The Decoy Princess by Dawn Cook
“Goat Boy” crouched beside her to arrange the fire. He was too muscular to have any sense in him. His feet were bare, and he had broad shoulders and thick legs, looking as if the cold couldn’t touch him. I frowned when he flicked the black bangs from his eyes.
Pulled off the trail in the shadows was a narrow wagon holding a box the shape of a coffin. There was only one horse to pull it. The draft animal was enormous, looking as if he had pulled stumps from the ground the day he fell from his dam. No wonder it was taking them forever to get to the capital.
My attention returned to them as the man murmured something to get her to smile. Anger filled me. Where was she when Father died on a sword? Where was she when Mother’s blood stained my fingers? I was their daughter, not her!
I watched her take a comb from a small sack and brush her hair. The curve of her cheek and her position struck me as familiar. With a shock that twisted my stomach, I realized the statues in the solarium were of her. The beautiful statues in the garden were of her!
Goat Boy leaned closer and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want another blanket, Contessa?” he asked in a slow country drawl.
I felt as if my breath had been knocked from me. She had taken my future, she had taken my parents. How dare she take my name?
Stomach churning, I stood. Thorns caught at my skirts, the soft sound of them ripping adding to my anger. “That’s my name,” I said softly.
Goat Boy spun, his eyes wide and his mouth open.
The princess stood, her blanket falling to almost catch fire. “It’s you!” she exclaimed, a weak-looking hand going to her neck. “You’re her!” She hesitated, and my face burned as she ran her gaze over me, taking in my scratches and travel-stained clothes. I drew myself straighter, refusing to touch my hair or dress to straighten them. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her country drawl a hint under her attempt at a noble accent. “You’re supposed to be at the palace.”
My breath came in a shuddering sound, I was so angry. “You have no right to question me,” I whispered, drawing on every ounce of hard-won protocol to not shout at her.
The princess pursed her lips, her chin rising. “I’m the princess, not you. I can ask you anything I please. Why aren’t you at the palace?”
My hands trembled, and I took a step toward her, my motion not as graceful as I would’ve hoped because of the thorns. Jerking free of them, I stumbled into the clearing. Though her words had been bold, the princess went pale, clutching Goat Boy’s arm. She made a conscious effort to let go, nervously smoothing her dress. The woman at the inn was right. This was a weak-minded nothing. Costenopolie would fall under her.
“Don’t question me again,” I said, matching her highbrow speech though I was seething inside. “You are a little country bumpkin who doesn’t know the first thing about ruling a country. You’re going to lose it without my help.”
“It’s my kingdom, not yours,” she asserted, her chin high and spots on her cheeks. “And I’ll do just fine without you. Be sure you remember that.”
I took another step forward, and Goat Boy shifted uncertainly. “Your kingdom?” I said, and she sniffed, clearly thinking my soft voice meant a soft temper.
“Yes, my kingdom. Thadd was right. You’re a grasping little beggar, angry that you aren’t the princess and I am.”
I struggled to keep my breathing even. “I kept you alive for twenty years,” I said, my voice rising despite my efforts. “And you call me a grasping beggar? I didn’t ask for this. You ruined my entire life with that damned Red Moon Prophesy of yours!”
Face tight, she looked me over. “Your speech is foul, and you’ve torn your dress. Mother wrote and said I was to speak to you as my sister, but you’re not worthy to be her daughter. They never thought of you as anything but a way to protect me. You aren’t their daughter. How could they ever love you?”
“You . . . you little . . . chu mouth!” I stammered, standing before her, shaking. My mother, not hers. My father, not hers.
“I’ll have the chancellor beat you for your insolence,” she said, her nose in the air.
My breath hissed out. A flash of fear crossed me that she could make him do it. Anger washed it away. If Kavenlow was going to beat me, I’d give him something to beat me for.
Striding around the fire, I swung the flat of my hand to smack sharply onto her cheek.
