The False Prince: Chapters 12–23

I nodded curtly at him.

I lay in bed for several seconds, orienting myself to the unfamiliar feelings of warmth and comfort.

Errol dug into the drawers of my wardrobe, stifling a yawn.

I folded my arms resolutely. "I’m not sitting in a chair meant for a five-year-old. Get me a real chair."

Master Graves was incensed and said, as punishment for my disruption, I would have to write my letters an extra ten times that day.

“He called you incorrigible,” Mott said. “Honestly, Sage, are you trying to fail?”

Earlier that morning, servants had brought us a small breakfast of hard-boiled eggs and milk to eat while we studied. With such a paltry beginning, it was no surprise that both Roden and I were already hungry again.

There was a nervousness about her, yet her easy smile and gentle nature were a welcome respite from the serious demeanor everyone else on this estate seemed to have.

There was a nervousness about her, yet her easy smile and gentle nature were a welcome respite from the serious demeanor everyone else on this estate seemed to have.

Tobias lapsed into a sort of daydream until Roden and I failed to answer her next question, which he then answered without hesitation.

"Then it's a good time to teach you some humility. Get on the horse or face the consequences.”

Behind me, Cregan was laughing boisterously.

Mott cantered over and slid off his horse.

He figured you had goaded Cregan into letting you have a horse so you could ride to your freedom.

“You're the most willing to do anything he wants, the most pliable. He knows I'd be difficult to manage, and he can't be sure about Roden. But you, you're a puppet master's dream."

My whole life was a testament to the truth of that fact.

The tension in the air was thick and tangible.

Perhaps you believe you can use the sword to shore up your claims of being the prince when you are presented at court. But that is futile because, as I said, it's not an exact replica. Anyone with a practiced eye will easily know it’s a copy. Perhaps you have stolen it to give yourself an advantage in sword-fighting. Again, this is futile.

Was I as foolhardy as Jaron seemed to have been?

“A secret that is safe between you, me, and Master Conner,” I said with a wry sideward glance.

Despite my objection that it was a boring topic more suited for Master Graves than dinner conversation, he indulged us with a lecture on the customs of castle life, the daily schedule a king might manage.

The betrothed princess Amarinda of Bultain was chosen at her birth for the crown prince Darius.

His wife, Queen Erin, was from an inconsequential border town in southern Carthya, unknown in any social circles of the upper class. He was expected to choose from amongst the noblemen's daughters, so there was a great controversy when he married. Even today, little is known about her life before the marriage.

You three will be in disguise as servants amongst my staff. She is a betrothed princess and will hardly deign to look at any of you.

But I want you to see her, to gain an understanding of her mannerisms and style.

“What are you thinking about?"
“Ways to get you to stop talking to me."
Tobias wasn't fazed.

The nursery/schoolroom where Roden and I took lessons was up there, but I wasn't sure of what else. Likely, there were apartments for a governess and possibly more bedrooms.

The crescent moon had shifted in the sky before I decided to return to my bedroom, where Conner so smugly believed he held us prisoner.

The fringe on a hanging tapestry was pinched between walls.

Either the interior walls were uncommonly thick or Farthenwood had secret passageways.

Conner still used the tunnels, or one of his surrogates did.

"It's imitator's gold, Sage. You probably bought it from a swindler in the marketplace.”

We were about to discuss the royal lineage.

“He doesn't own me,” I said.
That elicited Mott’s first snap of the whip.

"That's imitator's gold,” I said, irritated at his attempt to patronize me. "Mine was real.”