The Decoy Princess by Dawn Cook

be best if you retired to your rooms, Prince Garrett. We will speak again tomorrow.”
    His voice was frighteningly cold.
    Garrett’s fierce green eyes were unwavering from my father’s. “As you say,” he said. He turned to my mother. “Your Highness.” Spinning on a heel, he strode up the walk to the door, his boots loud on the slate.
    I sat in shock, blinking at nothing as his steps grew faint and vanished. My mother dropped her head into her hands and started to silently weep.
    I’m not the princess?
    Four
    The creak of my outer door closing woke me. Eyes open, I stared into the dimness of the predawn dusk as Heather rustled about, trying to be quiet. A knot of worry loosened about me, and I stretched my feet downward to find the hot water bottle. Its warmth was all but gone, telling me as clearly as the lighter black outside my window that it was almost sunrise. Too early for me, but not for wandering, lustful members of my court.
    A smile curled up the corners of my mouth. Heather was always sharp to spot a chance to escape the palace walls. As long as she didn’t get pregnant, everyone would look the other way, and I enjoyed living vicariously through her. Reattaching buttons was a small price to pay for hearing how she had spent her evening. I just hoped she remembered what I had sent her for.
    My flicker of anticipation died. I wondered if Heather would still like me after she found out I was a beggar’s child.
    “Heather?” I called, shame deciding for me that I wouldn’t tell her until I had to. “What did you do, wait while the smith smelted the metal?”
    There was a scrape of a foot on the floor inside my room, and I frowned. I could smell horse. That wasn’t Heather.
    Head throbbing with fear, I bolted upright, reaching for the knife under my pillow.
    “Nuh-uh,” a masculine voice said, and a thick hand gripped my shoulder in a painful pinch. A gasp of fear escaped me, and I struggled as the man swore and put a hand over my mouth, pinning me to the headboard. I froze, leaving my knife hidden when I heard the snick of steel against leather from a second man entering my room.
    “There now, Princess,” the man holding me said. “See, I tolds you she was a good girl. She only needs to know what’s what.”
    The second man grumbled something, his black shadow shifting uneasily from foot to foot. My heart was pounding, and I was cold. Where were my guards? Why was I alone?
    “Now,” the first said, his moist fingers against my face stinking of mutton, “Prince Garrett sent us to fetch you. I can knock your pretty little head and carry you, or you can walk.”
    That was a choice ? “Walk,” I mumbled around his hand.
    He eyed me in distrust, his grip on my shoulder tightening until I cried out.
    “Gent,” the second said, sounding worried. “Don’t bruise her. He won’t like it.”
    The fingers on me slackened, and he stepped back. My pulse raced, and my head throbbed. I wanted my knife, but it would be useless against swords. Where are my guards ?
    My face went slack, and my breath faltered. Garrett had taken the palace. He had enough men with him to take the palace! God help us… My parents…
    The man standing over me gestured with his bare blade, and I scrambled out of bed before he reached for me. Stomach clenched, I drew myself up and forced my arms down from where I wanted to clutch them about myself in fear and cold. The second man motioned to the door, and I stumbled into motion. My thoughts were a sickening slurry as I went into my outer room, one guard before me, one behind. It was the first time I had ever felt imprisoned by swords, never having had them drawn against me instead of for my protection.
    My nightdress wasn’t enough to stop the dawn’s chill from soaking into me as I paced the empty halls in my bare feet, becoming more afraid as I went. Most of the lamps had died, and faint calls and shouts echoed occasionally. We came into the main receiving room, as large and