His Hidden Desire (18+)

Chapter 17

The next morning, after breakfast, Cenric left with Nikolaj and Godric on a hunting trip. The vast forests surrounding the lake were reserved for royal use, and the game within had apparently grown fat and complacent in the months since the court had moved south for the summer.

As the clip-clopping of hooves faded from my position at the bridge gate, the household retreated. A stiffly polite lady-in-waiting had extended Danaë an invitation to the queen's Solar - but Danaë had declined, opting instead to take a walk through the grounds.

After all, she was the mistress.

It made sense to extend the courtesy - who would want to offend the neighboring monarch by insulting his woman?

But, that didn't mean her presence was actually wanted.

Besides, Danaë reasoned, the more time spent with them, the more time they had to realize who she actually was.

So, while the queen's court met in her quarters, Danaë strolled along the water's edge, followed at a distance by Osmund and Leofstan.

Breathing in the chill, autumn air, she pulled her cloak closer around her shoulders, surveying the vibrant golden gradient of the leaves on the trees.

Winter isn't far behind.

Farther south, in the Imperial City, the approach of the year's end had only been heralded by dryer weather and cooler air. This close to the mountains, the latter half of the calendar was a dire warning.

Death was coming, frigid and unforgiving.

Danaë had gotten a brief taste of it when an unseasonable snow shower had dusted the high road with white flakes. Suddenly, the phenomenon she'd read about in books was happening, falling from the sky, dancing on the icy wind.

And, as the initial whimsy of the moment faded, Danaë realized - I'm in danger.

People died of cold, died curled up, clutching their insufficient clothing as they froze in place, died as their shivering stopped and they became wretched statues, victims of the elements.

Danaë hated the cold.

Which is, of course, why you fled to the northernmost kingdom of the empire...

Shaking her head, she wondered why Cenric couldn't have lived along the southern coast.

Ahead, along the rock wall separating the grounds from the low, lapping waves, a small, slight woman hurried after two young girls, neither more than seven years old.

Danaë paused, watching the children racing along the stone path, their laughter ringing through the silence.

A strange pain shot through her, originating on the left side of her chest, under the ribs.

Swallowing, hard, she turned, intending to backtrack to a different path.

"Oh, forgive me, my Lady, I didn't intend to disturb you!"

The woman's strange accent called behind her, and Danaë assumed a mask of polite courtesy, "Please, don't trouble yourself - I'm only taking a walk-"

A sudden tug on her skirt stilled her words, and she looked down to see the younger of the two girls staring up at her.

"Are you King Cenric's woman?"

"Hanne!" The maid cried.

The girl's bright, blue eyes didn't waver, staring with the directness of unlettered youth.

Danaë paused for a moment, then curtsied, "I am Isolde, Baroness of Ravenswald; it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, your Highness."

The little girl frowned, "How'd you know I'm a princess?"