Rise of the Unfavored Princess
Chapter 74

Chapter 74: Ch. 74: Out Of the Frying Pan...

A heavy bang to the back of my head woke me up as I resurrect from the dead, dramatic gasps and all.

My head is pounding like I’ve got either a really bad hangover or a concussion, and a heavy arm still full of pins and needles palpates the newly forming, tender knot on the back of my head. I wince loudly, grabbing everyone’s attention in the cart if I hadn’t gotten it already.

“Your-” Emma’s body jumps forward as she supports me into a proper sitting position. Low hanging mist kisses my skin as I luxuriate in the pain from my head and tongue. Due to the improper position I’ve been stuck in during this bumpry ride, twinges run through by body like I’ve gotten a good workout in the other day.

“Water...” I wheeze out, my mouth feeling as if it were stuffed with cotton balls.

Emma makes haste, passing the canteen to me which blessedly, perhaps because it is early morning, feels cool as it rushes down my throat.

“I-I... what happened to me?” I asked Emma, trying to ignore the obvious stares from Jack and his two cronies who keep staring as if I’ve grown another head.

“Your highness,” Emma says right by my ear, “You had one of those... episodes.”

.....

“Ahhh,” I can only say in response. I’d feel embarrassed, but perhaps the desolate scenery surrounding us has me numb. One of Jack’s henchmen (or perhaps henchkids), is driving the cart with expert ease, somehow flicking the reins while throwing confused looks in my direction as I pass the canteen back to Emma.

I came back from the Tower physically in one piece, but the best way to describe it is it feels like I’ve left a part of my soul there. On a few occasions particularly when I’m outdoors after spending so much of my formative years as Winter indoors, especially when I feel worn down by my circumstances like an old shoe, the feeling flares up further and takes over my entire mind. I can’t breathe, I can’t hear, and I feel as if I’ll have my haircut below the neck as Katya drinks my blood if I stay outside for another minute. Wonderful souvenir, isn’t it?

Lucidity follows after the drink of water, although my stomach has turned into an empty cavern in desperate need of sustenance.

“My apologies,” I explain quietly to the boys, “I’ve been prone to illness since I was young.”

They are all young and I’m certain the excuse will fly over their heads, but it seems that ‘Clever’ Jack didn’t earn his nickname for nothing.

“Illness?” Jack draws out the word as he hands me a chunk of bread he broke off with his hands. It’s a bit stale and god knows where his hands have been, but the first bite sends a signal through my body that has me tearing through the bread like it’s my last meal on deathrow.

“Passenger, you are truly full of good stories. So why don’t you start sharing some now?” he asks not so casually as before after I finish eating. But it is nothing but clear to me that Jack is drowning in suspicions right now, suspicions that have no doubt grown by leaps and bounds after my episode.

“Oh I’d be happy to share, right after you tell me why we’re on a horse in the middle of nowhere and how a small child such as yourself managed to procure a ride,” I sarcastically countered in a deliberately playful tone. The drumbeat in my head grows louder, but after food and water, it is a tad more manageable.

“Small child,” Jack chuckles, triggered the way children often are when someone points out their size. “Have you taken a look at yourself, runt?”

He looks ready to stand up and go back-to-back, but the wobble of the cart dissaudes him and he settles onto the bale of hay with a disgruntled expression.

“I’m a good 2 to 3 years younger than you, so it’s not a fair competition. But I’d wager by the time I’m your age I’d be looking down at you,” I watch Jack’s ire rise and feel pleased that I’ve temporarily managed to deflect his line of questioning. But Clever Jack is like a dog with a bone, he doesn’t want to let up.

With a cocky grin flashing adult teeth that are slightly too big for his mouth, Jack says without preamble, “We are on a cart I’ve temporarily loaned from my gang, the Black Fists. Me n’ my boys, we’re members of it along with Emma for a while before she went on her way. And I’ll ‘ave you know, Emmett here has been workin’ stables since he could walk so I’m sure he can handle this cart just fine. Ain’t that right, Emmett?”

“Hear ye, hear ye!” Emmett said in agreement, releasing one hand from the reign to pump his fist.

Jack grins at me like he’s won, but- “You didn’t answer where we are, don’t get ahead of yourself,” I say. I’m just delaying the inevitable. He knows it, I know it. The wattage of his smile doesn’t dim as he continues.

