Eleven Books

This is a story of freedom

Rhiannon was infuriatingly close-lipped, and although Ailsa was easily frustrated she was sure this would have raised anyone's ire by now. Every time the princess found an opportunity to ask her nurse about the message she'd been given, she was given the same answer—"What note?" followed by a significant glance that said the opposite. Clearly she wouldn't be getting any additional information from her silver-streaked confidante. So at midnight one week later, she threw on a blouse, her riding leathers—the only pants she owned—and practical boots.

As an afterthought, she went to her desk and grabbed a letter opener. Not a knife—barely even a weapon—but as close as she could get.

For the first time in her life, she was glad to be the youngest of six—it had given her freedom to roam the castle, and she now knew the place inside and out. Including the corridor that wasn't patrolled for a few minutes around midnight. And the window in an obscure study that was out of everyone's line of sight. And the fastest, stealthiest way to the stables.

Rhiannon had always let her explore after hours, encouraged her to seek, to search, to find out everything about this lovely place that so often felt like a prison. Had it been for this moment?

Apparently her nurse had more to her than met the eye. Was it possible that the Rhiannon she knew was a lie? Was she walking into some sort of trap?

No—no. Another skill Ailsa had perfected over the years was reading people-—and unless Rhiannon was a better liar than all of the clever, smooth, vicious sycophants at court, her nurse had never lied to her.

Besides. She hadn't given Starlight nearly enough attention lately.

And any time spent in the stables was time well spent. She entered the wooden building—it was huge, built to accommodate the finest mounts in her horse-riding nation, but in here it somehow felt cozy. And there was someone waiting for her in a stall in the back.

"Hello, Starlight." She smiled, stepping into the stall. "You're looking lovely."

The huge Friesian horse gave a soft snort, and started sniffing and pushing at her clothes, looking for treats.

"Not today, my friend," she said. "Someone's going to be meeting me here shortly—perhaps they'll have something."

"That is the most beautiful horse I've ever seen."

She whirled, and nearly screamed. A man in a hood stood just outside Starlight's stall. His posture said that he was young, but his voice was deep, and she couldn't make out any part of his face. And he wasn't that much taller than her, but he was muscled—so much bigger than her, and that cloak could so easily conceal weapons—

She hadn't heard him approach, despite the fact that the floor was loose, crunchy gravel.

She put an arm around Starlight's neck, the solid, steady muscle a familiar comfort. And steeled her nerve enough that her voice was steady as she said, "Thank you. I raised him."

And then, after a pause: "Who are you, and what the hell do you want from me?"

She still couldn't see his face, but she heard his smile as he said, his voice smooth and quiet and somehow deadly- "Ailsa, we want you to change the world."

A canned line, surely. Cheesy, too, but Ailsa had to fight to keep the spark of surprise from showing on her face. "You picked the wrong royal to do that."

"No," he told her. "We didn't."

Ailsa wasn't sure she was breathing. "Yes," she said. "You did." Her voice was steady—how was her voice steady? She was beginning to realize exactly how dangerous her situation was, and it scared her—she was not brave, she could not fight, and the stranger probably could. And he wanted her to change the world. Her hand drifted toward the handle of the letter opener, tucked into her belt. "And you still haven't answered me. Who are you? Take your hood off while you're at it."