Chapter Five

Chapter Five

By the time I caught up with everyone else, the imposter had been hustled away to the guest suite assigned to them. When I tried to bring the subject up again with my parents, they brushed me off. Father even patted my head like I was five instead of twenty-two and said, “All will be well, Freddy.”

“Rick,” I corrected.

He didn’t hear me, too focused on finishing up details for the welcome feast honoring His Highness the Fake.

To prove to them that the imposter was a fake, I needed to find out more about my opponent. I grabbed Chester from the stable—much relieved to have him instead of Primrose—and headed straight for my magic tower.

Outside of it, I looked up to the window, for some reason expecting Brandan to be staring forlornly out of it, waiting for someone to rescue him. Instead, I saw a rope made of bedsheets dangling a few feet below the edge.

That was definitely not long enough for a safe escape. Panicked, I searched the ground, worried the man desperately tried to climb out the window anyway. Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.

I only relaxed when I saw no body, no blood, and no footprints.

To the side of the tower was a small visitor’s stable that could fit two horses. Once a month, someone came out to stock it with fresh grain and supplies, but I was responsible for the rest of the upkeep. I settled Chester in one of the stalls with fresh water and an apple for his hard work, then left him to his horsey daydreams while I checked on the prince.

Unlocking the tower door, I peeked around inside. Brandan was sprawled on one couch, a book in his hand. Good, he’d settled in—that would make this much easier. He only noticed me after I stepped through the door.

Eyes widening in shock, he cried, “Don’t close the door!” He tried to get off the couch, but his legs caught in a blanket, and he faceplanted on the floor. At least he hadn’t brained himself on the table. He recovered quickly and ran toward me, hand outstretched as if he could stop the inevitable, but the door had already closed while he was fumbling around.

Still, he rattled and tugged on the knob. It refused to budge. Cursing, he ran a hand through his hair until it stuck up in wild red clumps like a campfire. He looked at me with genuine sorrow and said, “I’m so sorry, but it seems you’re locked in here with me now.”

What?

“Did that crazy bitch trick you too?”

What?

“She didn’t have to lock me up in here just because she doesn’t want to marry me,” he said morosely as he returned to the couch. He slumped and put his head in his hands, shoulders drooped in defeat.

Oh right, I was cross-dressing yesterday. Even though I’d dropped my voice at the end, he must have still believed I was Francesca. If I allowed him to keep thinking that, I could build a rapport with him and it’d be easier to convince him to cancel the wedding. And if he didn’t agree—from a sense of duty or stubbornness—I might at least get some information about the imposter. Maybe he didn’t even know there was an imposter! He might be so insulted he’d help me discover who had stolen his identity!

I opened my mouth to go along with his assumptions, except the words lodged in my throat. My sister was willing to serve our country, no matter what it cost her. Even though ruining her reputation would probably make him more eager to break off their engagement, I couldn’t let him think badly of her. “Hi,” I said, waving awkwardly, “I’m the crazy bitch.”

His head shot up and he gaped at me. “What? You mean … the princess didn’t kidnap me?”

“Nope.”

Looking me over, he grudgingly admitted, “You looked quite convincing in that dress.”

Not sure if that was supposed to be a compliment or not, I ignored it and walked to the kitchen. Any minute, he would ask who I was, and then I’d have to decide whether to keep up this honest streak or try to bluff.

Except that wasn’t what he said at all. “You’re the other one.”

I froze and glanced over my shoulder, then stumbled back. Damn stealthy bastard had snuck up on me again! Anger tightened his jaw while his brow furrowed in confusion. His hand closed around my arm and squeezed. “Frederick!”

I flinched at the strength of his grip. “Ouch.”

To my surprise, he snatched his hand away. For a second, he looked ready to apologize, then he remembered that I’d kidnapped him and grabbed for me again.

I skipped out of his reach, putting the kitchen table between us. “Wait, wait, let me explain.”

“What is there to explain?” he shouted as he chased me in circles. “You kidnapped me!”

“Yes, but don’t you want to know why?”

He stopped and narrowed his eyes at me. With him standing between me and the door, I couldn’t escape. Dammit, I should have asked that when I was on the other side of the table. “Tell me.”

“Franny doesn’t want to marry you.”

“Oh, well, thank you so much, Fred, that explains everything,” he said sarcastically. I waited for him to start chasing me again, but he seemed to recognize his advantageous position and stubbornly stayed where he was.

“Not Fred,” I muttered.

“What?”

“I go by Rick, not Fred.”

He stared at me for a long moment before demanding, “Is that all you have to say? That your sister doesn’t want to marry me and that you’re Not Fred?”

I hesitated. Like with my parents, whether or not Franny came out to him was her decision. But I didn’t have any other explanation for why she would be miserable if she married him—nothing true, at least. “Yes.”

