Chapter 6

R osamund was required to attend dinner with her parents and the visiting royals that evening. She was a ball of nervous energy as she sat at the table through each and every course, her hands clasped in her lap when she wasn’t eating. Her mother eyed her from across the table, clearly aware of her fidgeting.

She gave her one of her motherly looks that indicated she wanted her to stop.

Rosamund stilled her hands in her lap and put on her best calm face. But her mother likely suspected she was up to something. And she was.

That afternoon, when she returned to her room, she paced the length of it, trying to decide what to pack. Certainly not gowns. They wouldn’t do if she were to go into the woods or even one of the local villages. She didn’t need to look like a princess. She needed to look like a commoner.

When her maid, Lucy, arrived to dress her for dinner, she eyed the girl up and down and realized with some hope they were close to the same size. Rosamund was a bit taller than she was but even so, she was sure her plan would work.

Well, almost sure.

After dinner, she planned to make her way into the kitchen to filch whatever food she could find to take with her. Since she didn’t know where her next meal would come from, she wanted to be prepared. She also thought about grabbing a water skin to take with her. Then her plan was to sneak into Lucy’s room and take one of her rough-spun gowns to wear.

“Rosamund?” Her mother’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts and she startled.

“Yes?” She sat up straighter and looked at her mother across the table.

“Queen Adele asked you a question.” Her mother’s eyes glinted with annoyance.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear it. What was the question?” Rosamund flushed to the roots of her hair under the stern gaze of her mother.

Queen Adele chuckled. “Were you someplace else, dear? You looked lost in thought.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “I suppose I was.”

“I asked if you gave any thought to what your gown might look like,” the queen asked.

“Ah…” Brows drawn together, she looked to her mother who lifted a brow, clearly expecting an answer. “I haven’t actually. All of this happened so suddenly.”

Her mother frowned. But Adele was sympathetic.

“Yes, I suppose it did. Since you had no knowledge of the betrothal until today.”

For a moment, Rosamund thought she could be friends with the queen. Her mother’s frown deepened at Queen Adele’s response. Though the woman didn’t cut her mother a knowing, accusatory glance, her tone said it all.

Her father cleared his throat loudly. “I do realize what an error in judgement it was to keep it from you, Rosamund, but we thought it was for the best.”

“For the best for you?” she fired.

Her mother continued to glare and frown.

“It was likely due to the Fae Royals—” Reginald began.

“That’s enough, Reginald,” Adele interrupted.

Rosamund’s brows drew together in question. “What about the Fae royals?”

“They were guests at your christening,” her father said, his gaze firmly planted on his plate.

Her mother signaled the servants and changed the subject. “How about dessert?”

But Rosamund was confused. She had never heard this about her christening. Certainly, she knew the nobility had come, but the Fae royals?

“Why did they come?” she asked, peering down the table at her father.

He was busy sawing through a piece of beef tenderloin. “I invited them.” As he said this, he stabbed the meat with his fork and popped it into his mouth.

“I think that’s enough of that talk,” her mother said.

The servants arrived to clear away the dinner dishes. Her father looked forlorn when they took his plate away with the half-eaten tenderloin. In its place, they placed a dessert plate with a large slab of cake on it.

When they placed the cake in front of Rosamund, though, she merely stared at it. Her mouth had gone dry and she’d lost her appetite.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” she said, then lifted her gaze to her mother. “May I be excused?”

Her mother said nothing for along moment as she considered her request.

“I’m very tired,” Rosamund added.

Finally, her mother nodded. “Very well.”

She pushed from the table and placed her napkin in her chair. The exit to the dining room seemed so far away and it took everything in her not to bolt into a run. Instead, she kept her hands by her side and took perfect, slow steps toward the door. Finally at the door, she pushed it open and slipped out.

But as she did so, she heard Queen Adele say, “Poor thing. I daresay it was a bit of a shock.”

Rosamund skittered away from the door. While she wanted to stay and eavesdrop, she had other tasks to tend. She hurried away from the dining hall and headed for the kitchen. She knew there were servants hard at work, including the cook, but she hoped she could slip in and out unnoticed.

At the doorway, she paused, listening to the cacophony. Voices chattering, dishes clattering, water sloshing. The smell of roasted meat and vegetables wafted to her—remnants of their dinner. She peered around the corner. Most everyone was busy with their own tasks.

She spied a basket of fruit on the far counter. That would work. Next to that, half a loaf of bread. That would work, too.

Stepping into the kitchen, she worked her way down the long wall, past the open oven and to the counter. She snatched the basket off the counter, then reached for the loaf. But she paused, glancing at the bustling kitchen.

No one noticed her.

