Protecting The Princess - Nadine Millard Page 0,1

more lumbering than it used to be, and her stomach flip-flopped with worry.

Father had always been stern and distant. Being king would do that to a man, she supposed. But he was still her father, and she didn’t like to think of him aging or becoming in any way frail or vulnerable.

Christopher was currently in France meeting—oh, someone terribly important, Harriet was sure. Truth be told, she probably didn’t pay as much attention as she should to the goings on of Aldonia. Although even she had noticed the tension increase over the past few weeks. Her uncle, who had fallen foul of Papa years ago, had recently died and her cousin, his son Augustus, had been causing issues of some sort.

She didn’t know what he was doing exactly or why.

But then, nobody would expect her to.

Her job was to be pretty and proper and charming to visiting dignitaries. That was it. That was the extent of her responsibility in life.

As she gazed out across the verdant palace lawns, a movement at the corner of the walled garden in which her parents were strolling caught her eye.

A solider in full regalia was moving briskly toward them.

Harriet frowned at the unusual sight.

Her parents rarely, if ever, wanted guards when in their gardens, preferring to have their time there as private as possible.

But this guard, whoever he was, was hurrying toward them with seeming determination.

A feeling of foreboding swept over Harriet, though she couldn’t have said why.

There was just something—off about what she was watching.

Harriet glanced around the gardens but none of the other soldiers were even nearby, instead they were all at their stations. Where they should be.

She pressed her forehead to the window, keeping her deep-brown gaze trained on the renegade soldier.

And because she was looking so closely, she spotted the early spring sun glint off something in his hand. A dagger!

“No.”

The word left Harriet on a horrified breath. Screaming would be useless. She was too far away, on the second floor of the palace. Yet what else could she do?

“Guards,” she shouted at the top of her lungs, knowing someone would come running any second. But they would be in the same position as she; stuck here looking helplessly on.

The rogue soldier was nearing the perimeter of the gardens. She needed to do something!

Even now she heard the sound of footsteps coming. When a member of the royal family screamed, people came running.

But it wouldn’t be enough to save her parents.

Harriet darted her eyes around, panic clawing at her, setting her heart thumping frantically and fear skittering along her veins.

Her gaze landed on an ornate vase. An heirloom that had been in her family for generations. Without a thought for the priceless artefact, she picked it up and threw it as hard as she could against the windowpane, which exploded with a loud crash.

Harriet leaned out as far as possible without tumbling out, supporting herself on the window frame, shards of glass digging into her flesh.

She looked straight to the small maze in which her parents strolled, oblivious to the threat just feet away.

Harriet opened her mouth and screamed as loudly as she could, watching with relief as she caught the attention of people below.

“The king,” she cried, even as soldiers and household staff skidded to a halt below her. “Get to the king.”

Without stopping to question why, soldiers and parliamentarians alike turned and ran toward the flower mazes.

The would-be assassin had entered the maze by now, and Harriet nearly cast up her accounts as she watched him creep terrifyingly closer to her parents, the dagger now unmistakeable.

But Harriet’s frantic warning was gaining traction and more and more people were running toward the maze.

Mercifully, her parents took notice. So, too, did the mysterious attacker.

Just as help arrived, the soldier turned and fled with a speed that seemed impossible, darting through the maze and out the other side.

Harriet’s knees gave out as relief swept over her.

Her parents were safe.

But even as her maid Olga helped her regain her feet, even as household staff fussed around her whilst outside the king and queen were bustled into a crowd of protective guards, a knowing fear slithered along Harriet’s veins.

Someone wanted her father or mother dead. More than that, someone wanted the king or queen dead.

But why? And what on earth was going to be done about it?

Chapter Two

“That’s out of the question, Christopher. And if Alex does come back to “collect me” as though I were a child, I’ll tell him the same

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