"What's that you've got?"
I startled, looking up into the eyes of the prince standing just before me, and immediately fell to my knees. "My Lord! Forgive me. I did not see you."
He was seven; bright eyes, curls tumbling over his forehead. His was the skin of a prince, if such a thing exists: smooth, rosy, perfect. His hands weren't chapped from work. His mouth wasn't cracked from the elements.
He crouched down beside me. I'd never been so close to him, but I knew every one of his features as if I'd carved him with my bare hands. I saw him everywhere: in the field when he rode past on his horse, in the window when he looked out across the courtyard after dinner, on my lids whenever my eyes fell closed.
I dared to glance up. Green eyes met mine, snaring them. He spoke again, quieter now: "I said, what's that you've got?"
Dutifully, I handed him the doll Mother made me for my birthday. I called her Lou. She was made of old skirts, stuffed with feathers. Her eyes were buttons; mouth a clumsy gash of red silk.
I turned seven that very day, three days after him.
The prince studied Lou, and then me. "She doesn't look like you."
My jaw moved forward, temper itching. "No, my Lord. She's not meant to."
"What's your name?" He carefully set the doll back in my hands.
"Cathryn, my Lord."
"I'm going to be king someday," he said. "And when I am, I'll hire someone to make you better dolls."
YOU ARE READING
No Fury
FanfictionThe prince was born in his mother's lavish rooms three days before I emerged on the dingy floor of the ale house. He's a royal . . . she isn't. But the secret friendship that began in childhood grows into something much deeper -- and much more dang...
