‘Your Highness, you must now come with us.’
Oh, God, no. No! She had thought she would have longer...
Princess Livia watched the armoured men stride up the aisle of the hall towards her and felt her heart submerge in despair. She had known the Byzantine emperor might one day send for her. Her father had warned her this would happen. And yet, she had been living in denial, hoping it would never come to pass.
‘His Royal Sovereign Emperor, Alexios Brasilenius demands that you honour the agreement your father made and join him in Constantinople as his bride,’ the leader of the men said, from behind the cold steel covering of his helmet.
So, Alexios had sent his entourage all this way, along the river road and through the Alps to do his bidding. If he was that enamoured with her, why hadn’t he come himself? And instead of sending ambassadors, armed with coercive words of love and affection, he had sent his military, armed with weapons—soldiers to seize her and force her into doing her duty. Livia could have wept.
King of the Romans, her father had presented her to the Byzantine emperor at his bride show in Constantinople four winters before. The Great City had been resistant to her father’s claim to emperorship in the West and his incursions into the south of Italy, so he had attempted to win them over by offering her hand.
She remembered the cool breeze from the ocean, the majesty of the imperial white palace rising before her—and the swirling sickness in her stomach as she’d been trussed up and put on display for the young emperor’s pleasure. She hadn’t wanted to disappoint her father, but she had desperately hoped Alexios wouldn’t glance her way.
But he had, and her fate had been sealed.
She shivered at the memory of his blue eyes running brutally over her body, making her skin crawl. He had chosen her as his bride and she had felt her life—her freedom—slipping away. Panicked, she’d had no other choice but to flee, then plead for extra time from afar...
Her father had brokered a deal for four winters’ grace, until she and Alexios had matured, and she had sought sanctuary at her late mother’s castle in Harzburg, hoping this day would never catch up with her. Now she was eighteen winters old, it seemed she had finally been hunted and tracked down.
She knew she was more fortunate than most, to have had this time for herself. And she knew her only role—her duty—was to make a good marriage alliance, one that would help her family and her empire. But still, she couldn’t come to terms with the fact that she had to leave her home. That she had to be a wife to a man she barely knew.
‘My father made that agreement when I was just a child,’ she said, boldly attempting to stand up to the uniformed men. She wondered if the king would have made the same deal now. After all, during the years that had passed, his firstborn—her brother, Otto—had died, making her the king’s sole heir. Whereas previously her hand in marriage had been a gesture of goodwill, if she were to be elected as queen now, it would mean a union of two great empires. It would place a foreigner on the throne of the Holy Roman Empire.
‘It has been four winters. More than enough time for you to get used to the idea.’
She didn’t think any amount of time would be long enough for her to come to terms with it. Who was this man dressed in head-to-toe leather and chain-mail, who was so unfeeling, so unsympathetic?
‘Are you going back on the agreement, Your Highness? I would hate to return to the emperor and have to tell him the word of your king cannot be trusted.’
Her heart jammed in her chest.
‘No...my father’s word still stands,’ she said stoically. ‘I’m merely saying he has raised me to follow my own counsel—and I have questions before I agree to leave the safety of my home with someone who hasn’t even had the courtesy to introduce themselves,’ she clipped.
Slowly removing his polished helmet, shaking out his full head of outrageously long hair, she took a sharp intake of breath as the man’s face came into view. ‘I am Destin, Your Highness. Bodyguard to the Byzantine emperor, a commander of his Royal Guard.’
For a moment, she felt off balance, blinded by his striking looks. Despite his swarthy skin being ravaged by silvery scars, he was darkly attractive. With a slash of thick eyebrows and a wide jaw, covered in unkempt stubble, and a dynamic, broad frame, he was a man in his prime. He had a dominant air of confidence about him and when she looked into his sharp, ebony eyes, she felt a lurch of awareness. They were deep—almost black. Hard and forbidding.
She had recognised his uniform of the Varangian Guard—she had seen the burgundy cloak and dragon emblem before, when she had visited Constantinople. Her father had explained that most of the emperor’s men were hired mercenaries with barbaric reputations... Was this man a pagan from the north? It would certainly explain his rough exterior. And she was well-educated. She had studied enough languages to know his tongue had a Norse influence.
