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  “Father,” Elyra embraced him. “It is I should thank you for making this day happen. Sants know we need this kindness more than ever. And please, call me Elyra.” She smiled so warmly that if you didn’t know her you’d assume she was mocking you. With her hair in soft waves and secured to the side and dressed in slim black pants tucked into high black boots and a trim purple leather jacket, she looked more like a rogue teenager than a princess.

  “And Markus Fallon,” Father Broden continued, turning his attention to a tall, sandy-haired young man in pressed black pants and a navy blue sweater. “It’s good to see you away from your office for a change.”

  Markus took the Father’s hand and shook it firmly.

  “I confess I’ve been a slave to the desk lately. You must forgive me for all my absences from good works.”

  “It’s not me you’ll have to answer to,” Broden said with a laugh, pointing to the sky.

  “How may we be of service, Father?” Elyra asked.

  “I’m sure your presence here is service enough. Just to know that you care,” Father Broden said.

  “Nonsense! Give me an apron and I’ll serve stew, or slice bread. I admit I’m probably no use for lifting heavy pots, but I’ll team up if needed.”

  Father Broden’s faced looked so full of gratitude that it might spill out onto the streets.

  “You are just more than we could ask for. Very well. Elyra, will you join me on the end of the line, where we slice and serve fresh pears?” He asked with slight hesitation.

  “Gladly.” She took Father Broden’s arm.

  “Markus my boy, would you care to assist with the replenishing of stew pots? We are running low and the reserves are in the storage room over there. We have very few strong enough to lift them.” Father Broden motioned toward the reserve room.

  Markus’s face scrunched as he examined the shed full of sweaty men in ragged coveralls lifting and grunting, stacking not only the day’s rations but other temple supplies.

  “Would it be better if we stayed in the public eye, Father? To show the importance of this day?” Markus said, slipping his arm around Elyra’s waist in a way that boiled Rogan’s blood.

  Father Broden grunted.

  “You give yourself far too much credit my vain young Minister. The stew is the main attraction here. Not you.” Father Broden ushered Markus toward the shed then took Elyra’s arm and walked toward the food line.

  Rogan caught his breath as he watched her make her way toward the food line, stopping to shake hands with people along the way. He collected himself, then scurried toward the table as well, slinking up to the bread station before Elyra and Broden could make their way. He tapped Sibby on the shoulder.

  “Time for your break love,” he said.

  Sibby looked at him confused, but didn’t argue when she saw the princess walking toward them on Father Broden’s arm. She flashed a toothy grin.

  “Trying to catch an up-close look at the little princess are we?” She teased.

  “She’s a better sight than those warehouse workers I’ve been necking all morning, so scram.”

  Sibby giggled girlishly and stepped aside to make room for Rogan to take up residence slicing the fresh bread.

  “Okay, but I want to meet her too.”

  “Yeah, yeah, later. Just get.” He swatted her away. Sibby smirked but obliged.

  Elyra’s expression brightened when she saw Rogan standing next to her station, delicately slicing bread.

  “Rogan, I’m glad you’re over here,” Father Broden said joyfully. “I have the very honored pleasure of introducing Her Royal Highness, Princess Elyra. Your Highness, this is Rogan Elwood, one of our angels here at Sant Hiro’s.”

  Elyra gave an unaffected head bow customary of when a royal meets a commoner, but then extended her hand with a smile.

  “What an honor to be working beside you, Your Highness,” Rogan said, embracing her soft hand gently and bowing his head in respect. She could afford to be casual with protocol in public but he could not.

  “Likewise,” she said.

  “Her Highness has taken time from her day to assist in our efforts, Rogan,” Father Broden beamed.

  “How very good of her.” A sly smile twitched at Rogan’s lips.

  “I’ve work to finish so I trust you can insure she is attended to?” Broden asked.

  Rogan nodded emphatically.

  “Of course, Father. Whatever she needs.”

  “Good. Then I will leave you to it.” Father Broden patted them both on the back lovingly.

