Page 3 of Hooked

“You look lovely, Princess.”

“Are you certain?” The tone of her voice made me pay attention. Her eyes were wide, almost wary as she stared at her reflection.

“Are you nervous?” I asked.

She looked up at me in the mirror and her eyes flashed from concern to confusion, and then she shook her head and even laughed a little. “I suppose I was.” She looked back at her own reflection. “It’s habit. Staring at myself in the mirror, wondering what I could do to look exactly right so that Damian wouldn’t be angry.” Her expression turned wistful. “Oh, how things have changed.”

That little reminder of what she’d suffered at the hands of her first husband made my heart ache just a little, while at the same time giving me immense gratitude for what she’d found with Sir James. “We both know James will always think you look splendid.”

“Yes,” she said with a smile. “And I think he’s just as splendid.”

Rogue whined from his spot beside the dressing table, and Marilee turned her smile on him. “Come here,” she said, and the hound quickly stood and repositioned himself at his mistress’s feet, laying his head on her lap so that he could look up at her with adoring eyes.

I chuckled. “And Rogue here always thinks you’re the most wonderful person in the room.”

She kissed the dog’s head and then stood up. “Am I presentable?” she asked, this time with a smile.

“Perfectly.”

“Thank you, as always, Cecily.”

I curtsied and watched her exit the room, Rogue following behind.

After putting the room to rights, I decided it could use some more color. I retrieved a basket and left the manor to gather some flowers for Marilee’s room. Marilee loved color, and I would happily provide her with more of it. Perhaps I would gather a few for my own room as well. I wandered past the stables and into the trees until I was close to the stream that separated Sutton land from Bridgefield, the house where I had first had the opportunity to serve and eventually befriend Princess Marilee.

Marilee had gone back to her home kingdom of Dalthia five months ago, taking me and two other servants with her. But after she married Sir James, we’d moved back here to Winberg.

I stopped walking when I reached the banks of the stream, caught for a moment in the strangeness of my new life. I’d heard that Bridgefield was only now occupied by minimal staff whose job it was to keep it up until such a time as the duke’s family might have need of it again. Mr. Tennsworth had stayed on there, keeping his position as groundskeeper, too old to want to uproot his simple life. Emeline and I had gone to visit him a few days ago, and he’d told us that the duke and his wife hadn’t come back since Lord Rockwell’s death. Princess Marilee and Lord Damian Rockwell had been married only eight months when he died.

I shook off the memories and kept walking, choosing the biggest and brightest blooms that I could find. My work was quick since the heat of the day was increasing, and I wanted to return before the flowers had a chance to wilt.

On my return, I headed toward the kitchen, hoping that Emeline could find me a tall cup that we could use as a vase for our room. But as I rounded the corner of the house, I stopped at the sight that met me. In the open space to the side of the garden, four young boys were gathered. Each was standing at attention as Falstone stood in front of them, giving instructions. Ansel and Oliver I recognized from seeing them in the stables over the past weeks. I couldn’t be sure if I knew the other two or not.

I stayed where I was, not wanting to draw attention to myself before I could discover what was happening. The boys ranged in age from Ansel, who was about seven, to a boy I didn’t recognize who looked to be older than Oliver, perhaps twelve or thirteen. Falstone rose a fist and I flinched before realizing that he was demonstrating. He showed them his fist from every angle and then punched it into his hand, all the while speaking words I couldn’t hear as the boys looked on with rapt attention. Then he called Ansel forward and waited for the child to make the proper fist before holding up his hand. The boy took a practice swing at Falstone’s hand.

What was happening here?

I watched for a few more minutes as he took the time to instruct each child. Then I realized I couldn’t watch forever and carefully made my way toward the kitchen door, trying to avoid notice.

I slipped inside and found the nearest window. I looked out on the scene and then turned to Emeline. “What’s going on out there?” I asked.

Emeline took a breath, preparing to answer. Emeline was thirteen and spoke very little, but she was like a younger sister to me.

Explaining anything with more than a few words was difficult for her, so I could feel her relief when the cook, Diana, responded as she worked to peel a pile of vegetables. “Falstone, you mean?”

I nodded then returned my eyes to the scene outside.

Diana chuckled. “He’s got his little band of warriors back together again.”

I turned to look at her. “Band of warriors?”

She smiled indulgently. “It started with Johnny, whom I suppose you’ll remember from Bridgefield.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“I guess word got back to Falstone that Johnny had aspirations of being a soldier,” Diana continued, “and he took it on himself, started teaching him a thing or two. Ways to defend himself. Even started training him with a wooden sword.”

“When was this?”