Free The Wrong Prince by C. K. Brooke

boiling. “Listen. You mustn’t ever let a man take advantage of you.”
    She made a rude noise, startling him as she blew air between her lips. “Ha, ha, ha !” she shrieked, crouching over. “This, coming from Georome Straussen!”
    “Shh!” Geo covered her mouth. “Don’t say my name aloud! Not here.” He glanced around apprehensively.
    Lucie swatted his hand away, and with the effort, stumbled down onto the road. Geo rolled his eyes, waiting for her to collect herself and rise. But she didn’t. “I’m stuck,” she claimed, peering up at him accusingly. “Something’s pulling me down.”
    “You aren’t stuck.” Irritated, Geo knelt beside her. Grasping her elbows, he tried to hoist her up, but she dropped from his grip. “Whoa, whoa.” Alarmed, he realized her legs were sliding into what appeared to be a manhole in the street.
    Lucie clung to his wrists, sudden fear in her eyes as Geo made to better angle himself. But his boot caught in a puddle of sewage, and he slipped. At that moment, the rumbling of wheels met his ears. He looked up to see an enormous carriage hurtling in their direction.
    The deadly hooves of four galloping horses charged straight at his face. Before he had time to react, Lucie was torn from his grip and fell, screaming, down the manhole. Geo cried after her just as something yanked his legs, and he plummeted down with her.

LIFE IN PRISON WAS LONELY and monotonous. Most hours, Dmitri heard naught but the gurgling of his own stomach, or else the redundant tides of the sea. But surprisingly, there were highlights, too. They came exclusively in the form of Pavola, Wintersea’s mysterious ward.
    Each evening, the girl braved the tower to bring him food and drink, soap and a kettle, razors for shaving, and whatever else she could find to ease the discomfort of his imprisonment. At least Dmitri could look forward to washing his face and hands and eating once a day. Pavola had also supplied him with blankets to lie upon at night, not to mention pencils and parchment to occupy his long days writing.
    His novel was coming along. He enjoyed losing himself in a new world beyond the tower’s walls. While he may not have been free, his heart was the moment he put pencil to paper. It wasn’t mere escapism, but self-expression, discovery and purpose.
    As for the intriguing young woman herself, the prince had begun to count upon her nightly company. It wasn’t only for the food though, but for her curiously soothing presence. He doubted she knew it, but she almost made him feel…glad. He laughed aloud at the contradiction. Glad at Wintersea?
    In exchange for keeping him alive, Dmitri aided Pavola in the only we he could—by helping her study. She would pass her books and notes into his cell, and he’d quiz her on the content. So far, she’d not answered a single question incorrectly.
    It was a warm night when she sat opposite his cell door, her back against his through the bars, absorbed in her mathematics. Meanwhile, Dmitri had completed his latest chapter, etching in the last rune of the sentence. With satisfaction, he sighed.
    “Say, Pavi?” He knew she hated to be interrupted, but he was eager. He’d been longing to ask her for a while, after all.
    She set down her quill.
    “I’m wondering,” he scratched his chin, “if you’d be willing to proofread what I have so far?” When she wasn’t quick to answer, he appealed, “Seeing as you have impeccable grammar, who better to point out my errors?”
    She finally nodded, although she still appeared hesitant. “I suppose I can take a look. Though I warn you, I’ve never read a novel, so I don’t know how useful I’ll be.”
    Regardless of her trepidation, Dmitri was thrilled to hand over his progress to the first set of fresh eyes. Pavola repositioned herself, straightening against the wall and lifting her spindly knees before her. Atop them, she rested his work.
    Dmitri watched, intent on her every expression. Candlelight