“We’re on the outskirts of Radovalsk, where it’s mostly farmland. Belhelm is but a few days ride away. Now... how about a story from you, passenger?”

“It’s Maria,” I correct him.

“Is it?” We have a moment where we stare at each others eyes, neither willing to forfeit. Before my eyes shed inevitable tears, Emma crosses between the two of us to grab her knapsack and cuts the connection. In all my days of doing high school debate, I did not expect to replace an opponent in a 10 year old. Am I losing my touch?

My hand inadvertently brushes the back of my head and I replace a ready excuse- I’m simply not in my best form. If Jack had found me on my better days, I would’ve easily been able to take him down a peg or two.

“You know... I’m not too fond of readin’ myself. Too many words clumped together in too little space. But you know what I’m good at? Lookin’ at pictures,” Jack starts slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.

He unearths something that was half hidden under a nearby haybale as Emma and I tense. It’s a copy of The Times, the largest run newspaper in the entire empire. As befitting their role, they report all the major events in the Erudian Empire weekly and I already know what the biggest news of this week would be.

“Imperial Family Fulfills Blessing Day Rites,” Jack reads ceremoniously. The old-time typewriter font is in bold, black unmistakable letters, right above a black and white drawing of the imperial family greeting citizens before the Grand Temple.

“Oh!” Jack acts completely shocked, pulling the paper close to his face as he inspects something. “Oh, but who could this little girl be? Hmmm, you two share an awful close likeness, wouldn’t ya say?”

He flashes the evidence right before Emma and I’s eyes with a dramatic flick of his wrist. The Times does deliver a few copies to the imperial palace, but I haven’t had a chance to look at the latest issue before I escaped. It is my first public appearance and the artist drew a decent likeness of my face, the curvature of my eyes and chubby, squishable cheeks a perfect match. If I were in the palace, I would marvel at how accurately someone standing several feet away managed to capture my likeness. However, instead ants crawl over my stomach as my mouth begins to taste of acid.

Horror. Fear. All that good stuff begins to course through my veins.

But nonetheless, it is not like I can simply throw in the towel and confess. Emma and I agreed when we left that no matter what we could not admit to my identity. I’d even used belladona to make my eyes a murky brown, so that only my white braids revealed my identity. In the thriving metropolis that is Radovalsk, hundreds and thousands of citizens also have various hair colors and skin colors, allowing me to blend in more effectively than I ever could in the palace.

I force myself to laugh, at first sounding like I’m coughing before I put more effort in it. I shake my head and look at Jack, properly. This kid is quite good. Emma is mute beside me, but it isn’t unusual as she has the same amount of presence as a block of wood even on her best days.

“What do you want to hear, hm? I’m the newly discovered princess! I somehow managed to escape the palace, all by myself. Oh and for some reason I want to go to the most dangerous place for any imperial family member, the warfront. That makes sense, right Emma?” I say, elbowing Emma as if its a funny joke.

“In fact, Emma, why don’t you just address me as ‘Your Highness’ from now on so Jack feels more comfortable in the presence of royalty?” I add cheekily. I’m feeling my humor a bit more and Jack’s two cronies are already sheepishly looking away. Jack’s face is still, neither giving nor forfeiting.

“Hmmm,” Jack sighs, the tension bursts like a bubble and he swivels around to regard the slow moving scenery. The earth road, which isn’t paved unlike most of Radovalsk, is slightly damp from morning dew. Fields covered in dense fog litter the sides, with occasional figure moving in the midst. It’s quite peaceful actually.

Until Emma yelps loudly and I hear the familiar sound of her dagger unsheathing. But it’s too late. Jack, with a vicious grin I did not think children were capable of outside of horror movies, moves like a well-trained viper, cutting across the space between us on opposite sides of the cart in a heartbeat. A thin but razor sharp knife emerges from his clenched fist as he leans half of my dumbfounded figure over the edge of the cart, my long braids nearly tangling with the rolling wheels.

“Not another step, Emma. Shouldn’t ‘ave had your guard down, wasn’t that the first thing we learned? And to think you used to be the best seedling of our entire gang,” Jack said casually, as a cold metal kisses my skin and makes my forehead bloom with sweat.

“Jack-” I wheeze out as my back is unforgivingly pressed into the wood side of the open air cart.

He tsks softly although the knife doesn’t budge an inch. “It’s Clever Jack, goddamnit Maria! Or would you prefer I addressed you as Winter, your highness?” Jack mocks.