She grabbed the loaf and tucked it into the basket. Another quick glance around and she spied a discarded kitchen towel that looked relatively clean. She snagged it and threw it over the basket to cover the stolen property.

Then she inched her way back out of the kitchen. At the door, she was home free. She hurried out and then dashed down the long hallway, her heart ramming hard in her chest and her breathing rapid.

She’d done it! So far, her plan was working out.

Next, she had to find Lucy’s room. She continued down the long corridor, going deeper into the castle than she’d ever been. She wasn’t all that familiar with the servant’s area, but she had a general idea of where Lucy’s room was. Voices made her halt in the corridor. She pressed her back against the cold stone wall, her heart in her throat as her breath came in quick pants. She dared not breathe.

“Good night, Mrs. Peeler.” It was Lucy’s voice.

The girl must be heading up to help her change since she assumed dinner was over or close to over. Rosamund held her breath and waited until at last the girl came into view and headed down the hallway.

Right for her.

Her gaze immediately landed on her and she halted, peering at her in surprise. Her mouth formed a silent O.

“Princess?” she asked, her voice a rough whisper. “Was there something you needed?”

“Ah…” Rosamund remained in place, her back against the wall. Her hands started to shake.

Lucy’s gaze flickered to the basket she held, then back up to her face. She frowned, question evident on her face as she tried to puzzle out why the princess loitered in the servant’s wing holding a basket of food.

“Are you lost?” the girl asked.

“No,” Rosamund said, finally finding her voice. “I need your help.”

“My help?” She drew up taller as she gazed at her, perplexed. “Of course, princess. Whatever you need.”

She almost snorted. When Lucy discovered what she needed, she may not be so ready to help. “Where is your room?”

Again, she gave her a confused look and then pointed. “Just there.”

It was only a few steps away. “Let’s go in there and I’ll tell you what I need.” She motioned for her to lead the way.

Lucy did and Rosamund fell in step behind her. The girl stopped at the first door and pushed it open, then stood aside for Rosamund to enter. The room was tiny and sparsely furnished, not at all the lavish suite she lived in. There was one narrow, lumpy bed with a few blankets and a pillow. A well-worn book rested on the middle of the bed. The mattress looked to be straw, not feather like hers. A table was next to the bed with a candleholder and one long taper that was lit to give the room a faint, warm glow. On the other side, a chamber pot and a small wardrobe that likely held the girl’s clothes.

“You live here?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise.

“Yes, your highness.” Lucy blushed, her cheeks turning a pale pink as she followed her in and closed the door.

The room was so small. So stuffy. And no window. How did she live like this?

“It’s not as lavish as your suite, of course,” the girl said, apologetic. “How can I help you?”

Rosamund stood a long moment in the center of the room, taking it all in. “Do all the servants live in rooms like this?”

“Most of us,” she said. “Except for the ones who have more seniority. Their rooms are a bit bigger.”

Rosamund thought of the scullery maid that had the worst job of all. Emptying chamber pots and scrubbing floors, the stove, pots and pans and cleaning vegetables, plucking chickens and scaling fish. Lucy, however, didn’t have a physical job like that. She was allowed to dress her in her fine gowns and style her hair. If she left the castle and her life of luxury behind, would she end up as a servant in someone’s household?

“Your highness?” Lucy asked. “You said you needed my help?”

She shook herself out of her thoughts. “Yes, I did, and well, perhaps I was wrong.”

She peered at the small wardrobe, wondering how many gowns the girl had. Certainly not nearly the number she had in her wardrobe. Gowns for every day and every occasion. She couldn’t bring herself to take one of the girl’s gowns. She’d just have to find something else to wear.

“Shall I accompany you back to your room and help you prepare for bed?” the girl asked.

“No,” Rosamund said, too quickly. “I can handle it myself.”

Lucy was clearly baffled by her strange behavior. She eyed the basket again on her arm. “Are you certain? The laces on your dress—”

“Oh! Of course.” Rosamund flushed. There was no way she would be able to remove the dress herself. She’d definitely need help.

“If I may ask, your highness, why do you have a basket on your arm?”

Feeling foolish, she uncovered the fruit and the bread. Lucy peered down at the basket, then glanced back up her. The surprise was evident on her face followed by question. Rosamund blew out a breath.

“This is just for later. Sometimes I get hungry in the night,” she lied.

Lucy looked as though she didn’t believe her, but said nothing. “I see.”

“Why don’t you walk me to my room?” she said, suddenly, trying to change the subject. “You can help me prepare for bed.”

Still, she did not have suitable clothing for sneaking out into the night, but she’d worry about that later. She hooked her arm in Lucy’s, plastered on her best smile, and together, they left and headed to her chamber.