Dreamwalker's Bride - Chapter 42

The young maid
Trace held back a tide of emotion as he watched Anaisa approach him in the wake of the spoiled princess. The betrayal he felt was unwarranted; he was keeping a far bigger secret than this. Why did it sting him so badly?

Her face pled with him for understanding, for patience. He held his tongue as the royal began shouting for steps to be brought for herself and her maid.

Her maid.

Trace remembered the token Anaisa had shown at the gate, that had frightened the guard so thoroughly. The pieces began falling into place as Trace reviewed the conversation with his wife from the day before.

She’d mentioned the princess then, but he hadn’t begun to suspect it was anything more than overhearing her during a fitting.

How wrong he seemed to be.

A fool. Was he a fool to think a woman assigned to him due to Conlan’s machinations would ever be a good match, a partner in life he could eventually trust with all of his own secrets? Perhaps they would never be able to talk freely about everything they knew. His wife might remain a mysterious stranger to him forever.

The dark thoughts were unproductive.

Steps were brought, and the Princess mounted her fine mare with a haughty air. The horse tossed its mane just as the princess tossed her auburn hair, making for what would have been a comical sight if the young woman didn’t wield such power over everyone present.

“For once you got the saddle on before I got here, Horse Master,” She arranged her riding gown elegantly around herself as she spoke down to the man. “I expect you to never let me down again.”

“Of course it is our joy and pleasure to serve as best we can, Your Highness.” He seemed relieved with her assessment, crushing his hat in his hands as he swiftly removed it in deference to the royal.

“If only the stirrups were the correct length!” The Princess snapped at him, causing everyone to jump.

“My apologies, whoever cleaned it last must have–” The master began.

“Do you not check these things personally?” The royal berated him. “Is it not ultimately your responsibility to make sure everything is done well?”

The master continued to stammer and glance around for any explanation that would mollify the spoiled young woman. Trace pulled Anaisa’s horse to the steps for her to mount next, while the others were occupied. She mounted quietly, and began arranging her own, far less ornate, skirts around her. Her hair was covered and her face drawn… or covered with that strange makeup again.

Trace adjusted the saddle to suit her with as neutral an expression as he could muster, though a dozen questions buzzed in his mind. Foremost were queries on why she didn’t bother to inform him of such an important development, but he couldn’t think of a good reason, and began to try to shut down the emotion he felt over being excluded.

She leaned forward to pat the horse’s neck, bringing her face closer to his level.

“I’m sorry, she threatened–” Anaisa whispered.

“It doesn’t matter,” He cut her off. “What’s done is done.”

The words were harsh, but quiet enough to not be overheard by anyone, especially given how the Princess continued to harangue everyone within earshot. It was a childish thing of him to say, and he winced.

Anaisa stiffened, and when he handed her the reins, she laid her left hand over his.

“I didn’t want–” She tried again, but the Princess interrupted.

“Are you ready, Maid, or not?” She demanded, and Anaisa nodded submissively. Her blue eyes drilled into Trace’s, and almost of its own volition, his hand turned to press the reins into hers.

Ever so briefly, he trailed his thumb along her third finger, where her wedding ring would be if she weren’t pretending not to be his wife.

Anaisa opened her mouth, but at that moment, the Princess kicked her mount into motion, and the second horse leapt in behind, apparently familiar with the royal demands.

Trace watched them depart, the guards leaping aside lest the Princess run them over in her haste. The entire yard breathed a collective sigh of relief when the ladies left their sight.

“Go and watch for their return,” The horse master said sharply to one of the stable boys, Issachar. “We need at least a five-minute warning or it’ll be the strap for you, understand?”

“Is it necessary to threaten the boy over such a thing?” Trace frowned.

“You should hear what the princess threatens us all with if we cross her even a little,” The Horse Master warned. “Stay out of her way for your own good, or it’ll be your job at best, your head at worst.”

“That seems excessive,” The farmer-turned-spy glanced after where the women had departed, a sinking feeling in his belly. Had Anaisa been threatened into secrecy by the spoiled brat of an heiress?

“She’s gotten worse with her coming out ball drawing closer,” The Master confided, “Though you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Coming out ball?” Trace eyed the man. Why would such a thing have such a negative impact on the Princess’s behavior?

“I heard the Dressmaker threaten to jump out the tower window this morning if the Princess wanted any more changes to her dress design.” Issachar piped in.

“It seems gossip spreads readily here,” Trace noted, trying to sound more amused than interested. Truthfully, any bit of gossip he could get his hands on would be a great help, but he knew better than to act too interested right away.

“Back to work,” The horse master cuffed Issachar across the back of the head, but more playfully than seriously. “You’ll be as bad as the kitchen staff if you keep spreading wild tales.”

“You started it!” Issachar complained.

“I merely offered the man survival advice,” The master glared at the boy, “You, on the other hand, were seeking attention. Off with you, now, or you’ll be worse off than the fattest goose on feast day!”

Trace moved away to resume the work he’d begun this morning, but he knew that come next mealtime, he would be making some new friends in the kitchen.