We Three Heroes Page 2

  “I’m sure we can have you moved to a new room.” The kennels, perhaps, so he could be amongst his own kind. Though, Delucia wouldn’t wish his presence upon the poor dogs. No one deserved such miserable company.

  “No need, Princess,” Maxton said, the smirk still on his face. “We’re only here for the rest of the week. I’ll find a way to endure it.”

  Delucia was already counting down to the end of his visit. Inwardly, she prayed that the next seven days would fly by. Outwardly, she pasted a smile on her face and dipped her head again, before taking the seat to her father’s right—a position that was, unfortunately, directly opposite Maxton.

  Sharing the same light hair colour as his mother, along with her blue eyes, it was easy to note the resemblance between the two. But while Nerita’s features were filled with kindness, her son’s expression held nothing but thinly veiled contempt. It was easy to miss—Delucia was certain he had everyone else fooled.

  Just like he’d had her fooled.

  Everything about him portrayed the poster child of perfection. The doting son, the generous friend, the person everyone wanted to spend time with.

  It was all a lie.

  But five years ago, Delucia hadn’t known that. And within seconds of meeting him, she’d fallen completely under his spell.

  For the first eight years of her life, she’d never had any real friends. She’d grown up a princess, her closest companions being the stern Mistress Alma and the passionate Master Ying. There were very few children who visited the palace, and those who did—blood relations of the servants, advisors, counsellors and military leaders—all treated Delucia with the respect owed to her station. She wasn’t a girl to them, she was a princess. It made forming personal relationships all but impossible.

  There were, of course, the maids who attended her, but they came and went as often as the weather turned. Delucia had only ever managed to grow close to two of them—Annelyse and Bahrati—but that hadn’t… ended well. And once they’d left the palace, Delucia had been careful to maintain distance from any of her new maids, knowing they would only leave when their tenure was up and never look back.

  Eight years was a long time to go without having a true confidante outside of her family, so when Delucia heard that a boy her age was coming to stay at the palace for a number of weeks, she’d begged her parents to keep her identity a secret. She was lonely—so lonely—and she’d wanted just one chance to make a real friend, someone who would treat her like a normal girl. Of course, she’d known he would learn the truth eventually, but she’d only wanted a few days, certain that was all it would take, and then her royal status wouldn’t matter. They’d be friends by then, true friends—best friends—and her being a princess wouldn’t change that.

  In the end, she was right. It wasn’t her title that changed anything.

  Because Maxton had known all along who she was.

  And he’d played her, from the very beginning.

  He’d earned her trust, earned her adoration. And then he’d used it all against her, betraying her in the worst possible way.

  “It’s such a beautiful day,” Queen Osmada said, her gentle tone easing the tension Delucia felt bunching at her shoulders. At least, until the queen added, “Perhaps Maxton would like to go riding through the gardens with Delucia after breakfast? She goes every morning in the summer—if she had her way, I’m convinced she would choose to live in the stables.”

  Nerita chuckled softly along with the queen, but dread was filling Delucia, like a vice wrapping around her chest.

  “Actually, Mother,” she said quickly before anyone else could speak, “I already have company for today’s ride.” She managed to summon what she hoped looked like an apologetic smile when she turned to Maxton and said, “Perhaps another morning.”

  That morning would never come, if she had anything to say about it. She’d lie through her teeth if it meant avoiding him as much as possible for the next seven days. Then he’d be gone, and she could breathe freely again.

  “Such a shame,” Maxton drawled, reaching for a cinnamon roll and tearing it apart with his fingers. There was a mean spark in his eyes when he added, “We both know how much I enjoy visiting the stables and spending time with the horses.”

  Delucia couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. Her hands were shaking as she reached for her fork and stabbed the metal into the omelette on her plate, using considerably more force than was necessary. She winced at the scrape of steel against porcelain, hoping no one else noticed.

  “I’ve no doubt that my son will be able to entertain himself, just as he has the last three days,” Nerita said, sipping from her teacup. Her words held no accusation, but they still caused both the king and queen to look at Delucia with disapproval.

  She knew the reason for their censure. Mistress Alma’s final words hadn’t been a reminder—they’d been a warning: ‘Princesses are always gracious hosts.’

  Delucia had been anything but gracious to Maxton since his arrival.

  Upon first laying eyes on him three days earlier, she’d refused to offer a single word of greeting, ignoring the pointed looks from her parents. Duty had required that she maintain an air of cordiality, especially given Nerita’s importance as a High Court judge. But seeing Maxton’s arrogant smirk had raised her hackles enough that she’d had to spin on her heel and storm from the room lest she follow through on her overwhelming desire to slap the smug look right off his face.

  The two days since then had seen little improvement to her disposition, though she’d managed to sit through both tension-filled breakfasts much as she was today, only doing so by remaining as silent as possible and focusing on her meal.

  She knew her parents were concerned by her behaviour. Her mother had sought her out after supper last night, and Delucia had offered a vague excuse about clashing personalities. Osmada, however, had seen through the lie to the pain underneath, yet she’d thankfully not pressed for further details. Instead, she’d gathered her daughter into her arms, her physical touch soothing Delucia more than any words ever would. When the king had joined them soon afterwards, he’d asked no questions, simply wrapping his arms around Delucia and holding her close.