He was taller, more muscular, more formidable than any other man in the hall. More everything than any other man she’d ever come into contact with. And his powerful body had a peculiar impact on her own, as if she had suddenly been shaken awake.
She tried desperately not to stare at the prominent, ragged marks etched into his face and wonder how his left arm was out of use—bent at the elbow, covered in a splint and strapped tightly across his chest. Were they all battle wounds he had suffered?
The tall, dark warrior appeared to have caused a stir in her hall, too, exciting whispers from the lords and ladies about his arm, his fierceness, but the man was unflinching, showing no signs of hearing them. Instead, his cold, assessing eyes remained trained on hers and her heart began to pound out an erratic beat.
His men were like a body of troops in close ranks—like the phalanx of their infantry, surrounding her. It was as if they were planning to lead her away to her execution, not her wedding... But she was not about to be pressured into going anywhere, despite their intimidation tactics—at least not without knowing it was still her father’s wish that she did this.
‘Speaking of my father... Did Emperor Alexios receive word from our king before he sent you?’ she asked, giving a defiant thrust of her chin.
‘I met with your father just seven days ago, Your Highness. In fact, he was the one who told me where to find you.’
Her hope all but left her, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of being pursued, stalked by a predator, of being trapped.
‘Now that I have, it is imperative I speak with you. Alone.’
She frowned, her skin prickling with anticipation. She couldn’t be left alone with this man—he was the embodiment of danger!
‘Commander?’ she queried, her eyes drifting to his arm again. Could he ride, fight and defend with such an injury? ‘You can say whatever you need to say to me here.’
‘What I need to say must be said in private, between the two of us, Princess Livia,’ he urged, lowering his tone. And she had the feeling he never gave in. That he was unable to compromise.
She pressed her lips together, her chest tightening. She didn’t have to speak with him. She could say no. And yet a curious part of her was telling her to listen to him. He had piqued her interest, making her wonder why she needed to hear what he was going to say, away from the prying eyes and ears of the court. Perhaps he had a message from her father...and perhaps it would make it easier to oppose his demands to take her away without an audience.
Her eyes darted around, wondering for a moment if she could even escape, make a run for it if she sent the nobles and his men away. But she was older now, her days of running away were behind her. Besides, she could see her unwelcome visitor had soldiers guarding each of the doors and he would no doubt give chase.
She was aware he was waiting for an answer and she forced her mouth to move.
‘Very well,’ she said, rising out of her chair and drawing herself up to full height, giving the commander a challenging stare. ‘Leave us,’ she commanded her court.
Gasps and mutterings echoed around the room.
‘Your Highness—’ her chief advisor protested. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘Leave us,’ she said again, sterner than before. And her advisor bowed and began to retreat at once, and the rest of the lords and ladies in the hall began to move too.
The commander held her in his gaze until the last of the people filtered out of the room, all whispering and muttering, finally closing the door behind them, and the silence stretched. She was excruciatingly aware of him. She had never seen such an imposing man.
‘Well?’ she said curtly. ‘What is it that you want to say to me, Commander? This had better be good.’
He took a dominating step towards her. ‘I have come to tell you your position here is precarious, Your Highness. You must leave with me immediately.’
‘The life of a royal is precarious,’ she said. ‘You tell me nothing I don’t already know.’
‘I’m not finished!’ he bit out. ‘What I am about to say may come as a shock...you may want to sit down,’ he said, gesturing to her seat.
She shook her head stubbornly.
‘All right,’ he said slowly, as if he was trying to find the right words. ‘It’s your father, Highness... I am sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but the king is dying.’
It took a moment for the words to hit home.
‘What?’ she gasped, her hand coming across her chest. Of all the things she’d been expecting him to say, it hadn’t been that. She felt herself sway slightly, and he reached out to grip her arm. But his long fingers curling around her elbow did nothing to reassure her—instead, his touch sent unsettling heat rippling across her skin.
‘You were sent word he was injured in battle in his campaign into southern Italy, yes?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, but we were told it wasn’t serious.’
