“Yes, but she never said she was connected to the royal family of Valkenfeld.”
“And she is alive? She is well? Where is she? I must find her and go to her.” His voice choked off on the last word.
“You need to convince us of who you are first.” Gerard was not letting him go that easily.
“I am Bertold of Valkenfeld. I did not wish to have anything to do with my brother after . . . after Astrid went missing. I thought perhaps her father was hiding her, but he claimed to think I had done something to her. No one could find her.” The trapper’s loud, harsh tone returned as he went on. “I knew my brother wanted her for himself, but she loved me. And now he’s been the cause of our separation all these years.”
Again his voice cracked. He clenched his fist, his other hand tightening around the sword hilt.
“I will kill him. I will kill my brother and be done with that traitorous, treacherous—”
“His guards will never let you near him,” Princess Elyce said, her voice growing strong and her expression intense. “Come with us instead, to King Wenceslaus. We will meet with him in Prague and he will help us, will give us an army, I hope, to defeat your evil brother.”
Bertold—if indeed that was his name—stared at the princess. “Why are you going to see King Wenceslaus?”
They all turned to look at Princess Elyce.
The princess took a deep breath. “King Claude is trying to enslave my people in his mines, and he is trying to force me to marry Rodrigo, his nephew, to ensure that I cannot defend my kingdom from falling under his control.”
“And why would King Wenceslaus concern himself with these troubles?”
“King Wenceslaus is a good king who cares about justice. He will listen to me.”
“Your reasoning is weak at best, foolhardy at worst.”
Princess Elyce’s expression hardened. But she only crossed her arms over her chest and said, “I disagree.”
She was determined, he had to admit.
Gerard tried a less direct tactic. “If you’re truly the brother of the King of Valkenfeld, then you will come with us to seek justice for your brother’s crimes. Only King Wenceslaus can help you, since King Claude has declared you dead and will, no doubt, do all he can to prevent you from laying claim to your inheritance.” Gerard raised his brows, lowering his sword a bit.
“I have no interest in an inheritance. You’re trying to goad me. I need to think.” The trapper sat down abruptly, dropping his sword by his side. Drawing his knees toward his chest, he buried his face in his arms.
Princess Elyce’s eyes met his.
It was rather sad to see him with his head down, no longer seeming to care if they stole the precious furs he’d so strenuously tried to protect, to see him so affected by the news about Astrid. Perhaps he was telling the truth, and she truly was the woman he had planned to marry.
If this storm would ever let up, it would be interesting to see if their angry, inhospitable host would become their ally.
Eight
Elyce listened to the continued howling of the wind outside the wooden shelter while staring at the motionless trapper, consumed with curiosity about this man and Astrid. Had Astrid only pretended to have lost her memory? Was she still hiding, hoping King Claude would not find her? If she loved his brother, Bertold, would she not have tried to contact him? But she, too, had surely heard the report that Bertold was dead.
Astrid had always seemed quiet and sad, but Elyce, who was only a child at the time, had credited it to her having lost her memory. Was she mourning her lost love? Could Astrid love this gruff, angry man?
She imagined what he might look like if his hair was cut and his beard shaved, or at least trimmed. There did seem to be a slight resemblance in his eyes and eyebrows to King Claude. He could have been kinder when he and Astrid were younger, when he was in love with her. Perhaps he would not be so mismatched with beautiful, gentle Astrid if that were true.
She glanced at Sir Gerard and Sir Oswalt, who were both staring at Bertold’s bent head. She had to admit, her heart had given a little lurch, not an unpleasant feeling, when Sir Gerard defended her, declared that the four of them—he’d actually included her and Ysabeau—would not allow this man to harm Astrid again. He’d looked so strong and valiant, his sword pointing at the man as he took a step closer to him. But of course he was strong and valiant; he was a knight. He had trained to be so.
He probably still thought poorly of her for reacting so strongly to him when he tried to revive her. Opening her eyes to find a stranger’s lips touching her own had shocked and frightened her. Although now . . . she did not consider the prospect so abhorrent.
Truly she was going daft to be thinking such a thing.
“The wind seems to be dying down,” Sir Gerard said, glancing at Sir Oswalt.
Good. Elyce would be heartily glad to get out of this shelter and back on their way to Prague.
Ysabeau was collecting their things into their saddlebags, so Elyce went to help her, thankful she had much of her strength back.
“When we get home to Montciel Castle,” Ysabeau said softly, “you must not help me with menial tasks like this.”
“Please allow it, since for now everything is different.”
Ysabeau gave her a half frown. “You know you do not have to ask my permission—for anything. You are the princess.”
Did Ysabeau only love her as a princess and mistress?
Her chest squeezed painfully. Elyce had always considered Ysabeau more of a friend than a servant. Elyce had no siblings or other close family besides her father and had lived all her life in the castle; she had no other friends either, though she desperately wanted friends, family, people who would love her and with whom she could exchange deep thoughts and true feelings. Elyce often wondered if she was even capable of inspiring love and friendship in others. Would anyone love her when they realized how her emotions sometimes overtook her? If they knew all of her thoughts, even the morbid, angry, and contrary ones?
These heavy thoughts weighed her down, as they often did, and sent her pondering her own unworthiness. But just because she had no friends, had no one to love her for herself alone, did not necessarily mean that no one ever would love her. And perhaps that was the biggest reason she could not marry Rodrigo. He would never love her, and then she might go her whole life without ever being loved. She simply could not bear that. She would risk torture or pain of death rather than face a life without love.
Was she more selfish than she realized? Was she lying to herself, creating a noble motive for going to King Wenceslaus in search of freedom from oppression for her people? Was her true motive to save herself from a loveless marriage?
Tears stung her eyes at the self-accusation. These thoughts sounded like her aunt, who often attributed motives to Elyce that were not her own, making her question and doubt herself. It was as if her aunt’s voice were still in her head, accusing.
No. No, it wasn’t true. She did care for her people. She couldn’t bear to see them mistreated and enslaved. She was not selfish. She loved them and would never forgive herself if she didn’t do everything she could to save them from King Claude’s schemes.
She sniffed back the tears that had dammed in her eyes. She was not her aunt. Her aunt had never understood her, and she never understood her aunt. She could never accept that Elyce couldn’t turn off her emotions and be cold and proper all the time. Perhaps what she had needed from her aunt was grace, not condemnation, but grace was something her aunt couldn’t give her.