  “I had no idea you’d be here,” Elyra said quietly once Broden was out of earshot.

  “I can say the same. I hardly expected the whole royal cavalry to show up for a food drive.”

  “Well,” she said with mocking superiority, “It isn’t just any food drive is it? It’s the biggest food drive Minister Pantone has ever produced!”

  Rogan chuckled as he tried to imagine Pantone caring for a split moment about anything other than the media buzz.

  “Well I’m sure he’ll receive a rave write up in the Tribune in the morning. The media’s been swarming like flies since we started unloading the trucks,” Rogan said.

  Elyra sighed.

  “As if trying to keep people from starving to death was simply to fuel the gossip columns.”

  “Well, media or no, I’ll take it. The people need it, no matter how much dignity it costs. Is the King coming?”

  “Yeah, right. Like he’d bother. Said he has ‘work to do.’” She mimicked in a low baritone. Rogan laughed.

  “Too bad. I’d like to meet the old man one of these days.”

  Elyra glowered at him and he pinched her side.

  It was nearly two more hours of slicing and handing out bread and pears before the crowd began to die down. As the last few waves of people were trickling in under the afternoon sun, Sibby returned to relieve Rogan with Father Broden at her side.

  “Time for you to take a break, Rog,” Sibby said, gently elbowing his side, which was about shoulder height for the tiny girl. She was like a little pixie with her delicate limbs and large rounded russet eyes overwhelming her sharp cheeks, which her short cropped hair did nothing to hide. He imagined it’s exactly what a fairy would look like.

  “Sure, now that all the hard work is over,” he teased her. “All right, I could use some cold water and a snack I suppose.” Sibby gave him an impatient look. “Oh right. El—um, Your Highness—I’d like to introduce my friend Sibby.”

  Sibby’s eyes went wide with awe and she blushed. Elyra smiled and gently bowed her head.

  “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sibby.”

  Sibby fidgeted nervously, not sure how to respond, then remembered herself and gave a deep bow.

  “Pleasure is all, um, mine, Miss, um, Your Highness.”

  “All right, come along now. Get to work, Sibby,” Father Broden ushered her toward the bread station then turned back to Rogan and Elyra. “I am so very proud of my flock today,” he placed a loving hand on both Rogan and Elyra’s shoulders. “But I must relieve Her Highness. She has been already too generous in her time.” He extended his crooked arm for her, which she politely embraced.

  “Father, with Her Highness’ permission, I would like to escort her back,” Rogan tilted his mouth up just enough for Elyra to notice and no one else. Father Broden looked nervous at the idea, but turned to Elyra to seek approval.

  “Rogan…” he started.

  “She was telling me about the future plans for public works and I would like to learn more.” He caught a dramatic eye roll from Elyra.

  “Well, that’s up to Her Highness,” Broden laughed with just a touch of hesitation. Elyra offered a faint smile.

  “I am so flattered that you would offer. I don’t meet many who are so kind…or so bold,” she emphasized her last words.

  Rogan extended a hand and bowed his head dramatically.

  “My pleasure.”

  “Please don’t all
ow young Rogan to get any fantastical ideas, Elyra. He’s a bit of a rogue, that one,” Father Broden said with a smile that told Rogan ‘Don’t even think about it.’

  With Elyra’s hand on his arm, he led her back toward the huddle station where Brita, the media and hordes of others stood observing the scene.

  “Could your thespian antics be any more obvious?” She said through a plastic smile, barely moving her lips. Rogan just smiled.

  “The people always love a good show.”

  “You’re a little on the sweaty side.”

  “Well, some of us work for a living,” he said. She snorted. “I like your outfit. Was hard to keep my hands off you out there.”

  She gripped his arm tighter.

  “Elwood, you are simply incorrigible.”

  At the first walkway between the reserve tent and the temple building, Rogan swiftly and discreetly pulled her into a private sliver of alley. She gasped from surprise then nearly fell over giggling.