‘Your father and his council didn’t want to cast doubt or cause unrest among his people. Not until your safety has been secured. Only a handful of people know. His wound is infected. He is in excruciating pain.’
Her throat closed in fear and she cast off his hand, lowering herself back down into her seat, her legs feeling weak. ‘Are you certain?’ she muttered.
‘I saw it for myself. I’m sorry, Your Highness.’
‘But is there not a possibility he might yet recover?’ she said.
She wasn’t ready to hear of her father’s passing—or of her possible ascension to the throne. Despite the years of preparation, she wondered if she would ever be ready for either. She had lost her mother when she was a girl; she did not want to be parted from her father too. And to be queen at such a young age...
And yet she knew that on the death of a king, succession was not hereditary. This would throw the empire into chaos. The next Holy Roman Emperor would have to be elected by an Electoral College. If Otto had been alive, he would no doubt have had the greater claim than anyone to secure the crown, but she was a woman, and she knew she was at risk of losing the title to a man. But who?
‘The healers are doing all that they can. But the infection is spreading. Word will slowly get out and it will cause instability among the people. I have come to escort you to Constantinople quickly and safely...’
Safely? With him? If the situation hadn’t been so fraught, she might have laughed. There was nothing safe about this man...
‘Surely I am needed in Rome, my own empire, not Constantinople right now? I need to be there, at my father’s side. To be there for our people.’
‘It is not safe for you here,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘We have heard of a plot to remove you from the line to the throne. We must secure your marriage to the Byzantine emperor before that can happen.’
The room began to spin. Her father was dying. And now there were rumours of an assassination attempt on her life?
‘A plot by whom?’
‘Your uncle, Prince Lothair, Your Highness.’
‘No!’ she said, aghast. ‘He wouldn’t—’ she said, shaking her head fiercely.
‘He has. He is. Prince Lothair was at the palace at the same time I was. He was privy to learning of your father’s pain. He left swiftly after, and we believe he may have tried to rally support among some of the nobles. You must know many dislike the thought of a woman, and one of your age, petitioning the Electoral College and coming to power when your father dies... We think he intends to fight you for the crown, and stop any chance, no matter how slim, of you coming to power.’
No matter how slim...
‘You give your opinion rather freely, Commander. If my chances are so small at being successful, why does my uncle see me as a threat? Why is he so determined to remove me?’
‘It is easier to prevent something from happening in the first place...’
‘Than have to go up against me later...’ she finished for him.
‘Your Highness, we need to get you to Emperor Alexios immediately. A husband and an ally might help to secure your position.’
‘You think so?’ she bit out.
So this was why the emperor had sent for her after all this time. If word had reached him of her father’s possible demise, now he knew that if something were to happen to her and the Roman king he was at risk of losing all the lands and wealth she would have brought with her to the marriage.
Oh, God, she hoped her dear father would survive...
‘I wonder, is the emperor interested in me, or instead all that he is set to inherit through our marriage?’
‘I would not assume to know the emperor’s feelings on the matter. But if you are to petition to be queen, many believe you need a man to help you rule here.’
‘I do not!’ she said, launching herself out of her seat once more. His patronising words sent a shaft of anger through her blood. ‘Perhaps my people do not wish to see my marriage take place, for fear of a foreigner ascending our throne... Perhaps the emperor should take note and find another bride...’
The commander’s reprimanding gaze narrowed on her. ‘Your people might see an ally in Constantinople. What is it, Princess? Your father is agreeable to the match, why aren’t you? Do you not wish to marry?’
No! She did not wish to marry Alexios, she thought miserably... And she did not want to lose authority to a man. Someone who would use her as a puppet, for power—to claim her lands for himself.
‘That is none of your concern!’
It was interesting Alexios had only sent for her now that her father was dying. Now that he realised what was at stake. If they wed before her father died, the terms would still stand. If she became queen afterwards, then the prize would be great indeed. Alexios would be ruler of not one but two empires. And yet she did not want to lose her throne to her uncle either. But she wasn’t about to share any of that with this man. A stranger...
‘Isn’t it? Seems it is as I’ve been sent all this way to fetch you and take you to Constantinople. Perhaps I would understand your reservations about coming with me if you explained.’
