Chapter 17

“R ose, wake up.”

It was Edward’s urgent voice in her ear as he shook her. She blinked open her eyes to see him standing in between the two beds with the strangest look of confusion mixed with unease on his face. She was instantly wide awake and on high alert.

“We have to go.” There was an urgency in his voice that alarmed her.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

The moment she sat up in the bed, she knew. The cabin they were in had somehow changed overnight. She glanced at the window where there had once been shear curtains. Those were gone. The glass was grimy, making it difficult to see outside. Overhead, the roof of the cabin had holes in it, letting in slashes of morning light.

Odd. That wasn’t there last night.

“Come on ,” he said even more urgent.

She sprang from the bed and reached for her boots. He was already moving to the staircase as she pulled them on. She grabbed her cloak from the end of the bed and followed. Once she was at the stairs, though, she halted in confusion. The staircase was not winding as before. Instead, it was replaced by rickety steps that went straight down.

“I don’t understand,” she said, clutching the handrail.

“You said that old hag finding us was a coincidence. I think you may have been right.” He paused at the bottom of the stairs and glanced back up at her. “Let’s go.”

She took the stairs as quickly as she dared. Each one creaked and each one wobbled under her feet. By the time she was at the bottom, he was already out the door but she had paused to take another look around.

The table they sat at the previous night was covered in dust and dirt. The chairs were rickety. The fireplace that had a bright cheerful fire was now dark and cold. The kitchen was in shambles.

“What is going on?”

“Rose!” he shouted from the door.

When she snapped her head in his direction, he waved her out of the cabin. She hurried outside after him. He stood by the horses, holding the reins. When she turned to get a look at the cabin, she saw it was nothing more than a ramshackle building.

“She said be gone before daylight,” she said, gaping at the place.

“Right,” he agreed and pushed her reins into her hands. “We need to go.”

He was in the saddle and riding off before she managed a foot in the stirrup. Hurrying to catch up, she quickly mounted the horse and turned to follow him.

“You were right, Rose,” he said as the trotted away from the cabin.

“Right about what?”

He jerked his head back toward the cabin but said nothing.

“It was a spell, wasn’t it?” She didn’t know why she whispered it, but it seemed like the thing to do. As though the forest might have ears. “Was she a witch, you think?”

He flattened his lips as skepticism flickered over his face. “I don’t believe in witches.” He paused, then glanced her way. “But I do believe in faeries.”

“Faeries?” she repeated and almost laughed.

“Yes,” he said, emphatic. “Dark and evil ones.”

Her brows drew together. “You think Olga was an evil faery?”

“What else would she be?” he asked.

He sounded so convincing, she wanted to believe him. “I don’t know.”

Silence stretched between them until he finally said, “Have you never heard of one?”

“No,” she replied. “Have you?”

“Yes. I heard a story once about an evil faery who cursed a baby girl.” He gave her a surreptitious glance.

“Why would a faery do such a thing?” she demanded, clutching the reins in her hand until her fingers cramped.

“Because she was angry she wasn’t invited to—” he paused, pressing his lips together again and then finished with, “—a party.”

“Sounds petty,” she said. “What sort of curse?”

“A death curse,” he said. “That if the baby girl pricked her finger on a thorn, she would die.”

As he said it, a strange sensation came over her, almost as though she had heard this story before. But she hadn’t. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh as the strange sensation went over her.

“How awful,” she muttered.

“No one has ever told you that story?” he wanted to know.

She shook her head. “Did the baby die?”

“No,” he said. “Another faery came along and changed the curse. Instead of dying when she pricked her finger, the girl would fall into an eternal slumber.”

“Well, that’s not much better, is it?” Rosamund said. “How is the curse broken?”

“I don’t know.”

He had a strange look on his face. One she was unable to read. As though he were telling this story for a reason, yet had not revealed that reason.

“So, you think this…evil faery created the cabin for us and lured us there. For what reason?”

