The Captive Heir

Chapter Sixteen

 Elisabet jerked awake to sunlight streaming through the high windows.

She turned her head to the left and right, wincing at the thousand knots along her neck and back that had settled into her muscles. Falling asleep in a chair, with only a pile of papers for a pillow, would do that.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Elisabet stuck her head out the door to find a trio of members of the Guard standing at attention.

"I miss anything?" she asked tightly.

"No, your highness," one of them said. "All quiet."

No further attacks, then. "The queen?"

"Still asleep, your highness."

"The prisoners?"

"Well-guarded."

Alexander hurried by, then catching sight of her, made straight for the door. "There you are! I got so worried when you weren't in your room, and—"

"What are you doing out?" Elisabet demanded of him. It wasn't safe for him to be wandering around.

"I'm being careful," Alexander retorted. Elisabet's snort of doubt had his ears reddening.

"See my brother back to our parents' rooms," Elisabet ordered the Guard.

"Beg your pardon, your highness," the first one said. "But we cannot leave our post."

"Who made this your post?" Elisabet demanded. She knew her mother had not ordered her guarded, and she had personally seen the queen to her rooms. Who was going around ordering the Guard places?

"They assigned themselves," Alexander said. "Haven't you heard? The Guard keeps talking about how you fought with them. They're not risking anything happening to you."

"We all fought," Elisabet retorted. Busybody soldiers. They needed more to do, if they were wasting time on gossip.

"The queen didn't."

"Alexander!" Elisabet snapped his name, not caring she sounded angry. His were dangerous words. Unnecessary words.

"The princess needs breakfast," Alexander said to a yawning servant. "See that the kitchen sends something up."

"And will you have some of my mother's dresses delivered to the queen's rooms?" Elisabet added. They could get clothes for their other refugees from nearby towns, but the queen and her sister deserved better quality—and her mother was unlikely to protest, given her current condition.

The servant bowed.

"Kitchens first," Alexander said, making Elisabet roll her eyes.

"I'm fine," she said, ducking back into the room. "What I need is—"

"You need rest, and food, and probably a shoulder to cry on," Patrick said, following her and her brother in. Another intrusion. "But given how yesterday went, you're unlikely to take two of the three. At least let the kid feed you."

"What are you doing up?" she asked him. Ungracious, but she was not feeling particularly gracious.

"Couldn't sleep," he admitted. "Not with both my parents out there."

"The worst is past," Elisabet said.

"You sure?"

Of course she wasn't.

"Here's what I'm thinking," she said, hand landing on a sheaf of papers she'd been scribbling at in the early morning.

Alexander made a startled noise.