He had such a commanding presence, she had to will her legs to stop trembling. She had to force herself to stand up to him.
‘I do not have to explain myself to you! And I don’t believe my father sent you... I would have heard directly from the palace. He would have sent his own men to fetch his heir, not a foreign convoy.’
He reached inside his leather vest, behind his armoured sling, and pulled out a delicate piece of material. ‘He said you wouldn’t believe me. He told me to give you this.’
Her fingers reached out to curl over the square of embroidery. It had belonged to her mother, a long time ago, and Livia had slept with it when she was a child, to give her comfort. She felt a sob rise in her throat, the tears burning behind her eyes, and forced them away. She would never let this man see her torment.
‘I was sent to Rome to find you, but met with your father instead. He agreed it would be safer for you in Constantinople right now. He welcomed Alexios’s support in protecting you. He thought my men might be less sought out than his on this mission.’ He stepped towards her. ‘Let us not argue the details any more—or forget that we both have a duty that we need to fulfil.’
She swallowed. Duty. It always came back to that, didn’t it? She felt it like a weight strapped to her feet, pulling her down, deeper and deeper. She knew she couldn’t escape the agreement that had been made four winters before to link their empires through marriage. She knew she had been given longer than she ever hoped for. And she knew she couldn’t break her father’s word.
‘You are very insistent. I wonder, Commander, what’s in it for you? What do you get as a reward for taking me there? You are a hired mercenary, yes? Is coin your motivation?’
‘One of them.’
‘And if you return empty-handed?’
‘Then neither of us will have fulfilled our promise. You should know I live by three rules, Your Highness—courage, conduct and fealty—and I will not be moved on any of them. If you deny Emperor Alexios, he will see it as an affront and you will lose your own honour and respect, as well as an ally at a time when it seems you need one the most.’
‘Is that a threat?’ she asked, her eyes narrowing on him.
‘It is advice, Your Highness. Let the emperor try to help secure your throne. It would be far better for Alexios to govern your people alongside you, peacefully, than to lose your crown entirely.’
I have no choice, she thought, shaking her head.
‘He must think a lot of you to send you. To trust you.’
‘Yes,’ he said, giving nothing else away.
‘All right, Commander, I will come with you,’ she said, tipping her face up to look at him, accepting her fate. ‘But I do have one condition of my own.’
He stepped towards her, and his large, intimidating body was just a breath away from hers. A muscle flickered in his cheek. ‘I don’t make concessions.’
No, she believed that.
‘Do not forget that if I marry your leader, you will bend the knee to me also, will you not?’ she asked.
His right hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.
‘I will go with you to Constantinople,’ she continued. ‘But you will take me to see my father in Rome on the way. We need to pass through there anyway, do we not?’ She needed to see her father, to see if all this man was saying was true. She needed to look the king in the eyes to verify whether this marriage alliance was what he still wanted for her—that there was no way out. And if he was as ill as the commander was saying, she wanted to say her goodbyes.
The man gave a short, sharp nod. ‘Very well. We leave at first light. But I will determine the route we take. And it will be just you, no entourage—’
‘But...’
He held up his hand to silence her. ‘We will be more conspicuous if you bring a convoy. We can send for your maids and advisors after we have reached Constantinople.’
Could she really travel alone with this man and his soldiers?
‘Then you and your men are staying for this evening’s meal—and for the night?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded, moving away from her. ‘I will make sure we won’t cause you any trouble.’
She watched his broad frame and tall legs move as he stalked towards the door. Trouble...he had been here less than an hour and she already felt her whole world had been turned upside down.
Destin was impressed. He had expected tears. He had expected Princess Livia to try to run. But he hadn’t expected to come up against this stoic—and stunning—woman.
Looking around the small hall, decorated simply with wall hangings and a few shields, the people talking jovially, she had created a well-run home here. But it was rather modest for a princess, the daughter of the Roman king. She must know she had an even grander home waiting for her in Constantinople—that she was destined for greater things. He wondered why she had hidden herself away here, amid the rugged countryside in the mountains, far away from her father’s grand and glamorous court in Rome. A woman of her age and status usually wanted to be seen. And yet she had bloomed in such harsh conditions, like the alpine flowers he’d seen on his way here, springing up from the barren landscape of the mountains, their vibrancy taking you by surprise.
