Page 40 of The Princess Tied

“I doubt it. I hope not. My last portrait was done two years ago. I was younger.”

He imagined this beautiful woman at twenty-two instead of four, as she was now. The difference would be minor.

“Then we should think of disguises and ways to avoid being noticed.”

Minutes later, once the two caravans had truly merged and were rearranging, a rider galloped up from behind and pulled to a halt in a swirl of grass clumps, dust, and clinking harness and weapons.

His chain mail shone with the look of frequent daily polishing. His blond warrior locks were in plaits and everything about him looked neat, if dusty.

“You are hereby summoned to a banquet tonight in the royal marquee to be erected at sunset. Do not be late.” He leered toothily then continued in his spiel. “You will be gifted with food and largesse and whatever Prince Drake chooses to give you!”

Then he sped off and did not stop at any other of the wagons. This marquee must be a huge tent if the prince was able to hold a banquet within.

“Peculiar. Why us?” She watched the disappearing rider intently.

Someone must have noticed the allure of his companion. Or he hoped that was it. Either they had used a scope to observe the people of this caravan before approaching, or there was a more sinister motive.

“Don’t worry. We can draw a moustache on you, or something,” he mused.

“Never!” Her eyes flashed with ire.

So, he’d found a weakness in the princess. She liked prettifying herself. “A beard?”

John grinned. The glare she bathed him with was worth preserving. It was cute and malevolent, and those were somehow what made her Princess Pollianna, a woman he wanted to do far more to than sit beside on a seat.

Patience. He could manage that?

When night fell, the merged caravan, once a trader caravan and a prince’s retinue, settled beside a river which would be crossed the next day via a bridge. Having washed and preened and pruned, John had been attempting some last-minute shaving of his stubble but had given up—the blade was too blunt, and the light of the campfires too dull. Ruth came up to him, where he leaned against the wagon wheel observing Po pick and sort a small low-growing purple flower into bunches. At the same time Ruff was eating the bunches she laid aside and she wasn’t noticing the disappearances. Her in-depth discussion with Shades, involved much hand gesturing and intense comments.

He leaned forward, cocking his ear. Battle strategy of the cyclans? “Figures.” He scoffed.

A courtier had just delivered a package. John turned over the soft bundle to undo a red bow.

“I have some gossip I heard from soldiers I passed by.” Ruth nodded toward the threesome. “It’s good to see them talking.”

“Oh? Important?”

The package fell open and it contained… He shook it and found he held a white dress. A note fluttered downward. A garment meant for Po—a beautiful silk gown with a cut-out area over the rear and laced back above that. Unless that was the front? No. He swished it round and back again. No, that was the back.

“Hmmm. Very revealing.” Ruth picked up the card and angled it to the light. “For your slave to wear, sir. A gift from Prince Drake.”

Too revealing? He frowned. “I don’t know if I should refuse, or can? This is not Bitzocoin. I suppose she could wear clothes beneath it?”

A slip of underwear fell from the bundled cloth in his hand. White frothy bra and also panties insignificant enough to require a magnifying glass to see them.

“I should tell you the soldiers’ gossip.”

He lifted his head to meet her eyes, sure this was not good news. “Say it, please.”

“Someone has a suspicion that Po is actually the princess, and he has told the prince. The prince has sent a rider to find someone who knows her.”

Damnation. So this dress was provocation? A tease, a lure?

But he wasn’t certain.

“Do you know when the rider is expected to return?”

“Five days. There is someone in another town he’s asking for.”