Free The Barefoot Princess by Christina Dodd Page B

our primary opponents.” Lord Silas’s voice was high, almost feminine, but Amy knew Poppa listened to him more than anyone.
    “No.” The king allowed Sir Alerio to remove his cloak.
    “The revolutionaries—” Lord Octavio said.
    “Yes,” Poppa agreed. “The revolutionaries.”
    “In Richarte and in Beaumontagne, too. The whole region has been subverted!” Lord Octavio said.
    “We need to send Prince Rainger back to Richarte escorted by a large armed guard,” Poppa instructed.
    “Damn the French for setting Europe afire with revolution. Damn them for insinuating that old royalty should give way to new blood!” Lord Silas’s drooping chin quivered with indignation.
    Sir Alerio strode toward the wardrobe where Amy hid. In horror, she realized he was going to hang up the king’s cloak. Now.
    She scooted back among the other cloaks, back into the deepest corner, and huddled into a little ball, her head on her upraised knees.
    In the antechamber, she heard the door open and shut, and Lord Carsten’s voice said, “It was a bad time for the crops to fail.”
    “You’re stating the obvious, Carsten!” Sir Alerio opened the wardrobe wide.
    Light and air streamed in, but she peeked out to see if he spotted her.
    “Someone has to,” Carsten answered hotly.
    Poppa overrode the incipient quarrel by raising his voice. “Put that away, Alerio, quickly, and get back here. I have instructions for you.”
    “As you wish, Your Highness.” Sir Alerio hurriedly hung up the cloak and slammed the door hard enough to make Amy’s ears ring.
    She slithered into a relieved little mound.
    “We need to purchase grain, as much as possible,” Poppa said. “I’ll go out and talk to the people and reassure them, but in the meantime, let me know if more riots break out.”
    “If there are more riots, Your Highness,” Sir Alerio said, “you must consider sending your family away for—”
    Poppa shushed him sharply.
    Amy lifted her head. She scooted forward and looked out the knothole. She wanted to hear what Sir Alerio had to say. Sending your family away for…what? A few days? A vacation?
    “You know what to do.” Poppa waved the gentlemen away. “For now, I’d like to be alone.”
    The courtiers bowed and backed out of the antechamber. The massive door shut with barely a sound.
    Poppa moved to the ancient throne and seated himself, and ruffled his brown hair. He did look tired, as if he’d suffered too many sleepless nights. She didn’t understand. How could her father suddenly look so defeated?
    Then his kindly voice said, “Amy, come here.”
    Her father was looking right at the wardrobe.
    How had he known she was there?
    “I used to hide there when my father was king,” he answered quite as if she’d asked. “And you were lucky only I saw you when the door swung open.”
    Cautiously she pushed the door wide. She inched her foot out until it reached the floor. She craned her neck around to see Poppa watching her steadily, and she smiled with all her teeth. Her daddy loved her. She knew it. But he expected her to behave, not like a princess, but with kindness.
    She had not been kind.
    And she knew it.
    And he knew it. He would be mad.
    She inched toward him, one foot placed carefully after the other.
    He said nothing.
    She sneaked a glance at his face.
    He didn’t look mad. It was worse than that.
    He looked disappointed.
    “Your Highness? Poppa?” Her voice quivered.
    “Come here, Amy.” He even sounded disappointed.
    Oh, no. She felt sick in the pit of her stomach. Daddy hadalways been her champion, but she had never been so bad before. Her walk across the antechamber seemed to take forever. When she stood right in front of the throne, she stared fixedly at the buckles below the knees of his formal breeches and waited for him to tell her to go cut a switch from the willow tree in the garden.
    “All right, daughter.” His hands came into view. He picked her up and sat her in his lap. “Tell me what