Tucking into his meal of meat and vegetables, he stole a glance at her, watching her push her food around her bowl with her spoon, barely eating. She had grown up since the last time he’d seen her, when she had participated in Alexios’s bride show. Back then, she had been a plain, graceless girl, holding herself awkwardly. But in the winters that had passed she had blossomed into a beautiful maiden. The emperor would be pleased. Perhaps it would ease Alexios’s own reservations about marriage.
She had smooth olive skin; high, sculpted cheekbones and sparkling jewel-like golden-brown eyes. Her hair was silky black—like the colour of the figs on the trees in Constantinople, and just like them, she was carefully cultivated, with a delicate, ornamental quality about her. She wore a simple blue silk tunic, and a dark stola pinned over the top with brooches, yet her slender body beneath made him think of that ripe, pink flesh of the sweet fruit...
Helvete!
His response to her was instinctive. He had felt the bolt of awareness, like an arrow shot from a crossbow. His body had unexpectedly hardened, reacting to hers. It was most inconvenient. The last thing he needed was to be attracted to the emperor’s bride. He was oath-bound to fetch the sovereign’s runaway empress from Saxony and deliver her to Constantinople for their wedding. He had accepted the task with a great sense of duty—and he could be condemned to death just for thinking about her like this. She was forbidden and he must never forget it.
Her eyes had widened as he’d removed his helmet. They’d flickered over the ugly scars on his face, before drifting down to his arm strapped across his chest. He was used to it, of course he was—the curiosity, the stares and the whispers—but it never made it any easier. And he was certain it was one of the reasons he’d been chosen for this task. Yes, he was one of the emperor’s commanders, and he had proved himself in battle time and time again. But he felt sure he had been chosen not just because of his prowess on the battlefield, so that he would be able to keep her safe, but because of the way he looked. If anyone was going to spend days travelling in close proximity to the emperor’s bride-to-be, it made sense for it to be him—a man no woman could ever find attractive.
Princess Livia looked lost in thought, and he felt the prickle of guilt that he was the cause of her melancholy—a dark stranger descending on her peace and happiness, bringing her distressing news of her father’s failing health and her uncle’s deceit. He had been forceful in his demands that she leave with him, and he hadn’t missed the tension in her body, the way her arms had protectively wrapped around her waist. He had sensed her reluctance—to leave this place and be wed. But he was just the messenger, sent to fetch her—she was the one who had agreed to this marriage! She and her father were the ones who were responsible for the union. And this alliance would still make her empress of an empire, if she wasn’t successful in securing her own crown here. He couldn’t understand her objections. Most women would aspire to make such an advantageous marriage. To live a life of exceptional privilege.
All of a sudden some of the men he’d sent out on a scouting party burst through the doors, causing a commotion. ‘They’re here, Commander!’
He launched himself out of his chair, his right hand instinctively reaching for his sword, and he felt Princess Livia’s eyes swing to look at him across the room.
He beckoned the men to approach, but eager to hear what they had to say, he met them halfway, his long legs carrying him quickly across the hall. ‘We scoured the surrounding forests and fields. All was quiet. We had just begun our return journey when we saw a convoy of men approaching from the east. They will be upon the gates before this feast has ended.’
‘How many?’
‘Forty. Maybe fifty.’
The princess’s delicate, floral scent drifted under his nose, alerting Destin to the fact that she had crossed the distance between them and reached his side, before she even spoke. ‘Who is it?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘There are men approaching the fortress,’ he informed her.
‘They fly the banners of the phoenix, Commander,’ his man said.
‘My uncle...’ she whispered, her hand coming up to her lips.
‘Man the walls. Prepare all the men for battle,’ Destin said.
She gasped. ‘No! There will be no fighting here. I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me. I will speak with my uncle, try to appeal to—’
‘No,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘That is honourable, Your Highness, but we cannot risk Prince Lothair and his men seeing you. We don’t know what they’re prepared to do, how far they’re prepared to go to secure his claim to the crown. They must be told you’re not here. We must leave now.’
