to them, where a round dining table was tucked away in the far corner near a worn oak aumbry. She’d been placed on a cushioned bench against the back wall, the blazing brick fireplace across them. Garin leaned against the corner of the mantle.
He smiled sheepishly and pretended to notice her stare, raising his dark eyebrows in surprise and stumbling to her side of the chair. Genuine concern shrouded his entire demeanor. Lilac could only stare back, in awe of his impeccable theatrics.
Above her, the woman made a noise of relief and rested the cool cloth on her forehead.
Garin tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re awake, thank goodness. How do you feel?”
“Fine. Tired,” she admitted truthfully. “Tired and starving.” She widened her eyes at him and then looked pointedly at Jeanare fumbling in the kitchen, wrinkling her nose. Anything sounded appetizing at this point—anything except tripe. She knew it was ungrateful of her, but good god.
“Where are we?” She sat up quickly to feign mild alarm.
“Shh, love.” Garin placed a finger to her lips and pressed her shoulder to gently lower her back down. “We are safe. We’re on the outskirts of Paimpont now, in the farmland just west of town.”
The old woman stroked her hair, and Lilac felt a humiliating amount of forest debris and soil dislodge. “My name is Sable. And my husband Jeanare is just there at the kitchen hearth, about to fix you both something to eat.”
“Actually,” Garin said brightly, straightening, “I was just going to offer, Jeanare… If you wouldn’t mind—I mean, I don’t feel right, barging in and imposing at this late hour. I’m more than happy to prepare a meal for her, and you all, of course.”
“Are you sure? We have plenty to spare,” Jeanare said, holding up a hefty bowl of stomach lining.
“I insist. It was us who have burdened you.”
“It isn’t a burden at all, but if you insist,” the old man replied, chuckling and waving his hand toward the open cooking hearth before him. “Our home is your home. We have an extra room… Lots of harvest and livestock to spare.” He shuffled back towards the entryway. “Here, erm—”
“Garin, sir. And my wife, Lysyn.” He motioned toward Lilac.
“Well. Garin, Lysyn, welcome,” Jeanare said warmly. “Let’s let the ladies alone for a bit. Come with me, I’ll show you the garden before I boil a couple buckets for your bath upstairs.”
With a small nod toward Lilac, he let Jeanare usher him out into the entryway. The only sound then was the crackling of the fire. Lilac turned an apologetic grimace to Sable, who was watching her intently.
“I am so sorry for waking you at this time of night.”
“Please. It’s been a hectic past couple days in these parts.”
Lilac rubbed her elbow. “Hectic?”
“I’ll just say you two aren’t the strangest things we’ve seen.” She leaned in close, brown eyes large with intrigue.
Lilac matched her expression with a sinking feeling in her gut. “What other oddities, madame?”
Sable pulled her wool sweater tighter over her ankle-length nightgown. Lips quivering, she placed a weathered hand on Lilac’s. “You two haven’t heard, then? The princess has gone missing.”
Inadvertently, Lilac jerked her hand back at Sable’s touch. She put it back, blushing. “Oh my,” she whispered.
The woman wrung her hands as she spoke. “You must’ve been on the road for a few days, then. She’s been amiss for half a week now.”
“What does this mean? For everyone? For the kingdom?”
She half expected to hear Sable rejoice. It was common knowledge that the duke’s family was next in line to the throne—the absolute last resort, since Lilac was Henri and Marguerite’s only child—and it was safe to assume the citizens preferred the marquis to Lilac. Like Garin had said in the tavern, had anything unfortunate happened to her, the crown would fall to Sinclair.
In her exhausted state of mind, a small part of her timidly wondered what it would be like to give everyone what they truly wanted. To surrender everything to the Le Tallecs, to retreat to a small-town life. Her inheritance… she scowled inwardly. Had she ever married him, her inheritance would fall to him, anyway. With the money she had on her, she could surely still purchase a farm or quaint home such as this.
To her surprise, the woman only shook her head, true concern stretching the laugh lines on her face. “My dear,” she uttered, brows creased in urgency. “I don’t mean to bring politics into this, but who gives a