Page 18 of Stolen Princess

We didn’t talk much at dinner last night. She was quiet, and so was I. She told me she’d be back next Saturday, and we’d celebrate my birthday then, but I have to get up and have breakfast with her like nothing out of the ordinary is about to happen.

I rise early, way before dawn, and take a shower. I don’t check on Rhys, but I hear him snoring lightly from the studio.

I climb into comfortable joggers and a tank top and pleat my hair into a braid. I shove some clothes and things into a tote bag I used to use for art supplies, since that’s the only bag I have. My hands are trembling, and my heart is already racing. I’m terrified and exhilarated in a way I didn’t know was possible.

I go to creep downstairs when a leg swings out and catches me below the knee. “Untie me so I can use the restroom?”

“I’m going down to make breakfast.”

“Wonderful. If it’s half as good as your dinner was, I’m looking forward to it.”

I peer down at him, our eyes meeting in the dark, and silence stretches between us. It’s not a calm or comfortable silence. It’s tense and active, like a jittery volcano, anxious to erupt.

"I’m going to take you to your festival, princess. We made a deal, and I won’t back down. That necklace is too important to me.”

That catches me off guard. Not that he’d know where to find the necklace, but he’s a thief, and I have to imagine a good one if he’s gotten this far and managed to steal a necklace like the one I found. He could find the necklace in an hour or two. I’m sure of it.

“Suddenly you’re amicable and agreeable?”

“Two of my favorite A-words.”

I roll my eyes, and he smiles. It’s the sort of smile that does funny things to my insides. Uncomfortable things. Things that make me itchy and tingly and warm all at once.

“I’m not going anywhere, as you know. Lock me in if you want and take my knife with you, but when you return, bring food and, for the love of all things holy, coffee.”

I giggle at that. “I won’t be able to do that until after she leaves.”

“But I bet you’ll be worth the wait.”

It’s such an odd thing for him to say. Or perhaps it’s the way he says it. I don’t know, and I don’t intend to unpack it just now. I unloop the rope from around his wrists, wincing slightly at the red marks.

“There’s Arnica cream in one of the drawers in the bathroom.”

“For your aftercare?”

“My what?” I ask as I right myself.

“Never mind. I was teasing you. But why do you have it?”

I look away. I don’t want to answer him. For some reason, it embarrasses me.

“Does your mother hit you?”

I gulp. She hasn’t in a while, not in a few years at least, because I haven’t given her any reason to. But I’m about to change all that.

I clear my throat. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Without another word, I lock him in my bedroom, go down the spiral staircase, around the parlor and reading room to the kitchen. I open the window to let in the cool air, heavy with the scent of flowers and herbs and morning dew. Birds are just waking up, chirping their song. I start the batter for cheddar and chive scones because they’re my mother’s favorites.

I fry up potatoes and ham and make a spinach, mushroom, and cheese frittata.

I get lost in the tedium, grateful for it. Everything in my life is about to change, and I don’t know how I’ll be able to come back to this after that. Part of me is almost hoping it’s everything Mother says it is. Because what will I do if it’s wonderful?

I hear her door open as I’m sitting at the kitchen table, looking out at the back garden, and sipping a cappuccino.

“You’re up bright and early,” she remarks, going straight for the little barista machine she has here. It’s top-of-the-line, or so she loves to tell me. It’s her Italian roots. Coffee is in our blood, and it’s one thing we perfectly agree on.

“I had trouble sleeping,” I explain.