Her beautiful golden eyes were round and wide. ‘Surely it would be better to stay? The castle is impregnable. We are safer here, where we can defend ourselves should we need to. My men will protect me, I will stay hidden...’
He shook his head unwaveringly, staring down at her. ‘They might decide to lay siege—hold you captive while they make arrangements for your uncle to ascend the throne. We must get you away from here.’
‘But I haven’t had time to gather my belongings... And what about my people?’
‘I fear you will put them in more danger by being here. It gives your uncle’s men a reason to stay. No,’ he said, determined, consulting no one. ‘I must get you to Constantinople.’
He turned to his men. ‘Ready the horses. Tell the guards on the gate to be on alert. They are to inform these visitors that the princess departed days ago.’
They instantly moved into action, not questioning his command. He released his hand on his sword to take the princess by the arm. ‘Let’s get what you need for the journey and go.’
The impact of their skin touching was disturbing. He had felt it earlier, when he’d told her of her father’s failing health. It had been the only time during their interaction that she had faltered. Now he felt the frisson of heat again in his fingertips.
He led her out of the hall, but as soon as they reached the corridor, she swung out of his grasp.
‘I can walk by myself!’ she spat. ‘And I don’t appreciate being ordered about. I am in charge here.’
‘It’s for your own good, Highness.’
‘Is it?’
She strode down the corridor and he tried to keep pace with her. When she finally reached a doorway and halted, his body collided with hers—and the reaction in his lower body was instant. He drew in a sharp breath.
‘Do you mind?’ she bit out.
She pushed open the door and stepped inside, before looking back at him, hesitant.
‘This is your room?’ he asked, scanning the corridor, before ducking his head inside the chamber to check it was safe.
‘Yes.’
He took in the huge bed in the centre, scattered with furs, and the trunks overflowing with clothes and trinkets. Silk tunics and an array of stolas lay abandoned on the floor, where she’d undressed and discarded them.
‘You’re not coming in. You can wait there,’ she demanded.
‘It doesn’t look like there’s any room to move in there anyway.’ He smirked.
Her eyes narrowed on him and she opened her mouth to bite back a retort when there was the sound of an almighty commotion outside, followed by shouts and screams coming from the hall. They shared a look.
‘Inside. Now.’
He backed her into the room and closed the door behind him.
‘What are you doing?’ she screeched. ‘You can’t be in here!’
‘That’s the least of your concerns at the moment, Highness. Now grab what you need so we can get going. Bring as many layers as you can.’
As many layers as she could wear would be good if only to cover her gentle curves and put as much material between them as possible. His body was still responding to the impact of colliding with her out in the corridor, and being in this confined space, her opulent bed standing between them, her scent wrapping around him... What was the matter with him? He needed to get himself together.
‘We’ll be taking the Via Imperii and the mountain pass through the Alps to Rome. It’s a dangerous path. And it’s going to be cold where we’re heading. Despite the fact we’re coming into summer, there will still be snowfields...’
‘I have made the journey before,’ she informed him.
‘By horse?’
‘And cart.’
‘Ah,’ he said.
‘What was that noise? What do you think’s going on?’ she said, rummaging around in her trunks, pulling out a cloak and a satchel, and beginning to stuff it with clothes. He noticed her slender fingers were trembling.
‘I don’t know. It sounds like your uncle’s men aren’t wasting any time. Perhaps they don’t believe you’re not here.’ He looked at the handful of silk in her hand and frowned. ‘Bring something...less arresting. We will want to go unnoticed. You’ll want to blend in.’
If that was even possible. She was stunningly beautiful. She had been born to be looked at for all the right reasons, unlike him. He had always been stared at because of his arm, for being different.
Still on alert, he checked the corridor again. It went against every bone in his body not to go outside and help his men, to find out what was happening, but he also didn’t trust anyone but himself with the princess’s safety. He had to get her out of here. It was what he’d been ordered to do. It was his task and his alone.
Turning around, he saw Princess Livia was sitting on the bed, tugging on a pair of long boots and he caught a flash of pale, creamy skin at her ankle. His mouth dried.
‘Hurry up,’ he whispered.
