Page 51 of The Stolen Princess
They walked down the lane until they came to a fire pit where Winslow and Portlend were sitting. A black pot hung above the fire, and Myka could smell something like beef stew.
Drake wrapped the rope around her waist and handed it off to Portlend. “You’re turn.”
Great. The last time Drake had passed her off to one of his friends, the guy had touched her inappropriately. Was this going to be one of those situations again?
“I’m going to go get cleaned up,” Drake said, then he turned on his heels and walked off.
Myka sighed, watching after him.
“You can sit,” Winslow said.
She bit her lip as she glanced down at him. Old ’n Slow wasn’t her favorite. He dipped a bowl into the pot hanging over the fire and then handed it to her.
“Lunch,” he said.
Myka took the bowl and sunk down to the log next to him.
So far, she hadn’t gotten much information about the plan out of Drake. Maybe these guys were different. Maybe they would tell her more.
“What happens if my father doesn’t give up the so-called weapons?”
Winslow exchanged a look with Portlend.
“What?” she asked as she watched them. “Can’t I know?”
Winslow shook his head.
“Why not?”
“I would think it’s fairly obvious. You’re the princess and our prisoner, and we can’t have you running home to tell Daddy everything about what we’re doing here.”
“Assuming I get back home to Daddy,” she said under her breath.
“You’re not on our side,” Portlend added. “If you’re loyal to your father, then you are against us.”
She raised her chin. “You have my father all wrong. He’s not a bad guy.”
She watched as Portlend and Winslow exchanged another look.
“He’s not,” she tried to convince them.
“Well, it sure seems like he is, by the way he disregards the Council of Essentials,” Winslow said.
She sucked in a deep breath, trying not to let her frustration show. “You sound like Drake.”
“Well,” Portlend said, “Drake’s a smart man.”
Myka bit her lip and looked away. She hated being surrounded by people who thought her father was capable of building and harboring deadly weapons. It couldn’t be true, could it? Ever since her conversation with Drake yesterday, she had thought about the possibility of her father having weapons. There had been enough whispers and conversations in her life about weapons that she supposed itcouldbe true, but whenever her mind went down that road, she reminded herself that she was talking about her father—the most loving man she’d ever known.
Myka sat in silence for a long while, eating her meal, watching the villagers move and work around her. The sounds of children laughing and playing behind her made her turn around. Surprisingly, it was a clean and shower-fresh Drake who had made the kids happy.
He had a small girl on his back with two more kids chasing behind him. He turned over his shoulder, looking behind him at the boys. Myka was taken aback by the genuine smile stretching across his face. It was natural and full of pure delight. It seemed unfair that he could be so happy when she felt so low. Then he stopped running and moved the little girl from his back to his shoulders. She sat on one shoulder, facing the opposite direction as him with her back to the other kids.
“Where’s Tasha?” Drake asked.
“She’s on your back,” the little boy with buzzed hair on the sides giggled as he pointed up to Tasha.
Drake’s expression went to disbelief. “She’s in the back?” He whipped his body around, pretending to look behind him.
