The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Eighteen

Lord Wallia had grossly underestimated the logistics of moving a Princess across the county, and night fell long before they reached Havenot Castle. As the Princess told him, when they eventually stepped into the waiting carriage, it would be barbaric to subject a shot silk gown to the trials of travelling. She'd settled on navy dupioni, leaving Lady Fae in the troubling dilemma of not knowing whether to commend the choice or disapprove of the tiresome costume change.

Hours later, the Princess was still catching her governess eyeing the dark skirts with a flickering expression of doubt, and nursing her bony wrists at regular intervals. The old woman did persist in complaining about them. The Princess did not believe for a moment that her underskirts were that heavy. After all, she walked around in them just fine.

The Princess tried to stifle a yawn behind her hand, almost punching herself in the face when the carriage lurched violently to the left.

"I'm not sure how much more I can take of this," said Lady Calantha, clinging onto the leather strap with both hands. She was looking a trifle green, matching the mint taffeta gown she had insisted on wearing for the journey. The Princess could not help but notice the creases etched along the skirts. The Countess was going to arrive at Havenot looking like a month old cabbage.

"Fear not, my lady," said Lord Wallia. "We shall break for the night in Lower Selton."

If anything, it was he who looked worried. His hand was gripped tight onto his own leather strap, as if he might fly off into the night if he let go. Lady Fae had insisted that they kept the carriage's curtains closed as they travelled across the countryside, but Lord Wallia could not let a mile pass without sticking his head out of the window. First it was to shout instructions to the coachman about the roads, then to check on the luggage the princess had insisted on bringing with them, followed by a series of excuses that grew ever more lazy as the sun set behind the fields.

The princess didn't know why he bothered. It was hardly like she would let Lady Jain enter the carriage, even if he did spot her on the road. She just hoped he used their delay in Selton to ensure a note was sent to Havenot. If they were going to live together once more, she expected a prettily worded apology on her arrival.

"You have people in Selton?" she asked, as he made to open the curtain once more.

His fingers dropped from the heavy fabric as if he'd be bitten. "A good friend of mine. Sir Hilton. A fine subject of your highness, who would be honoured to take us in for the night."

The Princess sighed and leaned back, wincing as the brim of her hat jabbed the wall of the carriage. The thought of spending another minute, let alone hours, in this bouncing box filled her with dread. However, the prospect of a night in a damp manor wasn't much of a comfort either. She should never have left Hoxleigh. Whatever dangers she was at risk of in her comfortable palace would surely only be doubled in the home of a yokel knight.

She pressed down on her skirts with her palm, wincing as the blade of the kitchen knife dug through its wrapping and bit into her thigh. She needed to have a scabbard made for it. At Hoxleigh she could have asked the steward to arrange it for her. Now she supposed that it was Lord Wallia's role to fulfil her requests. He'd probably buy her a jewelled dagger if she asked for it. A slim stiletto suitable for a lady to carry. She wouldn't ask him though. For some reason she didn't like the idea of him knowing she carried a weapon.

The Princess felt Lady Fae's troubled gaze on her, so she smiled. "Would you pass me the chest, Duenna?"

"You're not going to open it in here are you?"

The Princess suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. With a sigh Lady Fae hefted the box onto her lap and slid it across the seat.

There wasn't much in the way of light. The lantern's flame juddered every time the carriage jolted over the uneven road. It didn't make the contents of the box look any better. Shadows gathered in all the wrong places, giving the thing the air of life.