Finally, she appeared beside him, wrapping her cloak around her.
‘Ready?’ he asked.
‘If I have to be.’
He took the satchel from her and slowly opened the door and checked the corridor again.
The sound of metal clashing and men roaring sent a chill down his spine. He could hear the release of arrows and the pelting sound of bodies being hit. This was worse than he’d thought. He had hoped Prince Lothair might want to just keep her prisoner while he tried to usurp the throne, but he was clearly willing to do anything to remove Princess Livia from her position.
‘At least my men are here to help your guards put up some resistance. It will allow for a distraction for us to get out of here. Is there another way out, apart from the main gate?’
‘Your men aren’t coming with us? It’s just us?’ she asked, panicked.
‘Looks like it, for now. They’ll have to catch up with us when it’s safe to do so.’
She nodded slowly, reluctantly accepting what he’d said. ‘There’s the well and a secret passage. It leads us out into the forest at the bottom of the mountains.’
He nodded. ‘Then that’s what we’ll do.’
‘But what about the horses? We can’t make the journey to Rome on foot.’
‘Getting you out of here unseen is my main concern right now. We’ll worry about finding some horses later. Which way?’
She gestured with her head, and he took her upper arm again and propelled her forward.
She immediately shrugged him off. ‘Don’t touch me!’
A group of soldiers ran past them in the corridor. ‘Man the gates. Get the women and children to safety. Don’t give up the princess’s whereabouts,’ he barked out to them, and they nodded, heeding his command.
He followed her along the corridor to some winding steps which led them down and down, deeper into the basement of the castle.
She kept glancing back behind her, as noises of the skirmish carried on above them.
‘Do not fear. You have my sword and protection, Highness.’
She looked back at him. ‘Can you even fight like that?’ she said tautly.
His eyes narrowed on her in the darkness, as he took two steps at once. ‘Like what?’
‘I’m just wondering why the emperor and my father thought you were the best person to fetch and protect me. How can you fight if one of your arms has already been injured?’
An old anger roared through him. He hated that she was doubting him and his ability, making assumptions... He had always despised being judged as weak or incapable. And yet, why wouldn’t she think that? She thought he had been temporarily wounded in battle. He knew he should correct her, but what was the point? He didn’t want her pity—or to see the repulsion on her face. And it would destroy what little confidence she had in him even further if she knew the truth.
‘I don’t need both my arms to fight, do I?’
‘I don’t know, do you?’
‘No.’
He’d spent his adult life strengthening the rest of his body to compensate for the failings of his upper left side. Born without the use of it, he knew it was the reason he’d been abandoned by his family. Perhaps he had brought shame upon them, or they’d felt he wouldn’t be able to contribute to their settlement, but whatever the reason, it had been unbearably tough growing up knowing he’d been unwanted. Rejected. As a boy he’d always felt like he’d been a disappointment to others and he’d loathed his own body for letting him down.
It had been a hard existence, a childhood spent being mocked, as he’d learned to get by with the use of just one arm, his other hanging lifeless and loose. As soon as he’d been old enough, he’d learned how to fight, building up his strength, never wanting to feel weak or incapable, wanting to prove himself to silence the critics. It was why he had left Norway and headed to Constantinople, determined to make a name for himself in the emperor’s army. And he’d thrived on the glory of winning, finally beginning to receive the praise and recognition he’d always longed for.
Coming to a stop at a solid wooden door, Princess Livia tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge.
‘Move out of the way,’ he barked. And using the frustration surging through him, the anger at being judged by her, he pressed his full weight against the wood and pushed it open.
The door led to a long narrow tunnel, but they could barely see further than a few feet ahead, as it was thrown into darkness. They could have done with the light of a fire, but it was too late now.
‘I’ll go first,’ he said.
It smelt dank and musty in the tunnel, and he felt along the wall with his hand, unable to see the way, treading slowly. Water splashed beneath their feet and he thought it was a good thing she couldn’t see what they were wading through.
‘How long does this go on for?’ he asked.
‘A mile, perhaps.’
‘Does your uncle know about this?’
‘I don’t think so...’
‘Good.’