  Despite the comfort her mother and father offered freely in private, she knew she was expected to step into her princess shoes and offer companionship to Maxton as a guest of the palace. Her parents didn’t know why it was so difficult for her, why she didn’t want to be anywhere near him. If she told them, she knew they’d understand. But she was too ashamed to share. The hurt and the betrayal—five years later and it had barely faded. If anything, it had only increased, along with the walls of stone around her heart.

  “Lord Maxton might want to consider a trip into the city today,” Delucia suggested to no one in particular while cutting into her side of bacon. “The markets are always enjoyable at this time of the year.”

  “Indeed, they are,” King Aurileous said, pouring a glass of juice and handing it to Delucia before turning to Maxton. “It’s easy enough to organise a Warden escort if you’d like to venture out for the day?”

  In response, Maxton raised a haughty eyebrow at Delucia and said, “Perhaps I’ll wait until the princess is free to accompany me.”

  Having just taken a mouthful of juice, Delucia barely managed to keep from spraying it all over the table. She quickly swallowed, prompting a coughing fit—which gave her the time she needed to think of a suitable reply. Preferably one that didn’t involve launching over the dishes and stabbing Maxton with her butter knife.

  She had no idea what in the name of Medora he was thinking, saying something like that. She knew he despised her—she’d heard the truth from his own lips five years ago.

  ‘… worthless, gullible, snooty little princess. No wonder she doesn’t have any friends—who would want to be stuck spending time with that spoiled royal brat? No one, that’s who.’

  She could still hear his mocking laughter ringing in her ears, just as she cou
ld hear the laughter of those he’d been entertaining with his stories—her young maids, Annelyse and Bahrati amongst them, as well as a plethora of stable and kitchen hands, and other children born to the palace servants. All of them were kids she had tried to befriend at one point or another, with none but Annelyse and Bahrati ever making her think she had a chance of friendship with them. And those two… well, in that moment, Delucia had understood that she’d never had a chance with them, either, since Maxton had already claimed their attention. His charisma, his magnetism—people wanted to be close to him. Delucia hadn’t been able to dredge up any blame towards the two girls, not when she herself had fallen into the same trap. And that trap—that desire for Maxton’s companionship—had left her wide open for the hateful things he’d said that day, and for the hurtful responses from those listening.

  The laughter—she would never forget their laughter as they’d listened to Maxton explain that Delucia had believed he was her best friend, how she had shared things with him that she’d never told anyone else. Her hopes, her dreams, her very heart—he knew it all. She’d laid herself bare to him. For him.

  And it was all true. Because Maxton had been everything to her, filling the gaping hole of loneliness she’d felt all her life.

  At least, until that day, that moment, when his words and laughter had smashed her vulnerable eight-year-old heart to pieces.

  She never would have known if she hadn’t arrived at the stables early, excited for their ride together that morning. She never would have known if she hadn’t searched for Annelyse and Bahrati beforehand, only to find them keeping company with her supposed best friend. She never would have known if she hadn’t paused upon the sound of voices and raucous laughter, only to hear the hideous, hideous things being said—about her.

  Sometimes she wondered how long Maxton would have let his ruse of friendship continue if she hadn’t discovered him first. But the moment she’d stepped out of the shadows with tears in her eyes and he’d realised he’d been caught, he hadn’t so much as tried to feign an apology. Annelyse and Bahrati—they’d at least looked ashamed, and within a week, the two maids had left the palace of their own accord. But Maxton… he’d just smirked that awful smirk—one she’d never seen before that day—and she’d known. None of it had been real for him. Everything they’d shared had been fake.

  “Sadly, my week is rather full,” Delucia lied smoothly, her voice slightly hoarse from having just coughed up her tonsils—and from the emotion she was fighting to keep contained as the memories threatened to overwhelm her. “If you wish to see the markets before you leave, you’ll be better off planning a trip without me.”

  “Sweetheart, surely you can find some time for Lord Maxton?” King Aurileous said, a gentle reprimand in his tone.

  Delucia couldn’t keep from shooting pleading eyes towards her mother.

  Osmada was no fool—she read the panic on Delucia’s face and placed a hand on Aurileous’s forearm. Her kind eyes moved from her daughter to her husband and then to their guests before she fibbed, “Unfortunately, Delucia’s schedule is indeed demanding over the next few days. Mistress Alma likes to keep her busy during the summer months to ward off boredom.” She then offered to Maxton, “Should you visit again, we’ll make sure to set some time aside for you to enjoy the pleasure of each other’s company.”

  Delucia wondered if her omelette was going to make a reappearance, such was the sick feeling in her stomach at the very thought of having to endure another visit. And yet, she kept her features serene, mirroring the slight smile her mother offered, while hoping her face wasn’t as green as she felt it surely must be.

  “I’ll look forward to our return, then,” Maxton said, his tone laced with dark humour.

