was tight with emotion over what her zreshlan friends had given her and the significance of the gift.

James chuckled. “Admit it: you actually like something pretty and fancy.”

“They really do accept me being the princess, don’t they?”

“Seeing as they raised and love you I don’t see why they wouldn’t.”

“But they don’t believe in a monarchical society.”

“They also don’t like humans. And besides, they had open relations with the Nería royal family when they were in power and incidentally the zreshlans of Ambras Añue gave you the same—if not better—education that they gave to all of the serpentramel royal children. They believe you made the right choice, forgoing selfish desires to save the life of your father.”

Mariel was not listening. She ran her fingers over the cool metal of the crown. Tears stung her eyes and she fought to blink them away before James saw. She was going to lose the battle, so she carefully gathered up her present and her weapons and took them to her bedroom.

Once in her room, she lit a candle and returned her sword and knife to the places she kept them when she slept. After she finished with that, she carefully placed the crown in her armoire. The entire time she fought tears, but once everything was put away, she could no longer stop the flood of emotion.

Over the last months, she had struggled against finding friendship among her new peers and accepting her new and unwanted role as princess. She had railed against this life with all that she had. Meanwhile, her dear zreshlan friends had accepted her decision even if it went against what they had taught her. They had embraced her princess-ship—their gift was evidence of this—while she did not.

She had tried not to befriend the nobility, yet she had developed a deep attachment to two girls of noble blood who slept in rooms not far away. They had their hearts in the right places, they were innocent, uncorrupted.

She was not like them. She had seen too many hardships, done too many terrible things. She was not innocent and she had not been for a very long time. There were so many people who were hurt by the aristocrats’ greed, especially by the seemingly endless gluttony of the king—could she change that?

Mariel felt powerful when she was free to name the rules, when she slipped in and out of buildings, and tricked people into believing she was someone she was not. With a sword or a knife in her hand, she felt invincible. She did not feel that way when she considered her role as princess. She did not think she would be a good queen. Her intentions would be in the right place, but the results might tell a different story. And she would be trapped. She would be imprisoned in a cage of responsibility, in a jailhouse where she constantly had to balance the wants of the powerful nobles with the needs of the unrepresented poor. She did not think she could do it.

And at the rate things were going, she probably would not live to make an effort. Her mind shifted away from the gifts, away from thoughts of the zreshlans and ideas about her new life. The only thing she could think of now was the Assassin. She could not remember who had attacked her, and she was terrified to face those memories. She knew she was scared. Fear was something she had refused to admit for years, but in the face of those unspeakable horrors of her past, she feared remembering.

Mariel caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. Lit only by the dim light of the single candle she looked very small surrounded by so much darkness. No weapons, hidden or displayed, graced her body. Only a nightdress concealed her small, muscular form. With the traces of the tears visible on her cheeks and the expression of fear still on her face, Mariel saw herself in the mirror in a way she never had before. She looked frail and delicate, vulnerable and weak.

It was in that moment that she knew she was a coward, a coward of the worse sort. She was not a coward in the face of death, but she was a coward in the face of her own memories. And she knew that she did not have the strength or the courage to confront those parts of her forgotten past.

Since Dale had given her a preposterous answer that Mariel refused to consider, the princess had stopped asking who the Assassin might be. For the contacts who had still been willing to speak to her, Mariel had neglected to ask the question. She knew that they did not know. As far as she knew, there was only one person who knew who the Assassin was and that person was in the next room.

She needed to know who was trying to kill her. Facing her memories was not an option. That left one choice. James sat on the couch in front of the fire. He glanced over at her when she re-entered the room, but did not smile, or even speak.

Forcing her legs to move, she walked to the couch and sat on the other end. James did not look at her, but stared at the dancing flames instead. Now faced with an opportunity to discover the truth about the Assassin, Mariel found that she was unable to voice the question. She watched the flames slowly devour the wood. The air felt thick and uncomfortable with the unspoken question lingering in the space between them. She shifted and plucked at her nightdress.

She was a coward. She was afraid. She was weak. Anger sprung to life in Mariel. She refused to be weak. “Who is trying to kill me?” she blurted out.

Mariel expected James to say, “A lot of people, Green Eyes. All you need to do is remember your near hanging by Sir Mathias.”

James did not say this. He just continued to stare at the flames with a crease between his eyebrows. When the silence continued, Mariel repeated the question more forcefully. This time she expected him to deny the knowledge, and she had a response ready for that. But still James sat in silence.

She tried to get him to look at her, but he always looked away. Frustration outweighing her fear, Mariel took desperate measures. She climbed onto James’s lap where he could not avoid looking at her.

“Who is the Assassin?”

James did something Mariel did not expect. He lifted her up and placed her on the couch next to him and stood. Placing his elbow on the hearth, he laid his head on his hand. “I can’t tell you,” he finally said.

Mariel was sure she had misheard him. “What?”