Bad Princess Page 9

Finn lifted a heavy blue drape to reveal a large telescope tucked behind the fabric. He eased it out a few feet and fiddled with knobs and lenses, then, when he had it satisfactorily focused, he stepped aside and gestured for Brinley to look.

  She found telescopes interesting, and Castle Estau had one on its observation deck, but she had been banned from it after swearing she had spotted a UFO and mentioning it in front of the press. The kingdom had been besieged by conspiracy theorists for the better part of three years.

  Now she looked through the eyepiece and squinted as best she could, trying to see what Finn was showing her. He had aimed the telescope toward the top of the mountains, snowy peaks framing the view of...the night sky. She frowned at the stars, trying to identify a constellation or perhaps even a flying saucer, but she could not spot whatever it was she was supposed to spot.

  “I don’t see it,” she said, stepping back. “What am I looking for?”

  “Estau,” he answered. “If you were to climb out this window and walk in a perfectly straight line for five hundred and nineteen kilometers, you would step through the front doors of the castle.”

  Brinley nudged Finn aside and took another look. Of course she could not see Estau from here, only the dark sky, like a blank canvas. In her mind’s eye she sketched an outline of the castle, the turrets and parapets, her bedroom window facing this one.

  “I thought about you,” Finn admitted. “A lot. I thought about you looking back, through a telescope of your own.”

  “I was not allowed—”

  “I know,” he said. “The world knows about your UFO sighting. After the ‘incident’ I imagined you banned from the window and finding other things to do instead, exploring the castle, sword fighting, stealing herbs from the garden and making potions.”

  “They caught me doing that and barred me from the kitchen garden.”

  “I know. After you poisoned Elle—”

  “By accident.”

  “—I thought about your punishment, about how you might change. And yet every time I visited Estau or you came here, you were the same Brinley Cantrella. Just as curious and brave and bold—”

  “And bad.”

  “Yes, terrible...and I admired you more each time.” He studied his knuckles, recalling the painful rap of the ruler. “Nothing could break you, Brinley. When I thought I would marry Elle, I wondered about who you would marry, if you could have anyone you chose. I thought maybe a firefighter or a pilot or a mercenary—someone daring and exciting. I never once imagined it might be me.”

  “I thought about you all the time,” Brinley confessed, studying her own hands, her left one adorned with the simple ring. “But I never believed it could be true.”

  “I did not kiss you in the library because I was drunk,” Finn said. “Nor because I was sad. I did it because I felt like I could. Like I was finally free. Jedrek had married, Elle was gone, the obligations were lifted. And I had never felt that way before.”

  She pictured him as a bird, sitting in a cage, wings folded, patient. She pictured herself as that same bird, squawking and banging against the bars, free but not. She did not know which was better or which was worse. To not know you wanted freedom at all, or to be so desperate for it that you injured yourself constantly in its pursuit?

  “What is something you always wished you could do but never did?” Brinley asked. “Right here? In this room? They cannot punish you now. You can do anything you want—what would you choose?”

  He tilted his head and looked at her, like the choice was obvious.

  Brinley blushed. “That’s easy,” she said. “Something else. Something bad.”

  Finn rolled his lips thoughtfully. “Well... I have always quite wanted to walk on the balcony.”

  Brinley blinked. “Ah... Okay.”

  “That one,” he added, nodding out the window at something below. He fiddled with the cold locks until they unlatched, then lifted the heavy pane. Icy winter air rushed in, making Brinley shiver, but still she joined her husband to look down at the narrow balcony that snaked around the side of the castle, approximately five feet below. They were at the back of the palace, the dark, empty grounds spread out beneath them.

  “Why have you never walked on it?”

  “It was forbidden,” Finn replied. “The doors that open onto it have been sealed shut. Climbing down would be the only access.”

  “And why is it forbidden?”

  “Because it leads past the Collections rooms. They felt it posed a security risk, that anyone walking past might peer in the windows and get the wrong idea. By banning the balcony, they removed the temptation.”

  “But that makes it terribly tempting, and it’s sitting just right here,” she said. “So close. You never once climbed out?”

  “You are the only person I know who climbs out windows,” Finn answered.

  Her skin prickled with cold, but Brinley squared her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait—right now?”

  “Yes. When else?”

  “We—I—The party...”

  “It will not take long. We will walk along the balcony, peek at all the collections we would like to steal, and return. If they have not missed us yet, a few more minutes will not matter. And if they already miss us, a few more minutes will not change things. Now, let’s go.” Without waiting for his confirmation, she shoved the bottom of the long drape out the window, hoisted up her skirt, and stuck out a leg so she straddled the ledge. Holding the curtain for balance, she carefully lowered herself the short distance to the balcony, then gazed up at Finn’s stunned face.

  “Come on,” she called. “There are collections to see and thefts to plan.”

  He hesitated a second more, then copied her actions and soon joined her on the balcony. They shivered in the cold night, their breath hanging in white clouds in the air, then Finn grinned at her, flashing the rarely-seen dimples and looking happier than he had since their arrival.