The tunnel felt endless, so much further than it probably was. And everything was heightened in the dark—the awful battle noises from above, her delicate footsteps pattering behind him and the sound of her rapid breathing. He was so aware of her. She stumbled a few times and he stopped to steady her, their hands colliding awkwardly. Eventually, he gave up and took her hand and placed it on his shoulder. To his surprise, she didn’t object. Her slender fingers felt warm as they curled around him and on the occasions when he slowed, her body was crushed against his back, making him tense. He wanted to reach the end just so he could get out of her proximity. If he’d known what torture this would be, he might have risked another way out. He didn’t want to be attracted to her—he disliked himself for being so. It went against everything he believed in. It threatened his loyalty and everything he prided himself in being.
‘We must be nearly at the end now,’ he said.
Finally, they reached a stone staircase that wound its way upwards towards the daylight. He pushed open the trapdoor at the top, relieved to breathe in the fresh night air, and clambered out into the clearing, before holding out his hand to help her up. Stubbornly, she refused his assistance. She was fiercely independent, he realised, rejecting help, despite being in need. But he could relate to that.
He sighed, raking his hand over his hair and waiting for his eyes to readjust to the evening light.
And then he heard her strangled cry, saw her reel in shock. He turned to look at what she was staring at, and nothing could have prepared him for the sight before them. Looking back at the castle, built on a high escarpment into the mountains, flickering flames engulfed the rampart walls and the terrible sound of screams and wailing carried across to them on the wind. People were scurrying around the battlements like ants, and the violent sounds of men fighting and clashing metal thundered in the sky.
‘We must go back!’ she gasped.
‘No! There’s nothing you can do for them now.’
‘There is. We can’t just leave them,’ she said, horrified. ‘We must try!’
‘No, look at the lengths your uncle is prepared to go to. He’s burning down one of your father’s castles to get to you. See reason! If we go back there, he’ll try to kill you.’
‘But they’re my people. They rely on me,’ she wailed. ‘And I’ve just abandoned them!’
‘Yes, they’re you’re people. Which means they are prepared to die for you.’
‘Please,’ she begged suddenly, gripping his arm. ‘There are women and children inside. We must help them.’
He regarded her silently for a few moments, and looked down at her fingers on his body. ‘We can’t. We need to carry on. We need to get you away from here and keep you safe. That is the best thing we can do for your empire right now.’
‘The king won’t like it if we don’t help them.’
‘The emperor won’t like it if you get hurt.’
‘Coward!’ she threw at him.
A muscle flickered in his jaw, his brows knitting together. ‘What did you call me?’
She planted her hands on her hips. ‘A coward,’ she said again.
He had been called a weakling, a freak—you name it—over the winters that had passed. He’d been told he should never have been born. But he’d never been called a coward before.
He took a step towards her. ‘I’ve been called many things in my time, but never that. I’m not one to shy away from a fight, Princess. Believe me, I don’t like it. If I thought it would make a difference if I went back there, I would go. But I can’t risk you being found. You are my priority. If Lothair is determined to stop you getting to Rome and to the Emperor, I am intent to hinder his plans. My duty is to keep you safe.
‘So you’re prepared to die for me too, are you?’
He held her gaze. ‘Yes.’
She flicked her hair over her shoulder. ‘Why would you do that?’ she said, her voice sounding strained, shaking her head. ‘You don’t even know me.’
‘It is what I’ve been sent to do.’ His face betrayed nothing. ‘And I trust my men to do all they can to help the women and children of your castle escape.’
And yet as she stared up at him, her hands on her hips, fire in her golden eyes, he wondered if she was right. For the first time ever, was he afraid? Not of fighting. Never. But afraid of the traitorous feelings rushing through him... He didn’t like the thoughts he was having about her, the way his body was responding to her... He was finding he wanted to get this journey over with, because the sooner he got her to Constantinople, out of his sight, out of his mind, the safer he would be.
‘This isn’t how I wanted us to start our journey, already under attack, being pursued by your uncle’s men.’ He took one last look at the burning castle. ‘But we stick to the plan. Right now, I need to get you as far away from here as possible.’
As far away from himself as possible.
‘Let’s go.’
Copyright © 2024 by Sarah Rodi