  Delucia didn’t need to look at him to know he was deliberately trying to rile her. To her shame, it was working. But she needed only to get through this breakfast—and seven more—before he was gone. And if she ever dreamed of his coming again, on the off chance that it just might come true, she’d be sure to disappear from the palace or claim an illness so as to never see him again.

  If nothing else, her experience with Maxton had taught her a valuable life lesson, one that she was grateful for, in hindsight. Annelyse and Bahrati had driven the point home, but it was Maxton to whom Delucia gave credit for what she had discovered.

  Thanks to them—thanks to him—she’d learned the truth: that she could trust no one.

  For eight years, all she’d wanted was a true friend. And when she’d thought she’d finally made one, he’d shown her exactly why she was better off on her own. Friends were nothing more than people with the power to hurt those whom they were meant to protect. And that day in the stables, Delucia had learned that once and for all.

  Never again would she let anyone into her heart. Because people did nothing but let each other down.

  Delucia had her family. She needed no one else.

  She wanted no one else.

  Not anymore.

  And never again.

  Two

  Delucia hadn’t been lying when she’d claimed to have company planned for her ride that morning—company that gave her a good excuse to hurry through what remained of her breakfast before taking her leave of the parlour. She did so while ignoring the concerned looks from her parents and avoiding Maxton’s smug gaze entirely.

  Hurrying back through the richly decorated hallways to the eastern tower and up the golden staircases to her bedroom, Delucia was quick to don her riding clothes before skipping back downstairs and out the rear entrance of the palace, heading towards the stables.

  Like every other day, she allowed the dusty scent of pine and hay to wash over her, breathing in deeply and finding peace in what the smell represented. Horses didn’t throw hateful words and stinging betrayals. Horses offered soft nickers and whiskered kisses—the perfect balm for any inner turmoil.

  “I was beginning to wonder if I’d be riding by myself today, Princess.”

  Delucia allowed a small smile to settle on her lips as she stepped further into the stable complex and turned towards the owner of the voice.

  “Sorry, Jeera. Breakfast ran longer than usual.”

  Jeera James, the eighteen-year-old niece of Medora’s military commander, accepted Delucia’s excuse without comment, her only response being to offer a respectful bow once she had the princess’s full attention.

  Years ago, Delucia had been frustrated by the clear line Jeera carefully maintained between them. No matter how many times Delucia had tried to befriend the other girl or asked to be treated like any other person, Jeera remained adamant about keeping a professional distance. It used to hurt—adding to the loneliness Delucia felt. But now she understood better, especially since she knew that once Jeera was finished with her education at Akarnae Academy, she planned to join the Warden service—a position that would require her to treat Delucia as a princess at all times. It was a shame, since Jeera was one of the few younger girls who had spent much time around the palace while growing up, and if she’d had any other career in mind, Delucia liked to think they might have been friends.

  Of course, that was before Delucia had decided she was better off without any friends.

  Even so, she was pleased to be in Jeera’s company once again now that Akarnae was closed for the summer holidays, even if the other girl already acted like a Warden-in-training.

  “I brought Dancer in from the field, but I know you like to groom her yourself, so she’s waiting for you in her stall,” Jeera said, indicating down the aisle. “I’m taking Onyx out today. Stablemaster Corbin said he could use a good ride.”

  “And what about—”

  Before Delucia could finish her question, the clop, clop, clop of horseshoes on cobblestones met her ears, and she turned to find the chestnut-coloured Admiral walking their way, led by the Warden escort appointed for their morning ride.

  “Princess Delucia,” William Ronnigan greeted, offering a bow—one that turned into a
stumble when Admiral head-butted the Warden’s shoulder, overbalancing him.

  “Good morning, Warden William,” Delucia returned, unsuccessful in hiding her smile. Of all the Wardens in service to the crown, William was one of her favourites, the man as kind as he was intelligent. But he was also perhaps one of the most unskilled horsemen she’d ever encountered. It never failed to amuse her, though she did feel sorry for him at times—such as right now, when Admiral was snuffling at his collared uniform, ignoring William’s shooing gestures and instead sinking his big teeth into the black material and tugging hard enough to tear the seam.

  Delucia covered her mouth quickly, hoping William was too distracted by fending off Admiral’s continued assault to have caught her quiet laugh.

  The Wardens were on a rotating roster when it came to accompanying her on her morning rides—something she believed was unnecessary, but Commander Nisha remained adamant about allocating them as protective detail. While Delucia only ever rode through the palace grounds, the gardens that backed onto the forest and down to the coastline were extensive enough that there was an element of danger, should an intruder break through the wards and trespass upon the royal lands. The king and queen allowed Delucia as much freedom as was deemed safe, but even they were firm about her always having someone along for security purposes, ready to Bubble her away at the first sign of trouble.

  William, while an uncommonly graceless horseman, was always wonderful company. And Delucia was delighted that both he and Jeera would be riding with her today.

  Leaving the Warden to battle his playful steed and Jeera to hunt down and ready Onyx, Delucia travelled up the aisle, patting the noses of the stabled horses until she arrived at Dancer’s stall.

  “Hey, pretty girl,” Delucia cooed as she unlatched the door and entered, earning a soft whinny of greeting in response.