  The balcony was not wide enough for them to walk side by side so Brinley led the way, stepping carefully along the frost-slicked stone, her hand tucked inside Finn’s. The first Collections room was about fifteen feet away, warm light glowing from the large window, and they peered inside at the museum-style room that housed centuries’ old china and glassware.

  “My tutor gave me a tour of this room when I was twelve,” Finn murmured. “And then an exam. I have not been back since.”

  “Since you were twelve?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But it’s so near!”

  He shrugged. “It was forbidden. The collections are for...”

  “Collecting?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  They passed two more windows, stealing glimpses of antique books and ceramics, Finn studying the items raptly. Brinley’s heart ached for him, looking in on a life he had not been allowed to lead. Who might he have become if he had been able? Sure, she often felt like a criminal in her own home, but Estau was very much her home and she was very much a living, breathing person inside it.

  Two more windows, a gold room and an antiquities room, and they started the short trip back. Brinley shivered with each step, but Finn walked with renewed purpose, his shoulders broad and strong, his head high. She figured he was thinking of himself as a bold rule-breaker now, and the idea made her smile.

  Beneath his window she gripped the drape and Finn hoisted her up. Brinley clambered back inside with an ease borne of years of practice, and leaned out to help Finn, who required no assistance. He braced one foot on the rail, grabbed the drape and the ledge, and with a graceful leap, landed deftly inside. He looked at Brinley and grinned and she grinned back, her smile fading when his gaze locked on something over her shoulder.

  She turned to see his parents, King Edric and Queen Cecille, glaring from the doorway. With their matching stiff postures and disappointed scowls, it was painfully obvious that they were related to Finn. He reached behind to retrieve the drape and close the window, bu
t even still the cold lingered in the room, and Brinley strongly suspected it radiated from the frowning couple twenty feet away.

  “There you are,” Queen Cecille said archly. She stood like a soldier next to her husband, arms straight at her side, and Brinley thought of Jedrek and Ilona, similarly positioned three floors below. “Bad princess” was not the most enviable title, but at least she had not been forced into one of these starched roles.

  “The announcement is due to be made in five minutes,” King Edric said. “You are to be a part of it. And you are to be at the party.”

  “We just came to—”

  “We’ll discuss this later,” he interrupted. “Let’s go. Now.”

  They retraced their steps to the private elevator. Brinley was used to this feeling of chastisement, but it was clear from Finn’s stiff posture and the grim set of his mouth that he was not.

  “You have only been with this woman a month,” King Edric said as they stepped in. He continued to face forward, not bothering to turn his head to address his son and ignoring Brinley altogether. “And already she has led you—”

  “She is my wife,” Finn interjected.

  “It does not matter. Jedrek has announced he will not renew the forestry agreement, and the kingdom of Bellida has agreed not to dispute the end of the contract. You were wed to solidify the agreement; now that there is no issue, there is no need to remain married.”

  The elevator doors slid open silently on the main level, four guards flanking them on either side.

  “No need—?” Finn began, but the king silenced him with a raised hand.

  “Tonight is not about you, Finian. Try to remember that.”

  The king and queen strode briskly down the hall, and as she watched them go Brinley could see them shaking off their cold facades and replacing them with bland smiles and regal countenances, the ones they presented to the world, if not their own son.

  “Finn,” she said. “I’m so—”

  “Please,” he said. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  “Are you very angry?” She had to hustle to keep up with him, and when he glanced over his shoulder and saw her rushing, he sighed and slowed his pace.

  “Not with you, Brinley.” He took her hand and squeezed her fingers. Hers were still cold and he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, reassuring her. Very seldom had she asked someone if they were mad and had them honestly say they were not. She exhaled her relief at the same moment a flashbulb popped, cameras coming to life as they entered the corridor leading to the ballroom.

  Reporters shouted their names but security guards swiftly intervened, escorting them through the throng and back to the room where the crowd had gathered to face the stage at the front. The table with the chocolate egg had been moved onto the stage as well, and now Jedrek and Ilona stood behind it as King Edric and Queen Cecille stood next to them, thanking the crowd for coming. There was a small pocket of elite press allowed in the room, and they were cordoned off to the side, video cameras and microphones ready to capture the big moment.

  “And here they are now,” King Edric said, smiling indulgently as Brinley and Finn were led to the short stairs to the stage. “The family is complete.”

  There was no trace of his contempt from a few minutes earlier, and Finn gestured for Brinley to ascend ahead of him. She did so carefully, schooling her features into the same resignedly dutiful and pleasant expression she saw on Ilona’s face. And because she was watching the princess, she did not see the white cord that snaked across the white stage floor, and she tripped.

  8

  EVERYTHING HAPPENED in slow motion. The toe of Brinley’s shoe caught on the lip of the nearly invisible cord and she stumbled forward, arms flailing for balance. Finn caught her before she could land on her face, but that would have been preferable to what happened instead. The microphone cord had been woven under the spindly table legs and now it twisted off balance, sending the enormous white chocolate egg toppling end over end onto the ballroom floor, shattering into a thousand gold-flecked pieces. Pink sugar spilled across the ground, glinting in the chandelier lights and camera flashes from the press pit. Cries of shock and horror rang out from the stunned crowd, and Brinley could only stand frozen on the stage, her fingers clenching Finn’s as the royal family glowered at her, their fury palpable.

