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Adelaide

A delaide’s eyes roved over the imposing stone castle waiting for her at the end of the drive. A part of her wanted to appreciate the estate’s beauty and the peace that radiated from the picturesque courtyard, but Adelaide knew better. A beautiful wrought-iron gate sat wide open at its mouth, welcoming anyone who would dare to step foot inside the fortress masked by tall trees and stone walls.

By the time Adelaide completed her mission, Castle Belmont would not welcome her. In fact, if all went well, the entire province would be vying for the reward her capture would bring them.

After four years, Adelaide should be used to it. But in truth, her heart never ceased to beat with a pang of sadness when each assignment came to an end and she had to return to Mistress Scrabs’s clutches. It was a pain she shouldn’t know at only twenty-six. In a way, this estate symbolized freedom. Yet it was only another burden for her to shoulder until she’d gotten what Mistress Scrabs had sent her here for.

Until then, Castle Belmont and its vast estate wouldn’t— couldn’t —mean anything to her.

Adelaide swallowed thickly. A shudder threatened to trail down her spine. Aside from rumor and speculation, she knew very little of the fortress that was Castle Belmont. She prayed the steward wouldn’t realize her nervousness or see through the forged recommendation Mistress Scrabs had provided her with. If he suspected anything about her was amiss, he’d tell Archduke Hughes, better known as the White Hawk of Kordouva, and he would throw her out of his service before she even stepped foot through the door.

And if he did…Adelaide curled her hands into fists. Archduke Hughes would be the least of her worries if she was found out. Her stomach churned.

Adelaide smoothed down her skirts and straightened her fraying cloak. Gritting her teeth, she took a step up the pathway. The gallop of hooves reached her ears. Turning her head in its direction, Adelaide gasped. Jumping back, her foot slipped, stumbling on a rock.

“Oof,” Adelaide groaned, landing on her bottom, her back half buried in the spindly shrubbery that lined the dirt road leading to Castle Belmont’s cobblestone driveway. Sitting up, Adelaide raised her hand to brush away the stray strands of her brown hair that had fallen from her braid. Hissing, she glared at her throbbing wrist.

A steady voice called out. The racing horses stopped in their tracks several yards away. Adelaide didn’t dare glance their way. Instead, she focused on righting her clothes. The crunch of gravel under booted feet met her ears. Her face burned. She wished she’d left her hair down so she could hide. Before she could even pick herself up and hope it was just happenstance that the men had stopped their horses, a hand appeared in her field of vision.

“Are you all right, miss?” The soft voice coaxed Adelaide into glancing up. It belonged to a man with striking blue eyes and a strong jaw. Stunned by the depths of the man’s eyes, Adelaide nearly forgot how to breathe. His jet-black hair was slightly askew from the winter wind, but suited him well. Adelaide blinked hard. Her throat tightened, terrified by the man’s undivided attention. Her mind finally made sense of the seconds passing by.

But was this who she thought it was? She dropped her gaze as her mind called forth the sketch of Castle Belmont’s master Mistress Scrabs had given her to study. Archduke Hughes?

Managing to overcome her paralysis, Adelaide stammered, “Y-yes, thank you, Your Grace.”

Foolishly, she accepted his hand. The moment he helped her up, she winced, having already forgotten about her wrist. She bit back her groan.

“Most people who are ‘all right’ don’t wince,” Archduke Hughes said, observing her closely. “If you’re injured, say so.”

“I…well, it’s my wrist,” Adelaide finally conceded. “But I’m sure it’s just a minor sprain. Thank you for your concern, Your Grace.”

The Archduke hummed, his lips pursed. He didn’t ask as he grasped hold of her hand once more and gingerly maneuvered it to examine her wrist.

“William, don’t just stand there. Bring me my bag,” he called to the other rider.

Adelaide glanced over at William and watched as he encouraged the massive beasts forward. He was a bit shorter than Archduke Hughes, and fair-haired, though his face was kind and familiar in a way that a friend’s should be. They seemed to be the same age, but Adelaide couldn’t say for certain, knowing how deceiving looks could be.

Keeping hold of the horses’ reins, William managed to free Archduke Hughes’s bag and hand it to him. “And to think making sure the horses didn’t wander wasn’t being helpful enough, Gavin.”

Adelaide’s mind spun as she realized she was in the presence of not one, but two powerful nobles. Two powerful and dangerous nobles, should she be caught. Adelaide squirmed where she stood. The archduke hadn’t released her hand and, by the looks of it, had no intention of letting her go anytime soon.

Setting his leather bag down on the dusty gravel by his feet, Archduke Hughes bent slightly and rummaged through it. He pulled a roll of cloth from its confines and straightened. As he began to wrap her wrist, he asked, “What brings you to Castle Belmont?”

Adelaide rubbed her lips together before responding, glancing toward the shadow of the trees so she wouldn’t have to look at either of them. “I was hoping to apply for the maid’s opening within Your Grace’s household.”

