The Secret Princess by Rachelle McCalla Read Free Book Online

sacrifices she’d made on his behalf—first in saving his life and then in rightfully trying to warn him from this place.
    Gratitude. That was all he felt, that and reciprocal generosity—an urge to fulfill his promise to the boy that he would somehow help the siblings return to their homeland. Certainly the lurching in his stomach could be no more than that. Luke had no interestin romance. Never had. Someday he’d perform his duty and marry a bride befitting a prince, a noblewoman whose connections could solidify peace in Lydia.
    Until then he ought to put thoughts of other women far from his mind...except that the pale-haired woman had already proven to be unforgettable.
    * * *
    When Garren returned alone, Evelyn guessed what he’d done. He had the key tothe tower door in the bag at his waistband. She could see the distinctive bulge of it. She knew it well. He’d locked her in the tower a few times when she’d tried to run away. More recently, he’d threatened to marry her to Omar, the middle-aged chief of the night guard, who liked to grab at her whenever she passed near him.
    Omar was a far greater threat than the tower. She’d learned neverto walk close to him, to step quickly away when clearing the table near his place. She hadn’t run away in over a year, not with the threat of marriage to Omar looming over her.
    Bertie confirmed it when she finally found him in the stables, mucking out the stalls as he was supposed to. He’d seen their grandfather pass by with the prince, had followed out of curiosity and had gone back in secretlater to see the prisoner.
    “He asked about you,” her brother said, leaning on the handle of his pitchfork. He was nearly as tall as she already in spite of the eight years’ difference in age between them. Bertie was twelve and looked more like their father every day.
    “About me?” Evelyn couldn’t imagine it. “He doesn’t know my name.”
    “‘The one they call Biddy ,’ he said, ‘with hairpale as moonlight and healing in her hands.’”
    Evelyn froze. “He didn’t say that.” Her brother had quite the sense of humor. She wouldn’t put it past him to tease unless he knew her feelings were tender on a subject. And he couldn’t know how tender her feelings already were for Prince Luke.
    “In truth, he said it in Illyrian,” her brother admitted, and repeated the message in that tongue.The two of them spoke Frankish when they were alone—partly to keep private whatever passed between them, partly to remind themselves of who they were and partly on her brother’s insistence, because he’d vowed to return there one day and wanted to remember how to talk to their relatives.
    “He asked me to bring you a message.”
    “What?” Evelyn hadn’t yet absorbed the fact that the princehad spoken of her at all. No prince had ever sent her a message.
    “He said not to worry about him.”
    “Not to worry?”
    “That’s what he said.”
    “What does that mean?” Had her suspicions been correct? Was the prince up to something? Evelyn hated to think the Christian would be capable of the same deceitfulness as her grandfather, but she chided herself for hoping otherwise. He wasroyal. Of course he was a liar. She’d be wise to be on her guard around him, lest his handsome smile and winsome ways distract her from his dishonesty.
    “I wonder the same thing,” Bertie watched her carefully, his blue eyes dancing, his pale hair the same color as the straw in the stables. “I wanted to ask, but I heard voices below and had to sneak away before I was caught.”
    “I shouldtry to visit him myself.”
    “Don’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “He said not to worry.”
    But Evelyn worried, all through that afternoon and evening, especially when King Garren failed to order a plate sent up to the tower. It was one thing for him to starve her out—she was his granddaughter. But Prince Luke could retaliate for the poor treatment, assuming he survived. And she hated to think ofhim