Page 7

As soon as the Chelm Castle family—Kornelia, Malgosia, and the baron and baroness—arrived in the hall, everyone sat down for dinner.

Kazik sat with his parents at the center of the head table, while Helena and her father sat at one end, from which Helena could glimpse Kazik’s profile if she cared to look that way . . . which she frequently did.

Noise echoed through the hall—and before the meal ended, minstrels and acrobats filled the center of the room, along with a few barking dogs.

The general hubbub obliterated conversation.

Helena didn’t recognize half the people present anyway.

She guessed they might be minor nobles from across Wroc?aw whose sons were in military training for the summer.

Unable to stop herself, she kept glancing along the table toward Kazik, and once she caught his eye. His face lit up, and he gave her an encouraging nod before someone closer claimed his attention. On a whim, she slipped her hand into her pocket and touched her toy horse.

Instantly, she felt connected to Kazik, and as soon as he was able, he met her gaze again and gave her a wink.

The next time someone at his table claimed Kazik’s attention, she noticed his mother watching her.

She could feel herself blush, but Madame Euzebia’s eyes were kind like Kazik’s, and she gave Helena a little nod that made her catch her breath.

If his mother approved of Kazik’s friendship with her, maybe there was hope . . .

“Helena,” her father said, gently tapping her arm. “After two days of travel, I must retire early to be ready for a crowded agenda tomorrow.”

She did her best to maintain a pleasant expression and attitude while they made their excuses and headed back to their usual guest suite.

But once she entered her private rooms, worries seemed to multiply.

What if she didn’t get to speak with Kazik for the rest of her visit? He would be in training every day.

After her assigned maid left her alone, she felt ashamed of herself for moping.

Heaving a little sigh, she blew out her candle and opened the window shutters, grateful for the fresh night air.

Distant laughter drifted to her ears, along with an owl’s hoot and the haunting cry of a fox.

Her room in the southeast tower overlooked the gardens, which appeared rather ghostly by starlight.

She shivered a little in her chemise, trying to swallow the ache of disappointment in her chest.

As a host, Kazik was obliged to speak with many people. What with his military training and social obligations, he was unlikely to speak with her privately during this visit. Sure, they would meet in the evenings, but always among dozens of chattering people.

Then his impulsive compliment played in her mind and blazed through her heart. Pressing her hand over the spot, she whispered, “I think he does really care for me.”

A sudden flare of light nearly blinded her. She staggered back a step or two before her mind registered that a glowing golden bird perched on the windowsill. “Solara!”

“Good evening, Princess Helena of ?yrardów. I am most pleased to see you again.” The bird glanced around and ruffled her feathers with a musical jingle. “Your chambers here are hardly grand.”

“I like this tower room. It’s comfortable.” Feeling a bit defensive, she added, “Our country is in debt, so we don’t live lavishly at home either.”

The bird cocked her head. “Yet I understand that King Ryszard built your mother a fabulous bathhouse at Castle Valga as a wedding gift, bringing in stonemasons and mages from across the land to create a wedding gift she would treasure all her life.”

“My old niania once told me about it,” Helena admitted. “She said that Mama—Queen Krystyna—swam and bathed in its pools every day. When Mama died of a wasting disease, Papa had the door to the bathhouse locked and chained shut.” She ended with a wistful sigh.

“Was that not a selfish thing to do?” Solara asked. “He prevents his daughter from enjoying those pools and the beauty of his gift.”

The question worried her. “I do wish I may see the bathhouse someday, but I don’t want to hurt my Papa. He’s already sad.”

“Hmm.” Solara fluffed out her feathers. “Are you pleased to be with Prince Kazimierz again?”

Feeling warm all over, she said, “Very pleased. I think he is a kind and good prince.”

“Yes. He is also wiser than I knew.” When Solara twitched her long tail, its feathers sounded like distant bells. “Child, I do believe you will come through the fires as gold.”

With that, she flickered out like a flame.