The archduke paused. Adelaide met his curious gaze and dropped her eyes again, wrapping her free arm around her middle.

“And what recommendations do you have, Miss…perhaps I should ask your name first?” Archduke Hughes asked, as he finished wrapping her wrist.

“Adelaide, Your Grace.” Adelaide tried to ignore the burning sensation at the tip of her tongue. Why had she used her real name? What was it about this situation, this man, that made her forget her purpose? “As for my recommendations, I have a letter from Lord Ventner.”

“I haven’t seen you at his estate. How long were you in his employ?”

Mistress Scrabs’s husky voice grated against Adelaide’s memory. “For six years, Your Grace.”

“And why were you let go?” Archduke Hughes released his hold on Adelaide’s hand at last. There wasn’t any relief to be had of the action as she blanched at his interrogation. Especially when he left no room for her to recover. “If you were in fact employed by Lord Ventner, I know he doesn’t let good help part ways if he can help it, so either you were let go or something else brought you to my estate. So which is it?”

The internal scars Adelaide bore from years of harsh punishments flared sharply as if they’d been freshly inflicted. Despite his brief act of kindness in tending to her injury, Archduke Hughes’s reputation as the king’s shrewd advisor and unyielding sword wasn’t something to be forgotten.

“My mother,” Adelaide started cautiously, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. “She’s fallen ill, Your Grace, and can no longer take care of herself. I had hoped to be closer to her so that I might care for her.”

Adelaide kept her eyes on the ground between them, her head bowed in subservience. The weight of the archduke’s eyes on her made Adelaide want to curl in on herself. But she couldn’t. She needed to persevere, no matter how uncomfortable the archduke’s attention on her made her. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Not once, at any other estate she’d been sent to, had the nobility ever paid her—or any of the servants—any mind.

“Well,” he started, “if there is one thing you should know about working in my estate, it’s that I do not like people who cannot meet my eyes.”

Adelaide’s blood froze. Had she heard him right?

“I find them untrustworthy. People who cannot meet the eyes of another are expendable.”

“Gavin,” William said, his voice full of warning, but Archduke Hughes cut him off.

“Excuse me. I have very important matters to attend to. Sir Maxwell will see you to the estate.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Adelaide managed to say as he turned away and reached for the reins of his speckled horse. Without another word, Archduke Hughes mounted his horse. Adelaide held his bright blue eyes as he glanced back at her and dipped his head before flicking the reins. His horse took off at a trot before breaking into a gallop.

Dust kicked up and clouded the pathway in the aftermath, leaving Adelaide and Sir Maxwell staring after Archduke Hughes through a haze. Adelaide still couldn’t wrap her mind around the strange encounter. The White Hawk of Kordouva had stopped to wrap her wrist, but had carried out their conversation with a crisp detachment that directly contradicted the kind action. What sort of man was he really? Was his serious manner a reflection of what was in his heart? Or was there something more to Archduke Gavin Hughes, the king’s fiercest ally, than the rumors hinted?

Sir Maxwell cleared his throat. “Should we carry on then, Miss Adelaide?”

Startled from her thoughts, Adelaide snapped her eyes toward the travel-worn knight. “Oh! There’s no need to wait for me. I’m sure there are more important things for you to do than escort me to Castle Belmont.” Offering him a curtsy, she added, “Thank you for the generous offer, Sir.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “The walk would do me some good, and I’m sure Viktor wouldn’t mind the break from carrying me on his back.”

“If it really wouldn’t inconvenience you…” Adelaide replied, choosing her words delicately. “I would be grateful for the company.”

“Wonderful.” Sir Maxwell switched Viktor’s reins from one hand to the other and began to step foot down the pathway. Adelaide reached for her bag, but before she could settle its strap on her shoulder, Sir Maxwell said, “Allow me.”

“Oh, I can manage, thank you,” Adelaide protested.

Sir Maxwell smiled and gripped her bag firmly. “What sort of knight would I be if I let an injured person carry their own bag in my presence?”

“If you insist, Sir.” A headache began to pound in Adelaide’s temples. How she would ever make it through the interview with Belmont’s steward, she hadn’t the slightest idea.

“I do insist,” Sir Maxwell said, keeping pace with Adelaide as though they had known each other all their lives. “I don’t mean to pry, but you said your mother was ill?”

Adelaide’s heart stopped. She blinked hard to clear her thoughts. It wasn’t exactly a lie; her mother was ill. The price of her treatment was what had led Adelaide to fall into Mistress Scrabs’s clutches, but how much could she truly reveal about herself before someone found her out?

“Yes.” Adelaide pushed the word past her lips. Her tongue turned numb, but still she carried on if only so Sir Maxwell wouldn’t be suspicious of her silence. Adelaide did her best to weave a lie she could remember, a lie that blended enough of the truth but still protected her identity—and Mistress Scrabs’s ill intentions.