Page 3 of A Thieving Curse

“Prince Gareth,” the steward said, “I’ll escort you back to your tutor. Princess Raelyn, please be more respectful of your nurse.”

“Yes, sir.” Raelyn sighed.

Nurse gave Raelyn a disappointed look and took her hand. As Nurse led her away, Raelyn peeked over her shoulder. Gareth turned and walked backward after the steward. He mimed clawing and roaring. She snorted.

Nurse looked down at her sharply. “Princesses don’t snort, Your Grace.”

“Yes, Nurse.” Raelyn focused on looking calm and dignified. Like a proper princess.

But inside, she was thinking about princes who turned into evil monsters.

1

Eleven Years Later

“PRINCESS? YOUR GRACE? Princess Raelyn.”

Raelyn blinked rapidly and pulled her gaze away from the moisture-coated window and the red-breasted robins flitting in a budding cherry tree beyond it. The still air in the small, oak-paneled study was thick with the heat of the crackling fire. The sappy scent of burning pine made her long to nap.

Her tutor on Rethali customs, an older man with a perpetual squint and frizzy gray hair, sighed. Raelyn bit her cheek and straightened in her chair. How long had she been staring out the window?

“Your Grace.” Tutor Pierson spoke slowly, as he did whenever he was trying to disguise his irritation. He splayed his spindly fingers on the table between them, his shoulders inching toward his neck. “I asked you a question. I rather hoped you were giving it deliberate consideration before replying, but it seems your mind has wandered elsewhere.”

“No, no, I was deliberating.” Raelyn desperately tried to recall what he had asked. She adjusted her posture and relaxed her expression into something proper. Maybe if she looked serious, Pierson wouldn’t tell Mother she had been daydreaming. Yet again. “Perhaps I don’t have enough information. Explain the situation further, please?”

Pierson exhaled heavily. “You are preparing for a banquet where you and your husband will be hosting Barons Caval, Lonson, and Nakom. What color gown do you wear, and whom do you greet first? If you need more, you have forgotten our previous lessons. Again.”

She managed not to wince at the disappointment in her tutor’s voice. She was always disappointing people. Her nurses as a child, her tutors, her parents. Often, she felt almost everyone had an idea of who the future queen of Rethalyon should be and didn’t seem to care who Raelyn actually was.

She ran her fingers over the soft wool of her green dress and tried to remember which colors the noble families of the neighboring kingdom of Rethalyon bore on their crests. As queen, she would have to avoid wearing any of them or risk appearing to favor one family. Couldn’t her future servants help with this sort of thing?

It also seemed unrealistic to expect her to remember these details in her fourth tutorial of the day. Gareth only had three tutors to her six, which was unfair. But then again, Gareth wasn’t marrying the crown prince of a formerly rival kingdom in two weeks.

“Well, not maroon, considering the Nakoms’ presence,” she said, employing her best regal voice as instructed by her etiquette tutor. She looked around the small study as if she might find a clue. “Certainly not jade—”

Something slammed into the window, and Raelyn gasped. Pierson clutched a hand over his heart. Another loud crash sounded as a glob of mud rattled the panes. Raelyn stifled a smile.

Pierson grunted and pushed off the table, the legs of his chair scraping over the wood floor. “Just a moment, Your Grace, while I scold your brother.” He straightened slowly, as if his bones didn’t want to move his body, then crossed to the window. As he undid the latch, Raelyn slipped away from the table and crept toward the door.

Another glob of mud crashed into the glass. Pierson paused, craning his neck to look around before he opened the window and called out, “Prince Gareth? Where are you?”

Raelyn reached for the door, but it swung open before she touched the handle.

“Behind you, good sir.” Gareth grinned, his pale blue eyes full of mirth.

“Your Graces!” Pierson cried. “Please don’t—”

Gareth grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the study, slamming the door behind her. Raelyn released her pent-up laughter as Gareth jammed a key into the lock and turned it with a decisive click.

“Let’s get out of here.” He took her hand and hurried down the hall, leaving the key for someone else to release poor Pierson.

The dark red carpet muffled their footsteps as they rushed along, eager for as much time away from their studies as possible. As much time as they could steal before they left Eynlae in a few days and Raelyn’s life changed forever.

“Who was throwing the mud?” They turned down another hall.

Gareth laughed. “Stable boy. Easy enough to convince him. Gave him a little brass brooch to give to the milkmaid he’s enamored with.”

“That’s adora—”

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