  “I have been waiting for this all day,” Rogan pressed her against the wall of the temple. She squealed as he cupped both her delicate wrists against the wall, his body pressing against hers so closely he could feel the rise and fall of her shaky breath. She looked at him with yearning emerald eyes and her mouth agape, asking for tenderness. He obliged with a forceful kiss, letting his teeth linger on her bottom lip.

  “How very bold of you,” she whispered once he had released her lips. “How very bold indeed.”

  “That’s what we rebels are all about, you know. Storming castles and corrupting princesses.” He let her hands drop—just in time.

  They heard footsteps. Rogan instinctively backed away and they both shot their heads toward the square. A figure stood in the entryway of the alley, tall and slender and impeccably dressed.

  “Elyra,” Markus’ polished voice said with a hint of uneasiness. Elyra’s eyes widened ever so slightly.

  “Markus,” she chirped.

  “I thought I saw you duck in here. What are you doing lurking in an alleyway?” He laughed nervously.

  “I could ask the same of you.” She smoothed her hair.

  “I was looking for you. The Tribune wanted to photograph all the nobles who attended today. I would think you would be one of them,” he laughed at his own banter.

  She entertained his ill attempt at humor with a forced chuckle.

  “Yes, I suppose that would be so. I’ll be there in just a moment.”

  Markus took a few steps closer.

  “And who is this?” He asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at Rogan.

  Elyra side-glanced at him.

  “This is Rogan. He is one of the few we can thank for this marvelous day happening. He worked with Father Broden to help organize it. Rogan, this is Markus Fallon.” She smiled like a politician. Markus offered an insincere tilt of the mouth but extended his hand.

  “Good of you, boy,” Markus condescended.

  Rogan thrust back his shoulders and mustered his height. He took Markus’ hand and squeezed it more firmly than was necessary, stifling a grin at how soft it was.

  “There are so few man enough to do what needs to be done, Sir,” he said with emphasis.

  “And what are you two doing hanging about in a dark alley? Up to no good?” Markus joked, but was obviously harboring some genuine suspicion.

  “I was looking for the privy, if you must be so nosy,” Elyra said. “Rogan was my escort seeing as how I can’t be left to wander through dark and scary streets all alone.” She didn’t attempt to hide her sarcasm. Markus pursed his lips but forced a genial smile.

  “Well, he’s not much of a guide is he? I don’t see a privy. And really Elyra, you can’t just use some public toilet.”

  Elyra rolled her eyes.

  “Yes, how very crude of her,” Rogan said wryly. “God knows what diseases the common people carry.”

  Markus glared.

  “I should escort Her Highness back—” Markus began.

  Rogan held up a hand.

  “No need. I have already offered, so you, my friend, are off the hook.” Rogan grinned with satisfaction but Markus twisted his mouth. Elyra eyed them both warily.

  “Although I’m sure we would make great friends, friends we are not. But forgive me, I did not properly introduce myself. I am Markus Fallon of Batem and the Minister of Economics for Arelanda’s High Council. In the future, please don’t address me so informally.”

  “Markus! For one thing, last I checked you were still an Intern Minister,” Elyra snapped. “And two, I am mortified by your rudeness. He has fed thousands of starving people today with his bare hands. What have you done today other than comb your hair and smile at the camera?” Elyra stood as tall as she was able and even at her reduced stature seemed to be looking down at him. .

  “I…I’m sorry I offended you, Elyra,” Markus said, offering her a slight bow.

  She placed her hands on her hips.

  “Until you learn some manners, it’s ‘Your Highness’ to you,” she said smugly. Rogan suppressed a grin as she took his arm.

  “Rogan, please escort me back to the huddle station. I have an interview to do.”

  Rogan nodded and led her away, but not before giving Markus a mocking, overdramatic bow. Markus fumed as they walked away.

  “So…Markus Fallon?” Rogan asked when they were far enough away. Elyra groaned.

  “Intern Minister, my father’s former ward and the bane of my existence.”

  “He seems to like you. Should I be worried?” Rogan asked.

  “Hardly. Markus is a jackass. He’s a pompous sycophant obsessed with my father. Trying to prove to me how philanthropic he can be.”

