**THE PRINCESS SERIES is part of the GOLDEN UNIVERSE, and considered a sequel to THE GOLDEN QUEEN/A BRAZEN LOVE**
♦YOU MUST HAVE READ THE GOLDEN UNIVERSE NOVELS AND THE BRAZEN NOVELS TO READ THIS SERIES!♦
Cordelia, the Princess of Totresia, has alw...
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♪ If the only way to win Is by breaking all the rules, I'd rather lose ♪ {Mandy Moore—I'd rather lose}
Near seconds after Helen grabbed her hand and yanked her after the mysterious, well-spoken serving boy, Cordelia's doubts reanimated. And judging by her slower pace and looser grip, so had Helen's.
Was Helen thinking the same as Cordelia? That this eloquent young man might have been steering them straight into a trap? Had the Baroness set this up to test them, to gauge their restlessness, their daring? She'd be waiting at the foot of the main stairs, tapping her shoe to the floor, a malicious smile smearing over her lips. "Aha, as I suspected—you are not to be trusted and must be put behind bars!"
Smart, using Thomas as bait. The Baroness was well aware he wished for nothing more than to get the girls out of this prison and on to somewhere less constricting, less dangerous. And of course, the Baroness was a witty, woeful woman with many resources, with endless piles of money, and with spies lurking at every corner. Anyone might have overheard Cordelia's conversations with Helen and Thomas. Anyone might have whispered to the Baroness that Thomas was a weak spot for Cordelia, and uttering his name would get her to do just about anything.
Especially to get out of here.
But the Baroness wasn't at the foot of the stairs. Nor did she loom near any doorways they passed, all obscure and unattended, opening up to empty rooms and deserted halls. Everyone was asleep, and the Baroness was, as the serving boy had claimed, gone. Or observing them from her upper-floor room as they waded out into the crisp, mid-winter air of the manor gardens. Who knew? Cordelia didn't slow down or turn around to find out.
Before they could take more than three steps towards the pebbled path, however, the boy jolted around and gestured at their feet. "Your shoes," he said, breathless from the never-ending running, "remove them. They will make too much noise on the pebbles, and I will not have you trudging through the grass at this hour. It is muggy and muddy and will slow us down."
His shoes were soft, moccasin-style, like slippers made of fur. Cordelia and Helen wore heavy heeled ankle boots—and those would cause a stir in the household, for sure.
Grunting, both ladies unlaced and removed their shoes and held them close, as the boy clarified they'd need to put them back on as soon as they exited the gardens.
He guided them down the left side, an area seldom visited by Cordelia. The high bushes were trimmed differently here, she could tell by the light of the moon, and with the aid of the torches that remained lit throughout the night. These bushes, not as thick, nor as well-maintained, poorly concealed the vast fields on the other side. Even as they dashed past, Cordelia could see gaps in the leaves, holes where she might have squeezed a hand, an arm, her head, her entire body—
But she didn't have time to dawdle, as they arrived at the far-left edge of the backyard. The serving boy came to an abrupt halt. He flipped around, peered left and right, then returned to the corner where the rear hedge and the left hedge joined. He removed something from his pocket—Cordelia squinted to see what, but couldn't make out the shape of the object. After counting to three in a hushed tone, he pushed his arm into the bush, the object along with it.
