Page 6 of Lady's Steed

Avera grabbed her skirts and swerved around and between those still fighting, racing for the empty bridge that spanned the ravine, the stone structure linking the city to the palace. Itonly occurred to her as her booted feet thumped on the stone causeway that she presented an open target.

As she turned to glance over her shoulder to check on the pursuit, she tripped and fell to her knees.

It saved her life.

The dagger thrown sailed harmlessly overhead before clattering to the stones. Would they try with arrows next? She’d rather not find out. She jumped to her feet and ran, zigzagging to make herself an unpredictable target. Another dagger clattered on the path, narrowly missing.

Her breathing turned ragged as she pushed herself to reach the palace and its implied safety. Surely if the assassins were busy attacking those left behind, she’d be fine once she reached the portcullis. Just a few more paces.

A scream cut short had her once more glancing to her rear, where she saw assassins on the ground and Gustav limping in her direction. The only one still alive.

The older soldier had a gash across his thigh. As he spotted her looking, he yelled, “Keep moving. Get inside in case there’s more.”

He assumed the palace was safe, but who was to say more didn’t hide within? Still, she had nowhere else to go.

Avera fled past the archway and the wide-eyed guards. Cowards who’d not left their posts despite the fighting. She raced through the bailey and pounded up the steps into the palace. The entranceway, usually full of lounging lords and ladies and a bevy of servants tending them, loomed empty.

Where to?

As if Gustav read her mind, she heard him holler from outside, “Go to the Queen.”

A good idea since her mother would have soldiers protecting her.

Avera’s footsteps echoed loudly as she raced for the flight of stairs that led to the second floor and the royal quarters. The guards at the top blocked her way with their spears at the ready. One of them yelled, “Halt!”

“Don’t poke me,” she yelled, racing up the steps. “It’s me, Avera.”

“Who?” exclaimed the guard. The one by his side must have whispered the reply because he then said, “She’s the queen’s daughter? She don’t look like the rest.”

A good thing there’d been witnesses to her birth or many would have claimed her a changeling, a child exchanged at birth for another. Despite the mutterings that Avera couldn’t possibly be a royal, she’d been seen by many as she emerged from her mother with a thatch of dark hair, mauve eyes, and the royal birthmark that resembled a crown on her thigh. All of the queen’s progeny had it.

The guards didn’t budge despite knowing her identity. “We’ve been told to let no one pass.”

“I want to see my mother.” Not really. Avera knew better than to expect any maternal warmth, however, the queen represented safety.

“Can’t allow that.” The guard shook his head.

Before she could argue, Gustav entered and bellowed, “You’d better not be detaining the First Princess.”

“She’s the heir?” The guard didn’t hide his surprise.

“Damned right she is, and she might be queen before the day ends, so get out of her way, or else,” growled Gustav as he stomped up the steps.

“Yes, Grand Rook.” The soldiers saluted and stepped aside, letting Avera onto the second floor which held the private chambers of the queen, the First Heir, the Second, and the Spare. The third floor was usually only for the children, butAvera still had a room there despite being too old since there weren’t enough chambers on the royal level.

While it would be tempting to hide in her suite, Avera marched directly to the double doors of her mother’s space—doors that hung askew—around which clustered numerous guards who all stood as a barrier between Avera and her mother.

“No one may pass!” announced a fellow with a grand mustache.

Avera halted and sighed. “It’s me, the queen’s daughter, Avera.”

“Who?”

Not again. Yes, Avera made a point of avoiding royal obligations but still, she’d lived here almost three decades. Surely by now everyone knew of her existence.

Clomp. Clomp.

She didn’t look because she knew Gustav strode in her direction. He’d set them straight.