  “Sounds dangerous,” Rogan said, amused.

  “Good thing I have you to protect me, then.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Elyra stepped into her father’s office and was met by the smell of sweet cinnamon and cloves. A cozy fire crackled in the corner, warding away the crisp morning chill. Henri sat on his plush mahogany chair behind the impressive royal desk with his thin-rimmed glasses nestled on the hump of his big nose, looking studious as he thumbed through documents. A great African boar hung above his desk—the one he had snagged on a safari they had taken when Elyra was nine. Its long, polished tusks protruded from the leathery mouth, which was gaped open as if still in shock to see the hunter’s rifle.

  Elyra walked in and stood beside her father’s desk, waiting for his acknowledgment. He was the only one with whom she still stood on ceremony as his presence still weakened her resolve. She glanced around the room and was startled to see her mother sitting by the window reading from a tattered, upside-down book. Henri looked up from his work.

  “Daughter,” the King said warmly. “Thank you for coming to me. Please sit.”

  Queen Calliope stood from her seat and smiled as well, with a placid, empty face and distant pale eyes.

  “Elyra, you are as beautiful as ever.” The Queen’s voice was airy and rhythmic, as though she were singing.

  Elyra fidgeted uncomfortably and smiled back uncertainly at her mother’s uncharacteristic affection. She took her seat in the guest chair at her father’s desk and clasped her hands in her lap. Her father’s face was relaxed and welcoming, but she couldn’t help but feel a knot forming in her gut as she detected his insincerity. Calliope dragged a chair over to the desk as well. She was dressed in a long black dress that kissed the floor, with a low-cut bodice that exposed a concave chest and protruding collar bones. Her strawberry hair was twisted into a high-top knot with rogue strands tickling her pale cheeks.

  “Should we have tea?” Henri asked in a friendly tone. Elyra’s mouth gaped but before she had answered he picked up the phone and pressed zero. “Zinna, a pot of Chai if you would, please.” He turned back to Elyra with a smile. “We have just received the most delicious blend from Bengal. I just love what those Easterners do with their spices.”

  Elyra narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. Henri Bal
lantyne did not take the time to talk about tea.

  Zinna, the King’s lanky, nervous secretary, entered a few moments later with a tray holding a tall silver pot of chai, three silver tea cups and a plate with fresh ginger snap cookies, still radiating the spicy scent of being right from the oven.

  “Thank you Zinna,” Elyra said taking her cup and a cookie. “So what do I owe the honor of this early morning chat?” She turned back to her father.

  “Elyra honey,” her mother cooed. “We don’t chat with you nearly enough. Is it so much to ask of you that—” Elyra threw up her hand.

  “Mother, please. Do not patronize me. What do you both want?” She bit into a cookie with purpose, crumbs falling into her lap. Henri sighed.

  “We have some delicate matters to discuss. Some matters of great importance to our country and its survival in this war.”

  “Since when do you care about my political input?”

  Henri ignored the question.

  “This war is not going the way we need it to,” Henri continued.

  “Then perhaps you should call it a day and bring everyone home in time for supper.” Henri glared at her.

  “We have also had some grave news from the north,” Henri went on. “Rebel forces have seized our strongest northern fortress of San Mal.”

  Elyra’s heart skipped.

  “What? That fortress has never fallen!”

  Henri nodded.

  “Indeed. But our forces are spread too thin. Minister Brigg dispatched most of our resources to Suell. Things continue to grow dire, daughter,” Henri paused. “Have you spoken with Markus?”

  The knot in Elyra’s stomach grew. She sucked in her breath and shrugged.

  “Unfortunately, I speak with him daily.” She sipped her tea, which she had to admit, was exceptional.

  Henri grimaced.

  “And?” He pushed.

  “And what?” She feigned ignorance.

  “Has he discussed with you ways in which you might be able to help our efforts?”

  Elyra tapped her nose with one finger and pretended to contemplate.

  “Come to think of it, he did suggest a bake sale…”