Royal 02 - Royal Passion by Jennifer Blake Read Free Book Online Page A

with your place."
    "I am, indeed,” Trude said, her voice flat.
    "Strange,” Mara said, tilting her head, “you don't sound happy."
    Trude did not answer directly. After a moment she said, “I would give you some advice if I thought you would heed it."
    "Yes?"
    "You have attracted Roderic's attention. He is curious about you, and there is nothing he likes so well as a mental puzzle. But his interest will last no longer than it takes to penetrate your mystery. If you expect more, you will be hurt."
    "It is ... kind of you to tell me.” The choice of words was suggestive. Had it been deliberate?
    "I do it for your own good."
    It might have been true. Mara did not think so. Since she had no personal interest in the prince, however, it seemed unnecessary to say it. Her voice soothing, she said, “You seem to know Prince Roderic well."
    "We have been together since we were in our cradles."
    "You are related, perhaps?"
    "Not at all. My father was the King Rolfe's, Roderic's father's, good right arm."
    "I only asked because of your coloring. You said was ; may I assume that your father is no longer—"
    "He is dead, a soldier's death in battle."
    "I'm sorry. You must be proud of him. He was a handsome man, I should think?"
    The other girl was visibly startled. “I wouldn't say so. He was a bull of a man, with only one eye."
    That piece of information identified the man who had sired Trude. She was the daughter of Gustave, the oldest member of the original cadre then, a man who, in the memory of Grandmère Helene, had been a veteran well past first youth when in Louisiana. It seemed fitting somehow.
    "Are you like your mother then? Was she as attractive as you?"
    "Are you trying to flatter me? My mother was a German milkmaid, big and blond and rather simple. She died while I was still at the breast, which is why I was brought to Ruthenia by my father to be raised by the queen."
    The woman was so serious, so lacking in grace and humor, that it was impossible to resist the impulse to tease her. “I see. You were raised as a sister to Roderic then."
    "He has a sister, Princess Juliana."
    The reply was flat with displeasure. Mara set her teeth on the flesh inside her lip to prevent a smile. It was so obvious that Trude had a tendre for the prince. She was surprised that the other members of the cadre seemed unaware of it. As for Juliana, a girl near her own age, Mara had known about her, though she had nearly forgotten her existence. Still, it was Trude, who must be nearly twenty-seven years old to Roderic's twenty-eight, who held her interest at the moment.
    "You must forgive my prying,” Mara said. “It's only that I am fascinated by the idea of a woman in uniform."
    "Why? I am as capable as a man with sword or musket."
    "But surely in hand-to-hand fighting you are at a disadvantage?"
    "Perhaps,” Trude said coldly, “then perhaps not. It has never come to that."
    "You haven't been in battle."
    "I didn't say that. No man has gotten close enough to grapple with me."
    There was something about the bald statement that made it believable. “You have proven yourself then. Not many women have had the chance."
    "No,” Trude said, then went on as if the words had been dragged out of her. “It is because Roderic is a fair man that I had mine."
    "Fair?"
    "Ah, fair indeed!” Estes cried, approaching them in time to hear the question. “Two ladies, one dark and mysterious, one blond and glorious, both beautiful. Lucky, lucky man that I am to be here alone with the pair of you. I am tempted to spirit you both away. What say you? Shall we leave this gray climate and seek the sun on Capri, the three of us?"
    "Conceited popinjay,” Trude said, and, rising to her feet, walked away.
    "She doesn't love me,” Estes mourned, “while I am besotted, puny worm that I am, with every magnificent inch of her!"
    It should have been funny since Trude topped him by half a foot at least. But listening to the strain in the mock outrage of the