"This is your new maid, Molly," Claire told Derrick. "We shall be working together."
"Okay, Claire," Derrick agreed with a smile. "Molly, do me a favor and make the bed, please. One of the scullery girls apparently overslept this morning."
"Yes, Prince." With a bowed head, she crept over and tugged on a corner of the red satin sheets, which came loose from the matress. She had no idea how to do this.
Claire hurried over. "Are you okay, Molly?"
"Just a little dizzy," she lied, making the mistake of glancing up into the prince's caramel-colored eyes. Her stomach dropped. No. This was not how this was supposed to work. She was not actually in love with the prince. She was not.
"Is she still gone?" Queen Kendra demanded, pulling her diamond tiara down on her flaxen hair. She didn't need to wait for an answer. She knew. "Call out the army. Take them away from fighting Peekskill. I need them all here to organize a search party for my daughter."
Kendra knew why Massie had left. But she, just like everyone else, was at a complete loss as to where she was.
"Son." King James Harrington III clapped a meaty hand down on Derrick's shoulder. "You need to visit the Lady Alicia."
"But-" he began to protest, holding up the parchment he'd been working on.
"Your scripture can wait. You are courting her; you ought to pay her some respect, Derrick. She is a Lady."
"Yes, Father." He bowed his head and stood, dragging his feet to the stable entrance. "I require someone to saddle my horse."
A squire did, offering him the reins. "Go safely on your journey, Prince."
"Thank you, I will, Crawlings. Go, girl." He dug his heels into the sides of the spotted gray mare and galloped off.
Dylan Marvil was known far and wide as the fairest woman in the land. With her luscious red waves, creamy skin, and ruler-shaped body with small curves, every man lusted after her.
She was also sweet, but slightly naive, and always behaved like a lady should. Like most ladies did. Except for the infamous Lady Alicia Rivera.
"I've missed you, Dylan," came the voice of her current suitor, a snide boy named Christopher Plovert.
She extended her hand, and he kissed it lightly.
"Pleasure," she breathed. "Pray be seated, Sir Christopher."
He nodded courteously and waited for her to regain her chair before taking his.
She was perfectly polite, like all the other ladies of the huge kingdom of New York.
Lady Alicia Rivera, however, was, in fact, infamous, and she did not behave like a normal lady in any way whatsoever. As Derrick walked in, she prepared herself to pounce.
"Lady Alicia." He swallowed. "How nice to see you." He bowed, swooping his arms, his brown hair flopping over his forehead, his caramel eyes dull.
Instead of responding, though, she grabbed his forearms, pushed him against the wall, and shoved her tongue into his mouth.
He forced himself free, gently lowering Alicia onto her bedspread. "We can't do this, Lady," he insisted. "I don't know why you want me to court you, but our relationship is not to be of a sexual nature until we are lawfully wedded, and then only to reproduce."
"That's not the way I was taught," she purred devilishly, fluttering her long lashes.
"Well, that is the way I was taught, and, as Prince of the Land Of Westchester, I believe I should have final say in the matter."
"But I just must nitpick. You are not my prince, Derrick. My prince is His Royal Highness Joshua Hotz, and to him I shall pay proper respects. But you, you are my future husband. Prince or not."
"I have never discussed marriage with you, Lady. This is not proper for a lady to behave in this fashion. I think it is my duty to inquire as to who your parents are."
"Why, the Baron Len Rivera, and his wife, Ally Rivera."
Of course. He should have known. The despicable baron of Putnam Valley, Len Rivera, was notorious for the way he married women who mysteriously died one way or the other, then married again within the next six months. They were almost never of royal descent, either. As far as he knew, Allison Sanchez had been a street tramp until Len had caught her stealing dresses from his former wife. He was set to execute her, but instead fell in love. Or, at least, that's what he said.
"So." Her eyes glittered. "Have you heard? The Princess Massie Block has gone missing."
"Missing?" he repeated numbly. His heart pounded loudly in his throat.
"Disappeared!" she cackled, relishing in his stunned expression. "Poof!"
He gulped hard.
"What's wrong?" she teased, cupping his chin with her hands. "Having an affair with the brown-eyed bitch?" Her fathomless jet-black iris's snapped playfully. Her mouth was set.
He jerked away from her. "Her eyes aren't brown. They're amber," he murmured, his tongue feeling like it was made of lead. "And she's not a... female dog."
"Oh, I know things about her that would make your hair curl." She twirled a lock around her finger. "Not that you need it."