J ust as Helena had feared, military training at the barracks devoured most of Kazik’s time.

He and the other boys presumably practiced sword drills, struck targets with lances while on horseback, and otherwise learned how to battle all day long, every day but Sundays.

Not that she was allowed to watch. Young ladies could never visit such a bastion of men.

Girls of Helena’s age were expected to remain indoors, supervise the younger children of guests, or do needlework with the ladies.

Thanks to her dearly departed niania , Helena knew how to embroider with silk threads.

She could be trusted to work on a fine tapestry without mishap, but her heart was not invested.

Stitching dogs on the hunt or knights on horseback was deadly dull compared to watching real dogs and knights and horses in action.

Four days into her weeklong visit, Helena had seen the newly cleared tournament field and archery ranges only from above and with many trees and shrubs blocking the view.

Would she ever be allowed to watch Kazik in action?

Not just practice drills but maybe a real joust or a race.

Frustrated by tangled threads, she heaved more than one deep sigh.

Boredom reigned supreme until the unwary ladies took a break from their stitching and Helena made her own break onto the terrace and down several sets of stairs.

If anyone were to see and report her escape to her father, she would probably lose all freedom for the rest of her visit.

Kazik might not even be practicing at that hour, but she simply couldn’t miss the possibility.

From halfway down the terraced hillside, Helena could see one row of targets—coiled-straw mats fastened to wooden tripods— partway across the field, and another row of butts was located at its far end. Helena saw those targets as tiny dots.

A group of archers must be lined up below, but so close to her position that she couldn’t see them. She heard a man shout twice, and the archers raised their bows. Another shout, and a cloud of arrows flew toward the targets.

The next time the men released their arrows, Helena hurried down more steps until she reached a stone terrace that afforded her a clear view and shade.

She easily picked Kazik out of the young men of all sizes and shapes.

His shoulders were wider than anyone else’s.

She had never noticed that before. When he pulled off his cap, shook his head, and wiped his face on his sleeve, his hair looked dark with sweat.

She crouched there behind the balusters as the archers prepared to shoot, and this time clearly heard the commands: “Nock. Draw. Loose!”

Watching those arrows hit or miss the targets fascinated her, and she suddenly longed to try it. Archery didn’t look particularly difficult, and Kazik had once told her she might be good at it.

She could hear the boys and men exchange grudging compliments or helpful suggestions after a round of shots, but mostly they mocked and teased, and the instructors only ever criticized.

Some of Kazik’s arrows hit the center of his target, but a few landed on the outer edges, and the last one missed entirely.

He kicked the dirt in frustration. When he suddenly turned and looked up in her direction, Helena gasped and ducked. Had he glimpsed her through the balusters?

He didn’t visibly react, so she hoped not.

When ordered, the trainees collected their arrows, and Kazik was first to return to the line.

When the next round began, his first shot hit the target’s center.

So did the next one, and the next. By the end of that round, his arrows filled the central braided coils on the target.

“Good work, all of you. And congratulations on a nearly perfect round, Your Royal Highness,” the instructor called. “Everyone, collect your arrows, then take a break.”

The squad of young noblemen broke into raucous shouts as they obeyed, and the instructors followed.

Heart in her mouth, Helena scuttled down the last flight of stone stairs and barely reached a tree to hide behind before they charged past. But she needn’t have worried: the few who glimpsed and knew her called greetings, and everyone else knew enough to watch their language and be polite in the presence of a lady, even if she wasn’t supposed to be there.

Kazik hurried toward her, beckoning. “Come on. I’ll show you how to shoot.”

Thrilled, she hurried to join him. “They’ll be back before long,” he warned, “but you should be able to get a few shots off.”

“You mean, you’ll really let me try it?”

He mopped his forehead with his sleeve. “Sure. The instructor took a break, so why not? Weren’t you hoping for a chance to shoot when you sneaked down here?”

She returned his grin. “I guess I was.”