She gasped, taking a step back. The imprint of my hand showed an ugly red. Shock froze her for an instant, then she flung herself at me, crying out in rage.
I backpedaled, but not fast enough. We went down in a tangle of skirts and flying hair. She hit my eye with her fist. Stars exploded in my vision, and I rocked my head back. Her grip tightened in my hair, and I smacked her again, hitting her ear by the feel of it. She fell back, and as the stars still danced before me, I grabbed her shoulders and rolled her over to the ground.
Straddling her, I sat on her back. “They are my parents!” I shouted, forcing her pretty little blond head into the dirt and leaf mold. “Don’t you ever try to take them away from me again. Do you hear me? I’m their daughter as much as you are! I am. I am!”
The princess was crying, her arms reaching behind her to find me with the sleeves of her dress down about her elbows. Her hair was full of sticks and leaves, and I thumped her head into the ground, jerking when Duncan grabbed my shoulders and pulled me off her.
His eyes were bright in amusement, and I wondered how long he had been watching. Goat Boy was wisely staying out of it, standing at the edge of camp, pale and shaking. Laughing, Duncan shook his head, his hand still gripping my elbow. “Tess, what are you doing?”
“Let me go!” I cried, and when he didn’t, I punched him solid in the stomach.
Clutching his middle, he rocked back with a breathless, “Ooof.”
I swung the hair from my eyes and looked for the princess. She was tripping on her skirts and cloak as she tried to rise and get to Goat Boy. Her dress was mussed, and her hair was in disarray. She was sobbing, and my eyes narrowed. “I don’t think you fully understand the situation yet,” I said, lunging for her.
A shadow darted between us, and I ran right into Kavenlow.
“Kavenlow!” I cried, jerking to a stop. He was dressed as a huntsman in black linen and leather. His dagger was in plain view instead of hidden, and his dart pipe was tucked into his hatband, already loaded. Worry pinched his brow, but his lips were firm in disapproval.
Fear flashed through me, then anger. “You lied to me!” I shouted, the heartache of the last eight days thundering down upon me. “You lied—then left me!”
His face melted into understanding, and he put a hand on my shoulder. “Easy,” he soothed. “I never meant for you to find out this way. But do you really think slapping the princess is the best way to make her acquaintance, Tess?”
At the sound of my name, something in me broke. “That’s not my name!” I shouted, furious. I hit his shoulder to drive him away, but he wouldn’t let go. “It’s her name!” I cried, shoving his chest with my palm. “I don’t even have my own name. You lied to me. My entire life is a lie!” My throat closed, and I felt the tears threaten, hating myself for them.
“Hush,” he soothed as the first one trickled down. “It will be all right.”
“No it won’t!” I exclaimed, pushing against him to get away, but he pulled me closer. The familiar smell of horse and ink drew from me memories of books, and riding lessons, and long evenings of idle diversion and talk. My angry resolve faltered as I admitted it was all gone. Everything.
I held my breath, my head pounding. My throat ached for release, and a cry broke free. My parents were dead. My life was gone. He was the only one left to me. I clutched at his coat, burying my head against his chest. Sobs shook me as the last of my will dissolved.
“Shhhh,” he said, bringing my head against him as he used to when I fell from a horse. His hand brushing my hair was soothing and familiar. “It’s all right. It’s going to be all righ
“But I don’t know who I am,” I wept, unable to stop. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why?”
Twenty-two
Kavenlow set a cup Of tea within my grip. I took it without looking. My hands were stiff with cold, but the warmth of the cup did nothing to shift the chill that had taken me. Feeling numb and drained, I sat upon the log beside the fire. The princess was at the edge of the camp, glaring at me from behind the wagon as she brushed her hair to get the dirt out of it. Goat Boy, or Thadd rather, was standing beside her looking laughably out of place. Her face was red where I had slapped it, and she had a bump on her forehead where I had pummeled her into the ground.
My breath eased from me. She had snapped my temper as if it had been a dry twig, and I had acted like the gutter trull she claimed I was. But she had said they hadn’t loved me.
