Crown of Three by J. D. Rinehart

lessons here now? How could she learn about history and painting, and how to walk into a room with her back straight and her head held high, from these peasants who lived in the woods? “Train me in what?”
    â€œIn the sword,” said Fessan. “The throne is yours, Princess Elodie. But I am afraid you will have to fight for it.”
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    Palenie’s tent was even more spartan than Fessan’s: just two heaps of furs and a pile of weapons. So different from Elodie’s chambers back at Castle Vicerin. She felt a sudden wrench in her stomach. Could those things Fessan said about Lord Vicerin be true? Even if they were, she desperately wished she were home again.
    As she’d followed Palenie across the clearing, she’d been acutely aware of the faces watching her pass, their expressions open and curious . . . and somehow possessive. Fessan had told her she wasn’t a prisoner. So why did she still feel as if she’d been kidnapped?
    â€œThis one’s yours,” said Palenie, spreading out a silvery blanket stitched together from fox pelts. “That one’s mine.” She pointed to a heavy black fur. Like her cloak, it must once have belonged to a bear.
    â€œI have to sleep on a dead animal?”
    â€œSorry. I suppose it’s not what you’re used to. But it gets cold out here. You’ll be glad of the warmth.”
    â€œNo—I mean what do we sleep on?”
    Palenie looked at her with something like pity. “The ground.”
    Elodie swallowed the sob building in her throat. She wasn’t going to let this stranger see her cry. In case her expression betrayed her feelings, she bent over and started fiddling with the rip in her skirt.
    â€œLook, these are for you,” said Palenie. She arranged a pile of clothes on the fox blanket. “Tunic. Leggings. Boots. That dress won’t last a day out here, I’m afraid.” She laid a hand on Elodie’s arm. “Princess, why don’t you get changed and have some rest? You’ll need to be fresh for your training tomorrow.”
    â€œDo you really expect me to use a sword?” Elodie picked through the clothes. Everything was green, stitched from coarsely woven cloth.
    â€œSword. Spear. Bow and arrow.” Palenie’s voice was soft. “Look, Princess. I’m sorry. I know this is tough, but taking the throne is going to be hard. You need to be able to handle yourself.”
    Somehow the kindness was worse even than what Fessan had said to her. Fighting against the tears, Elodie pushed past Palenie. She pulled back the tent flap, waiting for her new chaperone to block her way, just as Sylva would have done. Instead, Palenie just said:
    â€œBe careful out there.”
    â€œAren’t you going to stop me?”
    â€œYou’re not a prisoner.”
    â€œSo you’re just letting me leave?”
    â€œI’m telling you not to stray far. Whatever you do, don’t go into the trees.”
    â€œI suppose you’re going to tell me they’re full of bears?”
    â€œWhere do you think my cloak came from? But it’s not that. There are worse things than bears in the Weeping Woods.”
    Something trickled down Elodie’s spine: a touch like icy water. But she swept out of the tent. “I’ll take my chances!” she called back.
    In the clearing the fires still blazed, but many of the people she’d seen earlier had vanished. She supposed they were inside their own tents, perhaps eating. At the thought of food, her stomach growled. She ignored it. There would be time enough to eat once she’d made her escape from this forsaken place.
    Tall trees surrounded the clearing on all sides. In the dusk they looked almost black. The sun had sunk out of sight, but the western sky was still flaming red. Elodie set it to her right, so that she was facing south: the direction she’d come