His auburn hair was a mass of damp curls, and his familiar face was dotted with red spots and scraggly whiskers. But when she looked into his pretty eyes, none of that mattered.

Besides, she had a few red spots herself. Oh, the horror of imperfection! She had to laugh at her own vanity sometimes.

Kazik demonstrated step by step what to do, and after shooting two more bullseyes, he handed her the bow and walked her through the process. “Slide your left hand down . . . There. Much better. Move this foot back. Ideally, you want to aim the arrow and shoot in one smooth motion. Now . . .”

Helena felt the tiniest bit insecure, but he was so casual and friendly that she began to relax—at least on the outside. He had been instructing by pointing rather than touching her, but then he stopped to ask, “Do you mind if I correct your position? It’s easier than trying to explain.”

“Go ahead.” She focused on getting things right, which was hard enough when he adjusted her hands on the bow and the arrow .

. . but focus was downright impossible when he briefly grasped her waist and one shoulder with his hands to adjust her stance.

And when he let go, the places he’d touched her felt .

. . warm. She kept her composure, but her face burned, and she couldn’t help wondering if he even thought of her as a girl.

“Keep your eyes on the target,” he reminded her, backing off.

She struggled to remember that such a thing as a target even existed, but she obeyed.

“Now, nock. Draw. Loose!”

Instead of flying, her arrow dropped to the ground. “Oh, what did I do wrong?” she growled.

“Hmm. This finger got in the way.” When he gently tapped her erring finger, she noticed his large hand and the scabs and bruises on some of his fingers.

“Try again, and I’ll arrange your grip. Now, keep loose; don’t tighten up.

” As if that were possible with him standing directly behind her.

Helena struggled to follow his directions.

His freckled arms were corded with muscle that didn’t used to be there.

He smelled like sweat, but all boys stank most of the time.

Helena hardly knew what to think or do. No matter how often she reminded herself that he was just her dear friend Kazik, her heart kept beating too hard.

“Don’t worry about the target this time,” Kazik spoke near her ear, sending a thrill through her. “Let the arrow fly. Don’t try to push it. The bow will do the work while you keep your fingers out of the way.”

Her second shot flew straight but fell short.

“Good!” Kazik said with a note of surprise and . . . approval? “Want to try one more?”

“I do, but it didn’t hit even close to the target.”

He frowned in thought. “I have an idea. C’mon.”

He led her about halfway to the target and handed her another arrow. “Now try again. Pretend you’re hungry and shooting a rabbit or pigeon for breakfast.”

She nodded, already focused. Kazik warned her before gently grasping her waist, turned her a little, then shifted one of her feet with his boot.

He stepped back and gave the three commands; Helena drew the arrow back smoothly, then let it go.

When it hit the lower edge of the target and stuck there, she let out a triumphant shout, turned, and almost threw her arms around Kazik .

. . but she didn’t dare, and not just because she was holding a bow.

“ Good shot! A little more practice and you’ll hit it dead center!”

Kazik’s pride and pleasure had her walking on clouds.

While they collected the arrows, she saw some of the other boys and men returning, presumably from their barracks, while others descended the hillside stairs to resume their military drills.

Her awkwardness returned in a rush of panic.

“You’re a great friend, Kazik,” she blurted. “Thanks for the archery lesson.”

Then she turned and ran for the stairs. But Kazik easily caught up with her. “Helena, you don’t want to run or walk alone through this group of boys and men. Please let me escort you.”

He was right. Even with Kazik at her side, all protective and imposing, she overheard comments and words that sounded ugly. “I would challenge them all to single combat for their disrespect of a lady,” Kazik muttered, “but it wouldn’t do any good. For me or for them.”

“I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He escorted her to the platform nearest the top of the bluff, gave her one heart-melting look and gently raised her hand to his lips, then trotted back down the steps to rejoin his fellow trainees.

Prince Kazimierz may not be particularly impressive in appearance, Helena mused, but he knew exactly how to melt a girl’s heart.