He blinked at me. Three, big, obvious, astounded blinks. “Are you for fucking real?” Then he started chasing me again.

I dashed toward the door and somehow crashed right into him. I’d miscalculated, and he’d turned around mid-stride to catch me. He grabbed both of my arms, preventing me from jerking back in the other direction, and spun me around so I faced the table.

“What are you—” I grunted in pain as he slammed me face-first onto it. Both of my wrists trapped in one of his hands, he stretched my arms high above my head, pinning me in a position that prevented me from fighting back. “Get off of me!”

His free hand roamed over my chest, down my sides, and then back up, slipping under the edges of my waistcoat. Distracted by his touch, it took me a second to realize he was looking for the key to unlock the door. “It’s not—”

He adjusted his position, pressing himself firmly against my ass. Fuck, fuck, fuck, not good—a sound escaped me before I could cut it off.

We both froze in silence. I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the table, wishing I could disappear.

“Did you just moan?” he demanded.

“No.”

“Yes, you did!”

Thinking fast, I said, “It was a groan of pain. This position is very uncomfortable.” He’d let me go before when he’d accidentally hurt me, maybe it would work a second time.

No such luck. His hand tightened on my wrists as he exclaimed, “You were moaning during my Very Serious Escape Attempt!”

The way he capitalized those words gave it an official air that the situation did not warrant. All he’d done was pin me to a table, it was hardly a well-thought-out plan.

He’d stopped feeling me up, but he hadn’t let me go yet. “The key isn’t literal,” I finally explained.

“What?”

“The key that opens and locks the door isn’t literal. Otherwise, anyone could just steal it and unlock the tower.”

He finally released me. When I stood up, my knees wobbled a little. Purely from relief to be away from him, of course. I straightened my waistcoat and tucked the loose edges of my shirt more firmly into my pants before turning to face him. In that time, he’d put as much distance between us as the little kitchen allowed.

“So,” he said, crossing his arms, “I’m at your mercy. What do you want in exchange to release me? A promise that I won’t cheat on your sister?”

I snorted. He and Franny could probably work out a deal where they both pursued whoever they wanted. Honestly, their bigger problem would probably be competing for the same ladies.

His face darkened. “Whatever you’ve heard, I can be faithful.”

Apparently, he’d interpreted my snort as doubt in him. “I believe you,” I replied solemnly.

“Then what is the problem?”

“You see, Brandan—”

“Brendon.”

“Sorry, right, it’s just—” I paused. The silence stretched between us as I tried to articulate my reasons. “I want her to be able to marry for love. Not because of some spell.”

He ran his hand over his face, stretching his eyes out in a weird way. “Don’t you think we all want that? But the defense spell is the only thing keeping the Desolated Lands from, you know, becoming actually desolated.”

“Do you have a sister?” I asked. “Or a female cousin? Someone else who could fulfill the conditions?”

He looked at me oddly for a moment, then rolled his eyes. “What, you want to take your sister’s place?”

“I could,” I said quietly.

“So, your sister deserves to marry for love, but you don’t? My hypothetical cousins don’t?”

I didn’t have a reply for that.

He sighed. “No sister, no cousins. Not from Bane, anyway.”

Since he was answering my questions willingly, I asked, “What about a brother?” Maybe that was who had come in the suit of armor.

His lips pressed into a thin line. “So, the problem is me? As long as it’s not me, the marriage can go through?”

“No!” If a man would have worked, Franny could do a lot worse than Brendon. “It’s just, someone arrived at the castle wearing a full suit of armor claiming to be you.”

“Oh, that would be Kit.”

The quick answer shocked me—he didn’t even have to think about it. “Who’s Kit?” I remembered hearing that name last night.

“My bodyguard.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Part of their job is to act as my stand-in during dangerous situations. We kind of look alike, from a distance, so they’re supposed to be the ones who are attacked or kidnapped in my stead.”

“They did a shit job.”

“No one expected the princess to kidnap me.” Scowling, he added, “And you weren’t even the real princess.”

“There’s a lot of that going around.”

Brendon snorted, then looked disgusted by his own amusement. “Anyway, if you planned on embarrassing me and blaming Bane for the lapse in the spell by making it look like I was the one with cold feet, it’s not going to work.” He walked past me into the main room and flopped onto the couch, covering his eyes with his arm.

“What are you doing?” I asked. He looked so … defeated. I wasn’t trying to demoralize him, I just wanted Fran to be happy.

“I’m tired of looking at you, Not Fred.”

“Rick,” I muttered.

He ignored me. “Why don’t you go back to the castle and leave me alone? Since you’re not going to let me out anyway.”

I edged toward the door, worried he would spring up and attack me as soon as I lowered my guard. He just continued lying on the couch, a sad little princely lump. I reached for the door in slow motion, giving him plenty of time. He never moved.

Dammit, I’d been trying to rescue my sister, but somehow I’d ended up the villain of our story.