“To give us the map to the dragon’s treasure,” he said, as if he were speaking of nothing serious.

“And put us in the path of peril on purpose? Again, I ask for what reason?”

Rosamund considered this as they continued to ride through the trees down a well-worn path. She had thought it was strange the night before. There was something that didn’t sit right with the entire encounter with the old woman. Something that made her senses tingle.

“I have no answer to that, but I think you were right to question it,” he added. “You’re also right not to go after the treasure.”

Disappointment flooded her. It had taken a great bit of courage for her to admit she wanted to go after the treasure. The grand adventure was slipping away from her.

“You said you wanted to be a hunter,” she reminded him.

He nodded. “I did. I do.”

“And now you think we should forget about it?”

“Perhaps we should,” he said.

She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out with her objections. Last night, when she was sitting at the table with the bowl of soup, she felt there was something awry about the whole situation. But there was such a light of excitement in his eyes. It left her wondering what she was going to do to live out her days as a peasant since she wasn’t planning on returning to her life as a princess.

“Where are we headed?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“Northwest. I thought once we were out of the Mystwood Forest, we’d continue onward to Rothbridge. There are a few towns in between here and there where we can find food and rest.”

If she recalled her geography correctly, Rothbridge was a kingdom northwest of Stonebridge.

“All right,” she replied.

And though she didn’t say it, she decided she would find a way to stay behind in one of those towns and start her new life.

It was near midday. Their conversation had gone to almost nothing except for a few comments here and there. She noticed he had stuck the rolled-up map in one of his saddle bags. It was slightly smashed, the end peeking out.

Rosamund found she could not stop thinking about the dragon’s treasure. Perhaps there was a way for her to take the map and, once they split up, double back to find it herself. She hadn’t totally given up the idea.

Likely she was crazy to even think about it, but since she’d made up her mind to go, she couldn’t let it go.

“Ho there!” A voice called out.

They both twisted in the saddle to see two riders trotting toward them. It was two men. One waved in greeting, a big smile on his face.

“Bollocks,” he said under his breath and came to a halt.

She, too, halted her horse and watched as the men came forward. One was strikingly handsome with blond hair and bright blue eyes that twinkled with mirth. The other man, who looked quite similar to the first, had a serious expression on his face.

“You’re quite cunning, my prince,” the man with the serious expression said. “We thought we’d never catch up to you.”

“Prince?” She snapped her head in his direction, peering at him as question flooded her. “You’re a prince?”

“Rose—” he began.

But the man cut him off. “He is, my lady. How fortune for you to be traveling with him. I’m glad to see his reputation as a rogue continues.”

Rosamund sat rigid in the saddle as she gaped at him. Color rose high in his cheeks. He narrowed his gaze at the man, his brows drawing together in consternation.

“What are you doing here, Jeffrey?” he demanded.

“I’m here to do what I promised your mother I’d do. Take to you Myst Hall,” Jeffrey said.

A gasp exploded from her. “Myst Hall?”

A flush crept up Edward’s face as he gave her an apologetic glance. Then her eyes widened as understanding dawned. She was right to believe he was more than a peasant. She suspected a noble of some sort but she did not suspect he was Prince Phillip, her betrothed. Fury erupted through her. Fury along with a healthy dose of embarrassment.

“Prince Phillip, is it?” she asked, her tone laced with acid. “You lied to me.”

“With all due respect, princess, you lied to me, too,” he countered.

“Princess?” The one with the bright blue eyes peered at her as shock registered on his face. “This is Princess Rosamund?”

“I told you the truth,” she snapped, ignoring the outburst. “You could have done the same when you knew who I was. Yet you didn’t. You let me believe you were nothing more than a…a…peasant!”

Jeffrey chortled. But Phillip found her intended remark to be an insult. Good. She meant for it to be.

“Rose—” Phillip said.

“Do not call me that.”

She clutched the reins in her hands and did the only thing she could think of to do. She kicked her horse into action and fled.