A Royal Secret

CHAPTER ONE

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*****

NIGHT. Chara could tell; the crisp evening breeze tickling the tips of her fingers as her eyelids flickered shut and a soft sigh of pleasure escaped her lips despite the pain she felt. She leaned forward, causing the chains that clawed her wrist to bite further into her skin, until she feared it might draw blood.

Hissing, she withdrew her hands and fell back against the wagon. She could no longer bear the pain, she thought, opening her eyes to the darkness of the wagon. The pungent smell of filth stirred her stomach. Shoving aside the need to vomit, she swallowed. She couldn't throw up now, considering the fact that she had been fed only a few hours ago. She needed to keep what was in her stomach for however long it would take her masters to remember...

Shaking her head, she mentally laughed at the absurdity of her thoughts, for the Hastings couldn't possibly be forgetting to feed her—they simply didn't care. They didn't care for anyone but themselves; their decision to sell her off to the highest bidder was a classic example of that fact.

Surely her uncle could not find her now.

Tears filled her eyes at the thought, and she fought to keep them from falling. There was no use crying, for her tears could neither change the past—when her own uncle had ruthlessly exchanged her for a few pennies—nor could it guarantee the future she hoped for, the one where her uncle would show up one day and repay his debt, saving her from her accursed debt bondage.

Indeed, her master's and mistresses'—the Hastings—decision to hand her over to a third party was all it took to extinguish the tiny ember of hope for freedom that she had kept burning for five years.

She glanced down at her wrists; the darkness making it impossible to see the bruises she knew very well were caused by the chains that clawed around them. Of course, the chains wouldn't be necessary if the spoiled Miss Hasting hadn't insisted that Chara rode in the back of the wagon with the rest of the luggage to keep the 'lice infested slave' from infecting her as well.

Bitterness filled Chara as Miss Helen Hasting's words drifted back to her, reminding her of the unfortunate evening six months ago when she had convinced her parents that Chara was infested with lice. The falsehood had not only cost Chara her hair; it had seen her journeying for several days chained to a wagon while simultaneously dreading the uncertain future that awaited her in the home of her new mistress.

Perhaps she was to be relieved by the thought of being rid of her old mistress forever, but Chara couldn't count on the possibility of the new mistress being any better than Miss Hasting. At least with Miss Hasting, she knew what to expect—tantrums and lies—having practically grown up with her in the same manor. But with a new mistress, she did not know what to expect once the trip was over.

If she survived the trip.

There were days she didn't believe herself capable of surviving; days she longed for the courage to give into the barely deniable demands of death either by starvation, disease, or the lack of a will to keep on living.

"Don't think, Chara." Swallowing, she rested her head on the cold metal and pulled her cramping legs up gently until her knees were touching her chest. Every inch of her body hurt; every move of the wagon sending sharp waves of pain shooting up her muscles; every collision of wheels with rock, slamming her already battered form against the metal.