Free The Seven Markets by David Hoffman

her, in some ways—but she knew the Prince would disapprove. Better to wait. He was so cross from the slow journey; it was certainly better to wait. With a helping hand from the cook’s boy, Cutter assisted Ellie in returning her feet to the ground. She brushed the dust from her skirts and jacket and ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing the errant strands away from her face.
    I must look a fright.
    They would take rooms at the same inn as last time. There would be a bath and fresh clothes. Ellie wished she could blink her eyes and vanish, only to reappear once she’d had time to compose herself. It would not do for her to enter the Market looking as she did.
    “The horses, sire?”
    “Leave them,” the Prince said. “Let them graze or rot; we do not leave here by horseback.”
    Cutter nodded and signaled for the horses to be taken away. Ellie noticed that his mount seemed to have fared best out of them all. The bodyguard was, among his many talents, an excellent rider. His mount looked fresh enough to make the same journey twice again.
    “Come,” the Prince said, holding out a hand for her. She went to him, as was her wont, and when they touched she felt a shimmering pass over her. The Prince’s clothes were clean and pressed, his hair as perfectly coiffed as ever. The very picture of masculine beauty, the most startling man she’d ever beheld.
    They entered the Market arm in arm, passing through the great stone gate as if trumpets sounded to announce their coming. Ellie caught a glimpse of her reflection in a window and was not surprised, standing with the Prince as she was, to see her jacket and skirts were as clean as the day the seamstress had delivered them. Her hair was as tidy as it had ever been.
    Cutter followed behind, his men close at heel, ears tuned for the slightest utterance from the Prince’s lips. Ellie was aware of them the same way she might be aware of a small dog chasing after her feet, hopeful for attention and afraid, always afraid, of a scolding or a swat across the nose.
    “It has been too long, hasn’t it?” The Prince shone at her side, raising his hand in a formal wave. “Too long away. So much has changed.”
    Ellie agreed. She raised her own hand to match his wave, turning her wrist and keeping her elbow high.
    “Second night, just in time for the ball.” He called over his shoulder at Cutter. “It is the second night, isn’t it? You haven’t made us so late we’ve missed the ball, have you, Cutter?”
    “No, sire,” the bodyguard said. Ellie didn’t find his tone warm in the least.
    “Then we shall visit the ball tonight. Would you fancy a dance, my dear?”
    Ellie could barely contain her excitement. The memory of their first ball at the Market was still fresh and cherished in her mind.
    Deeper and deeper into the Market they went. And she could feel the Prince’s agitation and impatience radiating off of him like the heat from a baker’s oven. They came to the inn he’d brought her to all those years ago. She and the Prince stood back while Cutter negotiated for their rooms and tended to the matter of their luggage, meals, and other trivialities.
    “See her upstairs,” the Prince said. “I have business.”
    He left without another word.

    In the Prince’s absence, the glamour that had hidden Ellie’s disheveled state faded in short order. She examined herself in a tall, gilded mirror. Still the same, unlined face. The same nut-brown hair and opal eyes. The same slender shoulders, coltish legs, and slim hips. In all their years of travel, no matter where they visited or what they found there, no matter her clothes or adornments, it was always the same Ellie looking back in the mirror.
    “My love,” she said, fingering the blood-red gem that hung evermore, a second beating heart, around her neck.
    She ran a bath, marveling, as she always did, at the simple miracle of running water. She’d beheld wonders with the Prince, seen skies alight with brilliant