  A painfully long silence stretched across the room, interrupted only by the intermittent click of a camera. King Edric, whose life had been lived in the spotlight, was the first to recover, shaking his head with an exaggerated “what can you do?” grimace, and gesturing to the destroyed egg. “We have an announcement to make,” he said, and the room erupted in nervous laughter.

  Jedrek and Ilona laughed as well, then the queen, then Finn attempted a laugh, but Brinley could not find it within herself to pretend. She felt horrible. She was mortified. And she could not understand why on earth the cord would have been wrapped around the table and stretched across the stage, invisible and basically inviting an accident. What she did understand was that despite the fact everything was on film, no one would care about her version of events. The bad princess had done something bad and that was far more newsworthy than the announcement for which they had been gathered.

  “Well,” Jedrek began, stepping up to the small microphone. He held his wife’s limp hand in his, and though they were both wearing false smiles, the expression did not reach their eyes. The display reminded Brinley of Elle, the way she had gone through the motions until she couldn’t any longer. They could feign politeness but they couldn’t fake joy, and even with the broken egg, she thought there should still be something joyous in this occasion. They were having a baby, after all. Right on schedule.

  “We are having a baby,” Jedrek announced. Next to him, Ilona looked pale and ill. Brinley closed her eyes. If the princess cried or fainted she would look even more the monster. “A girl,” he added. “And we could not be more delighted.” His tone was so flat and emotionless that he might have been reciting a recipe for stew.

  The room exploded in applause and more camera flashes, champagne glasses clinking while handshakes and stiff hugs were exchanged. Brinley clapped her hands as carefully as she could, as though it were possible to prevent anymore damage.

  But the damage was just beginning.

  “Princess Brinley!” someone shouted from the press pit, and almost immediately every other voice in the room quieted and all eyes were drawn to her. “Is it true you are already getting divorced?”

  Brinley squinted into the crowd, trying to find the source of the question, but there were too many. Now that it had been asked, everyone was asking it. Was it really possible for King Edric’s edict to have leaked so soon? It had only been seven minutes.

  “No,” she said, her voice hoarse. She cleared her throat. “No, we are not getting divorced. Why would we be?”

  “Because of this picture?” a reporter asked, thrusting forward a blown up shot of the grainy picture of Brinley kissing the professor against a tree.

  “That was two years ago,” she said, scowling. When would they—

  And then she froze, belatedly realizing that they had not been invited to attend this dull event because of the baby announcement. It was an ambush. And she had walked right into the trap without ever suspecting one had been set.

  “Perhaps this picture is the issue?” someone else cried, holding up a particularly compromising photo from the library tryst. Finn’s hands covered her bare breasts and Brinley stared into the camera, eyes wide with shock and lust.

  “Obviously not—” she began.

  “He had been dating your sister until that point!” someone shouted.

  “No, she had already—”

  “Did you steal your sister’s boyfriend?”

  “Did you plan all of this?”

  “What will you do next?”

  “Are you sure you’re not getting divorced? An official statement has just been released.” The reporter asking this question was frown
ing at his phone, and now he held it up. He was close enough to the stage that Brinley could crouch to see it, confirming that what he said was true. The front page of the Lenora Chronicle website carried a photograph of a palace statement announcing the dissolution of her marriage.

  “I hadn’t heard,” Brinley said tightly. She was aiming for droll, but couldn’t quite manage it past the tears clogging her throat.

  “And now?” the reporter pressed. “Can you confirm the news?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But it’s true?”

  “If it’s true, you will hear it from me. I am not getting divorced because it is on the front page of a website.”

  “But the king has dictated it.”

  “What the king says is irrelevant. The decision is mine.”

  The reporters looked stunned by this proclamation. Even though it was modern times and she would not be beheaded for such a statement, it was still not something people actually said. Not princesses.

  “And Prince Finian? What does he think?”

  She looked over her shoulder at her husband, but the Finn she had come to know these past weeks was gone, replaced with the stoic man the press recognized. He could have fled the scene and stood one of his cardboard cut-outs in his place and no one would have been able to tell the difference.

  Brinley forced herself to breathe, frustration and grief making it nearly impossible. “You will have to ask him yourself,” she bit out.

  She straightened then, her legs shaky, her vision starting to blur. She felt suddenly exhausted and resigned, furious but already beaten. She was barely aware of Finn’s touch on her arm, his other coming around her back to provide the only support she would find here. But she was not grateful for it. He supported her in action, but not in words. Not when it mattered.

  She felt him leading her off the stage, a throng of guards carving a path through the murmuring crowd, and at the last moment she turned back to look at the mess she had made, the shattered egg, the angry king and queen, and the fuming prince. That tableau was expected. What she did not expect to see was Princess Ilona, standing next to the family but not quite with them, gazing after Brinley with something that might have been...awe.