Princess of Candor (#1 PRINCESS series-part of the GOLDEN UNIVERSE)✔

•T H I R T Y•

You may wonder if I will join you—and the answer is yes, in due time. When the Baroness returns, she will need to be dealt with, and I am afraid it will fall on me to invent a story and explain your absence. Once I feel she is calmed down, I may make my way to you. Do not worry about informing me of your whereabouts—I will find you. I have my resources, as you know.

But I must ask that you remain in the vehicle at all times, until you arrive at the French coast. Only exit if the driver tells you to. At the coast, a boat will be waiting for you, and the footman at that location will provide more information. I am sorry to not have been there to tell you this in person... but the risk was too great. I had to stay hidden in the manor.

Safe travels, Princess.

Thomas Barns

Cordelia creased her letter and set it in her lap, unaware her lips had slipped into a slight smile. When she looked up, and her eyes met Helen's, that smile melted.

Helen's gaze was blaring, brazen like a brazier, reflecting the torchlight like flecks of gold captured in an emerald gem.

Oh, she is peeved. Thomas was right—she does not want to contact her father.

"So," said Helen, crunching her letter in her hands, further narrowing her gaze on Cordelia. "Thomas likes you, hm?"

"What?" Taken aback—she'd expected Helen to moan and bicker about having to return to the home her father had banned her from—Cordelia blinked once, twice, and tilted her head. "What are you talking about?"

Helen opened her palm and pointed at the scrunched up paper. "He said it. In here." She scoffed. "What, did you think he was giving me instructions? I presume he gave those to you. No... my letter contained something else. Questions. Comments on us." She jutted her chin at Cordelia, then gestured at herself. "You and me, as more than friends."

"He... he dared to ask you that?" Cordelia gulped; to speak of the situation in public was bad enough. But to write it down, making it possible to be seen, proven, plastered on a wall for all to view, was worse.

"Oh, he was nice about it." Helen sighed and deposited the note at her side as she stretched her arms over her head, then joined her hands behind her neck. "He said he would never reveal us, but wondered if it was serious. Since he wants to wed you, and all." She let out a quick, disheartened chuckle. "You did flirt with him quite a bit, you know. Danced with him, hugged him, and oh, I recall a few times where you kissed him—"

"—I did what?" Cordelia set a fist to her mouth and blew out a breath into it, as if hoping to rid herself of her tension. "You and him? Goodness, I am a scandalous tramp." Her eyebrows shot up and her eyes widened at her vicious comment towards herself, and she clapped her hands onto her cheeks. "What is wrong with me?"

"You are conflicted." Helen's expression softened and her stiffened body seemed to relax into the seat. "He and I both made moves on you. Consensual, naturally; you never denied either of us, no matter your state of sobriety. You never declined our touch." Her voice shifted, turning darker, almost seductive. "But I did not know his feelings were that deep."

"Feelings?" Cordelia wished to mold into the cushions, to become one with the carriage's facade, to become invisible. Thomas' letter weighed heavily in her lap, and Helen's ever-enticing eyes wouldn't stray from her face. Her cheeks heated, and she pressed the back of her palm to them, hoping to cool them down.

"He asked you to marry him, Cordelia." Helen's hands unclasped and her arms fell to her sides. She redressed her slouched posture to lean over her knees. The motion was languorous, luxurious. Like a feline gently stretching after a nap, rolling its sore muscles, preparing itself to pounce on its prey for supper. "And you refused, but yet he chose to be your friend, to aid you, us, in getting out of that manor? It... it makes no sense to me. A scorned man would not... he would not be so kind."

Cordelia's momentary daze—hypnotized as she watched Helen claw her way closer, place her elbows on her knees and approach her face, her eyes level with Cordelia's chest—erased. "Thomas is a gentleman. Of course he is kind. He promised to save us, and my response to his proposal changed nothing about that."

Helen's head tipped to one side, and she held it up with her hands cupping her chin. "You like him too, yes?" She didn't wait for a reply, but shot one arm forward, grabbing Cordelia's knee. "And... you like me? Oh!" She sat up straight, then hopped across the way to land on the seat beside Cordelia, squeezed as close to her as possible. "Is that why you denied him, then? Because of me?"

"No." Cordelia nudged Helen, hoping she'd get out of her space. But the vehicle was small, cramped, and sharing a bench shoved them too close together for comfort. "It was because I did not think it was the right time, and I needed to go home."

"Ah, is that so?" Helen's scent—berries and lavender, Cordelia thought, which was not her usual—swished into Cordelia's nostrils and clogged them, causing Cordelia to sneeze.

"I did not refuse, as you say. I said no, but I... well, I did not have much time to figure out what I wanted."

"Who you wanted." Helen flopped back to her spot, but not without a mysterious smirk swiping over her pouty lips. "Because you will not admit it, but I am there, too." She motioned at Cordelia's torso, as if implying in her heart. "And you cannot stand it."

Cordelia stomped a foot, making the coach vibrate beneath them, and wiping Helen's grin off her face. "What, who, it matters not. Regardless of anything I might feel for you, my answer to you is the same as to him: it is not the right time. I cannot address my," she swallowed, and daggers jagged down her throat, "emotions. Not here, not now. We are on the run, Helen. We are in trouble, and it would be dangerous for me to pause and reflect on my feelings, no?"

Even Helen had to confess that such a thing would be rash, and she huffed as she folded her arms and slumped into the cushions. "Fine. I will concede that, for now." She fidgeted to and fro, rubbing her back into the somewhat hardened fabric that coated the tops of the benches. "But you are stuck with me, and will have no choice but to reflect on these things, eventually. In the meantime... what do we do?"

Cordelia glanced at the letter in her lap, then at the curtain-covered window. She'd never been to the country her kingdom had hailed from, the island where her ancestors had been born, then had revolted, and marched on to found their own land. The place Helen had been born and dreaded returning to, and the area Thomas assured her was secure.

"We go to England, like Thomas said. We leave France and never come back."

•••