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Authors: Glenda Larke
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suitable for the pack?” Prince Ryce, heir-apparent to the throne of Ardrone, grinned at her. “I’ve quite enjoyed myself.”
“Yes, you would. It must be
so
convenient to have every pretty – or even not so pretty – marriageable woman under thirty paraded for your edification and, I have no doubt, with half of them quite prepared to warm your bed if they thought it would get your attention.”
“And you mislike having so many young men pay attention to you?”
“Don’t look so insufferably smug. There’s not one man I met whom Father would consider eligible, so what’s the point in even looking their way? And has it escaped your notice that for the past few days I’ve had no lady-in-waiting and no maid? It’s been horrible having to rely on women I don’t know, and maids I’ve never seen before in my life.”
“I’m sorry, Mathilda. That was rotten luck.”
She glared at him, knowing he really didn’t care that her two ladies-in-waiting and her maid had been taken sick with the ague and she’d had to leave them behind in Oakwood.
“With a little luck,” he continued, “we’ll be on board ship tomorrow, sailing for home. Once we arrive at Redpoll Manor tonight, Lady Frytha will supply you with whatever you need.”
With an audible sigh and a slump of her shoulders, she changed the subject to what was really bothering her. “Last night Kenda Rosse hinted she’d heard rumours that Father had sent my portrait to Lowmeer, at the request of the Regal. Have you heard anything about that?”
He stared at her, shocked. “Regal Vilmar Vollendorn asked for it? For himself?” His tone was so hushed she barely heard him over the sound of the rain and the rattle of the wheels.
She nodded. “Ryce, he’s so
old
. And he’s buried three wives!”
“Oh, pox! Thilda, I’m sorry. But maybe it’s just a rumour. Vilmar was last widowed only a few months ago, so he can hardly wed again yet. It would be unseemly not to observe the mourning period. Besides, you’ve only just turned seventeen and he’s got to be fifty if he’s a day! Kenda Rosse is a silly ninny; she’s just passed on gossip as truth.”
“She said Lady Rosse told her—” Her words ended in a squeal as the horses were hauled to an abrupt halt and she was flung into Ryce’s lap. “Oh, vex it!” she said, pushing herself upright. “What now?”
Ryce, oblivious to the rain, pulled aside the leather blind and stuck his head out of the window. “I can’t see anything. I’ll go and find out.”
“Not if you want to ride with me, you won’t. I’m not having you coming back in here covered in mud and with your coat smelling wet! Besides, it’s – it’s inappropriate. You wait for the servants to come and tell you what’s happening, you don’t go to them.”
“Have I ever told you how irritating you are?”
She pulled a face, and he subsided, resigning himself to waiting. Nineteen years old, and he still didn’t know how to assert himself for more than five minutes at a time.
Oh, Ryce,
she thought,
if I were you, I wouldn’t listen to my little sister. I’d do what
I
wanted
…
But Ryce was Ryce. Swaying like a reed in the wind, following his pleasures without thought. It wasn’t
fair
. He was always addressed as “his highness Prince Ryce”, whereas all she merited was “milady the Princess Mathilda”. He was a prince, and one day he’d be king. She was a princess, and one day she’d just be someone’s wife.
But I’m the one who would make the better monarch
…
The sergeant of the Prince’s outriders, Horntail, rode up a moment later to inform them what had happened. “Naught to fret about, your highness,” he told Ryce. “A wench ran out on to the road straight under my horse like she had a wolf nipping at her heels. She was knocked down, but got up and fled through the hedge on t’other side of the road. The coachman has bad news, though. When we stopped so sudden like, a coach shaft cracked. The
“Yes, you would. It must be
so
convenient to have every pretty – or even not so pretty – marriageable woman under thirty paraded for your edification and, I have no doubt, with half of them quite prepared to warm your bed if they thought it would get your attention.”
“And you mislike having so many young men pay attention to you?”
“Don’t look so insufferably smug. There’s not one man I met whom Father would consider eligible, so what’s the point in even looking their way? And has it escaped your notice that for the past few days I’ve had no lady-in-waiting and no maid? It’s been horrible having to rely on women I don’t know, and maids I’ve never seen before in my life.”
“I’m sorry, Mathilda. That was rotten luck.”
She glared at him, knowing he really didn’t care that her two ladies-in-waiting and her maid had been taken sick with the ague and she’d had to leave them behind in Oakwood.
“With a little luck,” he continued, “we’ll be on board ship tomorrow, sailing for home. Once we arrive at Redpoll Manor tonight, Lady Frytha will supply you with whatever you need.”
With an audible sigh and a slump of her shoulders, she changed the subject to what was really bothering her. “Last night Kenda Rosse hinted she’d heard rumours that Father had sent my portrait to Lowmeer, at the request of the Regal. Have you heard anything about that?”
He stared at her, shocked. “Regal Vilmar Vollendorn asked for it? For himself?” His tone was so hushed she barely heard him over the sound of the rain and the rattle of the wheels.
She nodded. “Ryce, he’s so
old
. And he’s buried three wives!”
“Oh, pox! Thilda, I’m sorry. But maybe it’s just a rumour. Vilmar was last widowed only a few months ago, so he can hardly wed again yet. It would be unseemly not to observe the mourning period. Besides, you’ve only just turned seventeen and he’s got to be fifty if he’s a day! Kenda Rosse is a silly ninny; she’s just passed on gossip as truth.”
“She said Lady Rosse told her—” Her words ended in a squeal as the horses were hauled to an abrupt halt and she was flung into Ryce’s lap. “Oh, vex it!” she said, pushing herself upright. “What now?”
Ryce, oblivious to the rain, pulled aside the leather blind and stuck his head out of the window. “I can’t see anything. I’ll go and find out.”
“Not if you want to ride with me, you won’t. I’m not having you coming back in here covered in mud and with your coat smelling wet! Besides, it’s – it’s inappropriate. You wait for the servants to come and tell you what’s happening, you don’t go to them.”
“Have I ever told you how irritating you are?”
She pulled a face, and he subsided, resigning himself to waiting. Nineteen years old, and he still didn’t know how to assert himself for more than five minutes at a time.
Oh, Ryce,
she thought,
if I were you, I wouldn’t listen to my little sister. I’d do what
I
wanted
…
But Ryce was Ryce. Swaying like a reed in the wind, following his pleasures without thought. It wasn’t
fair
. He was always addressed as “his highness Prince Ryce”, whereas all she merited was “milady the Princess Mathilda”. He was a prince, and one day he’d be king. She was a princess, and one day she’d just be someone’s wife.
But I’m the one who would make the better monarch
…
The sergeant of the Prince’s outriders, Horntail, rode up a moment later to inform them what had happened. “Naught to fret about, your highness,” he told Ryce. “A wench ran out on to the road straight under my horse like she had a wolf nipping at her heels. She was knocked down, but got up and fled through the hedge on t’other side of the road. The coachman has bad news, though. When we stopped so sudden like, a coach shaft cracked. The
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