“It’s a very convoluted plan involving marriage, and babies within the next year, which is ridiculous, but when you’ve become accustomed to power…”
“And this plot was dreamed up by Renardabouthis mother?”
“Yes. But the important part is the way he believes he needs to circumvent said plot. He must be eighteen to rule as king. However, there’s a stipulation in Pyrenee’s rules of succession that if he marries before the age of eighteen, he’s automatically crowned. Therefore, his argument to me was that we both need a wedding in short order to ascend our rightful thrones, so why not marry each other?”
The princess knew Luca wasn’t vain enough to venture something like,And you turned him down because of me?He was also smart enough to know that even if there were an inkling of thatthought running around in the depths of his humble soul, reasoning like that wouldn’t be the whole argument.
Luca was quiet, and so Amarande pressed on.
“I said no, of course. But his desperation was palpable. I can picture him in the Itspi right now, puzzling out how to make the most of my disappearance. Surely if the blackmail was indeed his, he will find out soon enough that it failed.”
“Failed… or…”
The princess did not much like that pause. “Or?”
Luca’s heart quickened against her spine. “Ama, did you tell anyone I was missing before dinner?”
The princess’s stomach dropped. “No—but you usually eat in the kitchens. Wouldn’t they have noticed when you didn’t show up?”
“Yes, but that’s not enough. I disappeared. And… you disappeared.” He touched her elbow, his fingertips suddenly bone cold. “Ama, they likely think I kidnapped you.”
Oh, stars.
Amarande’s breath stilled.
“I’m… I’m the only one who knows the note exists and that you were kidnapped for blackmail.” Her mind was racing. She tugged on Mira’s reins to slow her and the wind rushing past them. “There’s only a single horse gone from the stable. And… everyone knows how we are with each other.”
Somehow that was easier to say thanhow we feel about each otherand Amarande already worried she might vomit.
But then, with one careful turn and a quick heave, Lucadidvomit.
“Are you all right?”
The princess wasn’t the sort to be squeamish. She immediately wrenched around to have a good look at him. Beads of sweat sat atop his golden skin. Amarande brought Mira to a halt and pressed a hand to his forehead—hot enough to fry up a quail egg. Fever.
“Let’s dismount.”
“No, no, I’m just nauseous is all. We can continue.”
Amarande ignored this and pulled him down—he barely resisted. She sat him against one of the trees on the edge of the forest, gave him the waterskin, and picked around the stolen saddlebags for something to eat. She found a pouch of almonds and fed them to him one by one while asking a battery of questions about where things hurt and how long he’d felt this way.
When he couldn’t give her a good answer, she tried a different tactic. “May I have a look at your injuries?” Internal bleeding was her guess, and that wasn’t good—she’d need to get him to Medikua Aritza at the Itspi as soon as humanly possible.
Luca nodded and Amarande carefully rolled up his sleeves, pulled down his collar, and then, with his permission, pulled up his tunic. Despite the seriousness of the situation, she felt her cheeks growing hot at the beauty of him. Hard from work, the ink over his heart darkly perfect against his golden skin. Yes, beautiful by anyone’s definition, though mottled with bruises over his back and shoulder to go with the one at his temple. None appeared to be swollen hard—the indication Amarande knew of internal bleeding.
“I’m fine. Please, let’s keep moving.”
“Does anything I haven’t checked hurt? Even just a little bit?”
“No.”
“No tingling? Burning? Numbness? Swelling? Anything new?”
Luca licked his lips and tried to stand. Amarande grabbed his hand—clammy and cold—as added support. “The almonds helped. Probably just dehydrated and hungry.” He mounted the horse as if to prove just how fine he was.
The princess stared up at him from where she knelt, squinting hard into the sun haloing his head. “Luca, answer my question. Nothing at all?”
Finally, he took a deep breath. “Well, my ankle sort of burns.”
