The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Fifty-One

The princess peeked from behind her shawl. The carriage was long down the road now, and didn't show any signs of slowing down.

They hadn't seen her then.

For a moment she could have sworn that Calantha had recognised her, that their eyes had met as the carriage sailed past them, but clearly not. The Countess was probably too busy admiring her reflection in the glass to actually pay attention to anything that was happening outside of the window.

The princess had recognised the carriage instantly. It was her own after all. They'd had it refitted only the previous year for the King's visit to Hoxleigh. As it appeared before them on the road, she had thought it a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep, or perhaps a trick of the gods, but it was real. As it rumbled towards them, she'd pulled John back into the ditch by his jerkin, and now he was making no attempt to hide his annoyance with her. His long fingers worked on removing the small burrs and grasses sticking to his britches.

"Whose carriage was that, then?" he asked, flicking a wad of earth off of his knee.

The princess shrugged and stood up, brushing her skirts with her palms. "We should go," she said. "We can't be far from the coast now."

John reached out and grabbed her hand. "Fae..." he started, but the princess pulled away and clambered out of the ditch and back onto the road.

The King's Road stretched out before her. If she were to follow it, it would lead her directly to the Citadel. It linked the two great homes of the Serrador monarch: the citadel and Geennam Palace, out towards the west.

She did not know what business the Countess could possibly have in the capital, but she knew it could not be good. Lord Wallia had wanted to keep her as his puppet queen, but now that she had escaped the fate of being his pet, he must have some other plan in mind. A man did not risk everything with such an act of treachery without the will to see things through. He wanted the crown for himself, and it looked like he was on his way to claim it.

The princess bit her lip. There must be people in the citadel who would pledge their allegiance to her, for her father's sake if not for her own. But she did not know who. Her father had kept her hidden away at Hoxleigh, and even with his constant letters about the games being played at court, she could not be sure of anyone's loyalties. The visits of the royal household to Hoxleigh had insured that she met everyone of importance, dancing with them at balls and hunting alongside all the great lords, but the short weeks of their stay before the progression moved on to the next palace was not enough to set up alliances. Anyone who declared themselves her friend could easily turn out to be another Wallia. Without her name book, she was nothing but a child, at the mercy of her guardians.

Gritting her teeth, she resolutely turned around, and pointed herself west, away from the citadel. Her throne would have to wait until she was ready to claim it. Whatever Wallia's plans, he could never be anything more than a false king. She was the right and proper heir to Serrador, and no one could take that away from her.

"Is that something I need to be worried about?" asked John, pulling a long grass from his hair and after a moment's thought, sticking it behind his ear.

The princess looked at him questioningly.

"I mean being dragged into a ditch every time we see a carriage rolling down the road."

"No," said the princess, picking up and skirts and marching on. She didn't bother to check whether John was following on behind her. All she could think about was getting to the brotherhood as quickly as possible.

"Oh, so it's just that carriage then?" said John, now jogging along beside her. "Who was in it?"

"I don't know."