The Wrong Prince by C. K. Brooke

me?”
    He shifted. He’d not realized he had come across that way. “Nay, Lucie. I’m…just worried for my brother, is all.”
    She was silent a moment. “You are close with Prince Dmitri.” It wasn’t a question.
    He nodded, thinking upon his brother’s bespectacled eyes, silly grins, keen mind…and utter lack of athleticism. In some ways, Geo pitied the man. But in far more ways, he admired him.
    Her voice came again. “I never had siblings. My, mother died giving birth to me, I’m afraid.”
    Geo turned to look at her. He’d known the Baron of Backshore was widowed, but hadn’t realized how. Lucie had never met her own mother? Sympathy tugged at him. “I’m sorry. How lonely it must’ve been growing up in that big old manor,” he remarked, “with no one but your father.”
    “I wasn’t lonely.” She sounded mildly defensive. “I had my grandmother and all the servants, too. But,” she sighed, “yes, I’ve often wondered what having a brother or sister would have been like.”
    Geo smiled. “It’s incomparable. Then again, I was lucky.”
    Her expression asked him to expound.
    “I hear most brothers are rivals,” he explained. “Some of our knights, for example, are siblings. And since childhood, it appears they’ve done naught but fight and try to one-up each other in everything.” He shook his head. “Dmitri was never like that. In fact, he’s the least competitive person I know. And over the years, when I bested him in hunting, archery, jousting—you name it—he was nothing but supportive. Thrilled for me.”
    He gulped back the lump rising in his throat. His whole life, he’d done nothing but steal attention away from the Crown Prince. He’d even been lusting after the man’s bride! And where was his brother now? Imprisoned, on Geo’s behalf.
    “What sort of wretch am I?” he whispered. He contemplated Dmitri’s sapphire-tinted eyes. They always surveyed his younger brother with pride, never a hint of envy.
    “The sort of wretch,” Lucie replied levelly, “who’d cross rivers and mountains and caves to rescue his brother, in the company of an obstinate young woman, no less.”
    Her grin was patient, uplifting. Geo nodded in thanks, unable to say anything more.

HER CHAMBER DOOR HUNG AJAR. Pavola pushed it open, recognizing that the servants had been through. Her linens had been changed, the window propped open, and atop her bureau sat an unfamiliar scroll. Heartbeat accelerating, she made her way over to it, certain the servants had read it. But she plucked up the missive to discover the wax still sealed.
    Carefully, she severed the seal and unfurled the scroll. She knew she ought to savor every word, but so eager was she to determine the response, she scanned the page with haste. At last, she read the words that jounced her hopeful heart.
    “Oh,” she breathed. She shoved the correspondence into her skirts and flung from the chamber, not caring how loudly her shoes clacked down the corridor. The afternoon was early, but she couldn’t wait till nightfall.
    She almost collided with a burly guard as she darted past the courtyard. “Careful, young ward.” He steadied her with rough hands, though his face was not unkind. “Best watch where you’re going.”
    “Apologies,” she hurried to say. But her words were drowned out as a procession of soldiers poured in from the courtyard. She scurried out of the way, backing into the shadows beneath a stairwell.
    “Almost time to march back to Tybiria?” she overheard one drawl.
    His companion issued a snort of doubt. “I don’t reckon the prisoner’s as decayed as he ought to be. Let the mold and maggots do their work, then we’ll bring him back to his king in proper form.”
    Pavi held her breath, tucking herself more squarely against the wall. The prisoner? Were they talking about Mit?
    A soldier in front turned. “His Majesty wishes to carry the prince’s skeleton back to Tybiria’s courts, with his skull topping a