Duncan was talking with Kavenlow in a hushed, intent voice. It took a decisive sound and went silent. There was a rustle of fabric, and Kavenlow sat beside me. “You cut your hair,” he said by way of greeting, distress heavy in his voice.
My heart seemed to clench, and I wondered if he would beat me. I certainly deserved it. “Kavenlow, I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He stopped my words with a raised hand. “I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”
I glanced at the princess. She sneered at me, showing no control of her emotions at all. “She is the one who should apologize,” I said. “She said I was filthy. A grasping beggar.”
He stretched his legs out to the fire, pulling his long cloak away so the flames could warm him better. “You are filthy.”
My throat closed. Her insults weren’t why I had slapped her, but I couldn’t make myself tell him that my parents were dead. It should be raining. It couldn’t get any worse. “She said they didn’t love me,” I breathed.
“Of course they loved you.” He tried to meet my eyes. “You were their daughter.”
“Kavenlow . . .” I took a breath to tell him they were dead, then hesitated. He had put them in past tense. Eyes warming with unshed tears, I looked to see his face gentled in shared sorrow. “You know?” I warbled.
He nodded, his gaze deep into the fire. “Duncan told me. I’m sorry. I had guessed as much by the assassin I found yesterday. They were good people, deserving of far better. Tell me what happened? Of Garrett’s reasons, if nothing else.”
I could do that. “Garrett is acting on his own,” I said, wondering at my even tone. I must be dead inside. “He killed my mother to force my father to tell them where she was.” I glanced at the princess. She couldn’t hear me, but her face had gone blank at my obvious misery. “Father died . . . to avenge her death and give me the chance to escape.” I took a slow breath, remembering the guard’s knife shaking against my throat. “Garrett wants to make his claim to the throne legal by marriage so his father can’t take the ships and harbors through an act of war started by his son.”
“Garrett gets a kingdom by his own hand,” Kavenlow breathed. “Clever . . .”
“My parents are dead!” I exclaimed. “There is nothing clever about it!”
There was a gasp, and the princess’s face went white. “Dead?” she quavered. Her beautiful face twisted with panic as she stood. She clutched at Thadd’s arm, her eyes on Kavenlow. “You said I wouldn’t be queen for years and years,” she cried. “You promised!”
Kavenlow slumped. “Tess . . .” he murmured. “You have the timing of a hurricane.” Straightening, he turned her. “I apologize, Princess Contessa,” he said formally. “I was unaware Prince Garrett had planned treachery.”
My heart sank deeper. “How could you let them give me her name?” I whispered. Wasn’t anything mine? Was she going to take everything, even down to my name?
“You promised!” the princess wailed as Thadd fussed over her. “I want to go home! I don’t want to live in a city. I never wanted to be a princess. I’m not going to marry a prince. I don’t care how handsome he is!” she blubbered, her straight hair falling to hide her face.
I sighed, finding myself agreeing with her. Kavenlow rubbed his temples with his fingertips. Glancing between me and the panicking princess, he stood. “Tess, come with me to get your horses. You’re not on foot, are you?”
Numb, I shook my head and set my cup aside. Thadd and Duncan were hunched over the princess, trying to soothe her as she sat by the wagon in tear-strewn hysterics. Kavenlow’s neck was stiff, and he refused to look at her as he took my elbow and hustled me down the dark path.
I settled into his pace, pulled into matching him stride for stride. It was comforting, his hurried gait, which he had often strode about the garden with. The realization he chose to walk with me in the dark rather than console the princess was more of a comfort than it should be.
“I’m sorry, Tess,” he said as soon as we were out of earshot.
“Don’t call me that. It’s her name,” I said, scraping up enough feeling to put some weight behind it. “I don’t even have my own name.”
He harrumphed. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You have your own name. I gave it to you. The king and queen christened her after you, adding to it to get Contessa.”
It was a small thing, but I fastened on it greedily. Kavenlow had named me? I had been named first? Then my shoulders slumped. What did it matter, really?
