The Captive Heir

Chapter Six

Life in the bandit camp somehow, improbably, became routine. Elisabet found it impossible to remain in a state of constant fear and suspicion, particularly when every day followed the same patterns. She would wake up when the sentry arrived to give Marie the previous night's activity report, then prepare for the day once the bandit leader had left to attend to her never-ending responsibilities. Breakfast would usually be with Caleb or Rose, then Alvan would tell her what menial chore she had to complete. Most often she had to dig around in the mud for root vegetables, but if she had provoked someone, Marie would punish her by assigning her dish duty with Maggie and Edgar. By the end of the day, she would be tired and eager to share dinner with Fitz before Marie ordered her to go to bed. If she was displeased with someone, she would send Maggie to do the honors, which both bandit and princess loathed.

Maggie and Edgar had never—and would never, it seemed—accepted her. Most of the camp, used to Marie's whims, had grown to treat her with a certain indifference, and a few of the bandits—Fitz and Caleb chief among them—had even become what Elisabet would call friends, but a handful remained attached to reliable hostility. Nicolas in particular would never approve of Marie's decision not to kill her that first night. No matter. Elisabet had friendly conversation, and a partner willing to cross swords with her, and she told herself it was enough.

Until she could escape, it would have to be enough.

In the meantime, her curiosity had several outlets. A chance meeting with Fitz resulted in far too many personal stories being shared on both sides, but she was happy to know more about who he was and how he had come to be Marie Longheirce's favorite warrior.

Elisabet, escorted by a woman named Rian, had been returning to camp after a quick bath when they rounded a bend in the river and found Fitz standing in the water, fishing.

"Catch anything?" Rian had called to him.

"Do I ever?" Fitz replied with a rueful chuckle.

Elisabet had stopped moving. "You mean to tell me there's something you're not good at?" she said, pretending shock.

"I've allowed you your failings, princess," Fitz said, tossing his net into the water with a grunt. "Don't begrudge me mine."

Rian, unwilling to pause, tugged on Elisabet's sleeve. "I've got kitchen duty with Rose in a few minutes," she said. "We need to get back."

Elisabet disentangled herself. "I can get back on my own. Go ahead."

"Those are not the orders—"

"I'll make sure she gets back," Fitz said without looking back at them. "She can stay here with me."

Rian uttered an annoyed, "Fine," and marched off alone, leaving quiet in her wake.

Elisabet slid down to the ground, finding a comfortable spot against a tree as she watched Fitz attempt to fish. The clear water swirled lazily around his knees, the current's gentle song weaving through the rustling leaves and whistle of a bird. If she closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the forest, the pungency of wood sprouting, growing, rotting surrounding her, she could almost believe she was resting near home after a hunt with Silvana.

The drag of the net and a disappointed sound from Fitz had her opening her eyes again, dispelling the fantasy. He stared at his empty net before shaking his head and casting it out anew.

"If you're so bad at it, why bother?" she asked him.

He watched the net settle into the water without the ripple of a single fish to disturb it. "I like the quiet," he said. "There's never enough privacy in camp."

Elisabet, who had grown up surrounded at all times by either courtiers, servants, or family, nodded blankly, pretending to understand. Privacy was not a privilege afforded the heir.