Once Upon a Castle - Jill Gregory [102]
There was a time when she’d had as fine a set of hunting garb as any princeling and had ridden out in her father’s train with her bow and arrows on her back. But that was before nature had made her womanhood too evident, by adding curves to what had been the figure of a spindle-shanked stripling. It was most unfair!
Worst of all was the knowledge that her changed appearance was the true reason behind her changed status. It had reminded her father that his only child was not the longed-for son. Her father felt that women were too weak to rule alone. Since he had no male heir, he had recently let slip that he intended to marry her off to some foreign prince. Fire flashed in Tressalara’s eyes.
She had never met a man that she could imagine taking for a husband. And she couldn’t bear to think of Amelonia being handed to some stranger like a honey cake on a platter, all because she’d had the misfortune to be born female. But the wedding ring was not yet on her hand, and there was no likely suitor in sight. Plenty of time for an enterprising young woman to prove herself worthy of guiding her people firmly and wisely.
Rebellion bloomed, and a wildness flared in Tressalara, borne with the scent of summer meadows on the warm air. She slipped out of her gown and into the stable lad’s clothes. She wished that she could cut her heavy hair short, but satisfied herself by twisting it into a thick braid.
The door to her inner chamber opened, and Elani, her youngest lady-in-waiting and closest friend, entered. Her blue eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, highness, you dare not…!
“Watch me and see!”
With a grin, Tressalara pinned her long braid atop her hair and covered it with a battered leather cap that pulled down to her ears. “Behold young Trev, a simple peasant lad of Amelonia, on his way to an adventure.”
Before Elani could even think what to do, the princess was gone.
She was halfway down the back staircase to the lower level, her mind on nothing but escape and freedom, when she heard a scream followed by a great commotion in the main courtyard. Without pausing, she clambered to the ledge of a window that overlooked the market area.
What she saw turned her heart to a ball of ice. The portcullis had dropped, the gates were barred, and the courtyard was filled with men-at-arms in black livery. Some of the visitors threw off their cloaks to reveal the same ominous uniforms. They were everywhere. At their leader’s signal they charged into the crowd.
Tables were overturned. Fruit and tools and pottery went flying as the king’s bugler blew a call to arms. Chickens and piglets scattered. Women and children screamed and ran; babies wailed as men fell before the attackers’ blades. Thank God—there was Jeday, her father’s loyal captain of the guard arriving with his men.
He raised his arm to lead a charge, and Tressalara’s relief turned to horror as Jeday was struck from behind by an assassin’s knife. As he fell, lifeless, the guard behind him threw off his king’s livery to show again the dread black uniform of the attackers. It had all happened in an instant.
Then Tressalara recognized their leader: the smooth-talking chief councillor, Lord Lector. No mistaking that mane of dark hair with its single silver streak, the jutting profile, and the silver scorpion emblem on his shield. A crafty and dangerous man. There was no time to lose.
As Tressalara ducked inside, the courtyard rang with fierce cries: “Death to the tyrant! Death to King Varro!”
Elani came to the head of the stairs and looked down, her usually pretty face pale as lard. “What is it?”
“Lector has turned traitor, and we are besieged. I must find my father.” Tressalara was halfway down the stairs. “The enemy are within the walls. Save yourself, Elani. Hide in my chambers. You know where.” She saw her friend hesitate. “That is an order from your princess! I command you!”
Then she was on the last step, plunging into the shadows along the corridor. She