“If I could do it over, I would have told you before I left,” he said.
“Tell me what?” I said bitterly. “That I’m a whore’s get or that you’re a player?”
Kavenlow gripped my arm and pulled us to a stop. “H-HOW . . .” he stammered, his white face a blur in the chill darkness under the trees. “Who told you that?”
His surprise gave me strength. So it was true. Jeck hadn’t lied. “You’re a player,” I said, trying to pull away only to find his grip tighten. “That’s all I am to you, a piece in a game.”
“Who?” Kavenlow demanded, but his anger wasn’t directed at me. “Who told you?”
“Jeck,” I said. “The captain—”
“—of King Edmund’s guard,” he interrupted. “What else did he say?” he demanded.
His fervor shocked me, and I took a step back, still in his grip. “That you control Costenopolie,” I said, suddenly afraid. “That he controls Misdev. That there are more of you, and the rule of the kings and queens are a sham that even they don’t know—”
“The fool!” Kavenlow exclaimed, wire-tight as he dropped my arm.
My eyes widened. I had never seen Kavenlow this angry. Except the time I hid in the palace well and couldn’t get myself out. I had shouted myself hoarse before Heather found me. “It wasn’t Jeck’s fault,” I said, only wanting him to calm. “He thought I was a player, seeing as I downed him with darts and escaped right under his nose. He didn’t tell me anything once he knew I wasn’t one, but I pieced it together from what he didn’t say as much as what he did. And with the note I found hanging in the ‘safe’ tree—”
A flash of pride crossed him, banishing his anger. “You found it. I knew you would.”
“How could I not?” I said bitterly. “You trained me like a dog to find it. Bent my life for escape and murder. You made me fit for nothing but frivolous games and dealing out death, and I’m not even good at it. Why didn’t you tell me?” I exclaimed, desperate for answers.
His head bowed, he started slowly up the path. “I couldn’t,” he said as I followed him. “There was a chance the real heir wouldn’t live to see her coronation, and you’d be put on the throne. I couldn’t risk that happening with you knowing who you are.”
“Why?” I asked, angry as I paced beside him.
Pain crossed his brow. “If you reached the throne knowing you were destined to be a player, I would have broken one of the strongest-held rules of the game. A player can’t sit on the throne. It would give them too strong an advantage. The rest would have banded together and swamped us until there was nothing left of Costenopolie but a tattered flag hidden under a straw mattress.” He f
My arms swung in quick, short motions as I paced beside him. “My entire life has been a game for you,” I said caustically. “All of it.”
Kavenlow avoided a low branch and my eyes both. “Aye,” he said, “a game, Tess, but a very real, complex, deadly game, and I’d like to make you a willing participant.”
“Then you admit you used me! I’m nothing but a pawn to you!”
He drew me to a stop, his eyes pained. “You’re not a pawn. I made you a thief. The most powerful piece in the game. The only one not of noble birth that can take the king.”
“A thief! Don’t you mean an assassin?” My breath caught, and I turned away, refusing to cry again. I was frustrated, angry, and very confused.
“Tess . . .” Taking my hands, he led me off the path to a fallen tree. I sat stiffly, listening to the frogs, unwilling to look at him, as I was sure whatever he might say would be a lie. Jeck was right. How could I ever trust Kavenlow again?
Still standing, he ran a hand down his beard in thought. “When the first assassin gained the princess’s chambers, the queen asked me to find a child,” he said.
“Me,” I said, though it sounded much like a sob. My head hurt, and I held my breath.
“You were one of three that I found that day and took behind palace walls,” he said, not sounding at all repentant for it.
“Who were they, my real parents?” I managed.
The darkness hid his eyes. “I don’t know. I found you with a woman who took you mewling from your dead mother’s arms two days previous. I had no intention of finding my successor, but you were strong, Tess. Clinging to your short life as tight as a soldier. I lost myself to you the moment I held you.”