Dawn of Destiny (The Warrior Angels Trilogy - Book 1)

Chapter Eight

Beatrice hastily signed the end of the journal entry and blew on the page. Even after a year, she still didn't know how to feel about owning a diary. However, her father insisted she write her thoughts down in case she wanted to remember them later.

Doubtful.

Yet she decided to humor him and herself. Besides, she had plenty to say about yesterday's disaster with her mother. Writing it all down meant she would have no desire to talk to anyone else about it. Her little moment with Maribel had been bad enough. She couldn't risk showing weakness like that again. What would the people think if they knew their future queen cried over something so injudicious?

"Your Highness?" she heard the voice of her handmaid, Jeanette, from beyond her door.

Beatrice slammed her diary shut and rushed to stuff it underneath her pillow. "Yes?" She brushed down her skirts.

"We'd like to do a fitting for the ball next weekend."

"A ball?" Beatrice wandered over to her door and opened it. She eyed the older woman curiously. "Why are we having a ball?"

"It is to celebrate our soldiers, Your Highness."

Beatrice laughed. "But they are departing at the beginning of the week. Isn't it ridiculous to throw a celebration in their honor when they're not here?"

"I absolutely agree with you, but it was your father's idea. Now come with me." She stepped aside, and Beatrice exited the room, leading the way down the wide corridor.

Beatrice kept her eyes trained on the marble floor, following the black trails throughout. A ball was the last thing they needed right now. Nonetheless, she looked forward to it. This meant she would get a gorgeous new gown and would reunite with the three girls chosen to be her ladies—Arabella, Victoria, and Samoa.

Samoa was the eldest and always had fascinating stories to tell of her travels. Although Beatrice sometimes envied Somoa for all the amazing places she'd visited. It didn't seem fair. How come she couldn't travel outside of Aristol?

"What color do you desire your gown to be this time, Your Highness?" Jeannette questioned, tearing Beatrice from her thoughts.

"A peachy shade, perhaps," Beatrice replied. "Peach goes well with my complexion."

"I've always considered violet to be your color."

"In the winter, yes." The brutal weather made her pale, so darker colors complimented her better than. She wasn't as fortunate as Jeanette and Maribel, who looked wonderful in every color no matter what season they were in.

"Ah, of course, Your Highness. Peach it is, then."

"Perhaps with some gold, too. That way, I can wear my gold jewelry along with it."

"Your golden diadem that has the shape of butterfly wings would go perfectly."

Beatrice grinned up at Jeanette.

"Stop! Thief!" Shouts came from their right as they reached the end of the hallway.

Jeanette acted immediately, shoving Beatrice behind her as a young boy—no older than her—fled toward them. Beatrice inclined her head, getting a better view of him and his wildly bouncing auburn curls. He momentarily slid his gaze to her, and he winked.

Beatrice gawked at him, stunned by the mischievous glint in his green eyes. He then faced forward again and picked up his speed. She couldn't look away. Not until the guards shouting snapped her senses back into place. She blinked hard and turned to see the guards trailing far behind.

For goodness' sake! He would get away at this rate.

Beatrice clutched her skirts, lifting them off the floor, and took off in the boy's direction. Jeanette gasped and cried after her.

Beatrice caught the thief in her sights and wondered what exactly she planned to do. She felt powerless and held down by a heavy gown. She couldn't stop a thief even if she tried!

Still, that didn't turn her around.

The guards urged her to return. She could hear them attempting to run faster, but she didn't dare glance back and risk losing sight of the boy.

The thief took a sharp turn to the right, toward the west wing. Beatrice nearly tripped over her own feet as she prevented herself from colliding into the wall. She managed to quickly regain her balance and kept going.

The boy paused halfway and started climbing out of an open window.

"No!" Beatrice shouted. She reached the spot, grabbing onto the windowsill and expecting to have to peer over to see the thief.

But there he stayed, as if he'd been waiting for her to catch up. He held onto a vine, keeping himself in place by pressing the soles of his boots against the building.

Beatrice sneered at him, and he smirked in return. She spotted the jewels poking out of his pockets, recognizing them as her mother's old bracelets and necklaces.

"Your Royal Highness," he cooed, his voice much deeper than she had thought. "What an honor!"

Beatrice tightened her grip on her skirts. "I believe you have something that belongs to my mother."

"Oh, these old things?" he asked, letting go of the vine with one hand and reaching into his pocket. He pulled out the necklace with square rubies aligning the bulky golden chain. He dangled it in front of Beatrice.

Beatrice reached for it, and he moved it away, snickering.

She huffed. "Do you not have better things to occupy your time with?"

He raised an eyebrow, that side smile never dropping. "This is what I occupy my time with. It's either this or I get nothing to eat for the week. Not all of us are fortunate enough to live in a grand palace, princess."

Beatrice snarled at him and attempted to snatch the necklace from his hand again. And she missed... again.

"Princess Beatrice!" the guards cried.

She turned toward them.

"That's my cue to go," said the thief, stuffing the necklace back into his pocket.

"Wait, no!" Beatrice reached out one last time, the tips of her fingers grazing the lighter chain poking out.

Then he pushed himself off the wall, clinging to the vine, and Beatrice lost her stability. She flailed her arms as she tried grabbing onto something. The thief quickly came swinging back and grabbed her by the shoulder, holding her in place. Beatrice grasped the side of the window and exhaled in relief. And after a beat, she took a step back, her hands sliding off the wall.

Beatrice then eyed his lingering hand on her shoulder and smacked it off. "Don't touch me."

"Had I not, you would have fallen to your death," he retorted. His smile had finally vanished.

"Your Highness!" The guards reached them.

She moved aside, allowing room for them to capture the bandit. Much to her surprise, he didn't struggle or try to escape their grip. No, in fact, he assisted them by pushing himself through the opening. One of the guards held the boy's arms back while the other patted his body down, taking every piece of jewelry he found. Beatrice stood beside the guard searching him and met his beguiled gaze. She smirked.

"Now then," she spoke, "if you will excuse me, I have a fitting to attend to. Do enjoy your stay in the dungeon. I hear it is quite dreary and frigid down there. It should suit you well." She turned to leave.

"I will be thinking of you, Highness," he chafed.

Beatrice walked off, throwing up her hands and grinning. "Yes, that is the idea."

Now this was certainly a memory she wouldn't mind writing down.