A misplaced love, p.1
A Misplaced Love, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Renee M. Palstring
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
First paperback edition February 2023
Cover Design by Whimsy Book Cover Graphics
ISBNs
978-1-959414-00-1 (Paperback)
978-1-959414-01-8 (eBook)
Published by Acorn Forest Publishing
Content Warnings
A Misplaced Love is an adult romance novel that contains content that may upset some readers. This content includes graphic sexual scenes, graphic violence/death, some swearing and scenes of sexual assault.
To David,
For being there to listen to my 5th time working through an edit…and the 3 more times after that!
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter 1
Ijostled around the carriage as it rolled down the beaten path causing the nausea to worsen. I pushed my handkerchief, doused in lavender oil, closer to my nose. Inhaling the scent, hoping it would soothe my stomach.
“We’re almost there, Your Highness. Would you like a few more drops of oil?”
“Please.” I handed my kerchief to Lord Griffith, our hands grazing softly during the exchange. Under normal circumstances, this would have caused my heart to flutter, but the impulse to vomit was stronger and required all my energy to subside the feeling.
“Here you are, Princess Estelle.”
I swiftly took the handkerchief and inhaled the floral scent, my stomach calming immediately. Lord Griffith, noticing my relief, smiled sweetly.
I did not like him seeing me in such a manner, but I was glad he was the one to help me through the sickness. No, it was more than that. I was glad he was the one traveling with me despite the horridness of this trip.
Four weeks ago, my father had announced that a union were to happen between me and the king of the rising country, Modare. A kingdom the world and I knew very little of until recently.
The country had existed for hundreds of years, much like Isara; however, it was small and wedged between two great kingdoms. Modare’s past kings had not raged a war in years as they were content with their power and land, making them irrelevant to the rest of the world. And with Modare not having any valuable resources, power-hungry kings overlooked their existence. Thus, allowing Modare to stay the quaint, quiet, forgettable country it had been for a hundred years. However, the new King of Modare had other plans when his time of power came.
His rule had begun a year ago, a short time, and yet he had already taken over the countries that touched Modare’s borders. Astra and Ula. Two respectable kingdoms, always at war with one another, but were ancient much like Isara. My father fearing Isara would be the next target had reached out to the King of Modare, offering me as a sign of peace and trust between our two kingdoms. And, finally, after many letters back and forth and the mention that with ties to Isara Modare’s rise in power would be acknowledged quicker than without, Modare’s king accepted my father’s offering.
I remember that day vividly. I was walking with Lord Griffith, slyly asking him if he would join in this year’s match-making season. He never got to answer as a messenger ran out, alerting me that my presence was required by my father, who then informed me I now had a fiancée.
My heart grew heavy, and my eyes dulled. The King of Modare had taken Astra and Ula. He had taken our allies’ homes unprovoked. He was power-hungry, a tyrant. To be sworn to a man like that would cause no greater heartbreak. No, the greater heartbreak would be to lose the one you love, to know you’d never walk the gardens with them again, to never see them laugh, their smile. That’s what really dulled my eyes that day.
I argued with my father for countless weeks, begging him not to send me, as I heard more and more about the King of Modare. The King had not allowed any outsiders to visit his newly conquered lands. Rumors spread of his raging temper, the servants who shivered before him, his iron fist. All of it adding to the terror and mystery surrounding his name.
King Titus the Conqueror.
Despite my pleas, my father’s answer was always the same.
That this was my duty, my sole purpose as a princess. Marry a king and protect Isara from the inside.
I would run into the gardens and cry often. Lord Griffith always found me. He would give me his handkerchief and offer comforting words. My heart yearned for him. And so, I concocted a plan.
I asked my father for Lord Griffith to escort me to Modare. If I had to say goodbye to my world, I would at least spend the last of it in the company of my secret love. I would give myself and my heart to him before the journey’s end. For that was the one thing I could do without hurting my kingdom.
The carriage came to a halt, throwing my body forward, my head flying to the wall across from me. I moved my hands in front, but my reflexes were not fast enough. I closed my eyes, my body tensing in preparation for the impact.
I felt a soft smack across my shoulders followed by the pressure of a hand on my back. My eyes fluttered open to find Lord Griffith’s arm wrapped around me, his concerned eyes examining me from top to bottom.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
I nodded, feeling my cheeks warm.
He placed me back into my seat as my gaze drifted up to him.
His face was so close to mine, an inch more and our lips would have met. The thought made my body burn. Quickly my eyes retreated to the floor, my mind debating if now was the time to make my move.
We were alone, well, alone as we would ever get. This was my chance.
I gripped the fabric of my dress, opening my mouth, waiting for the words to come out but a restless neigh reminded me that the carriage had come to a halt. The doors would open soon.
I bit my lip in frustration. I had to speak swiftly, there was no time for murmurs. I needed to be decisive with my words.
I looked up once again, hoping a glimpse of his face would give me courage. But upon meeting his ocean blue eyes, the soft pink of my cheeks turned a bright red.
Though most Isarans shared this eye color, Lord Griffith’s sparkled in the sun and pierced through the darkest days. It was as if I was looking into the ocean itself, wondering what lay in its depths.
I felt tears well up in my eyes.
In a day or two, I would never see them again. Now was the time to tell him. I once again opened my mouth to speak but was interrupted by the spring of the carriage door.
Lord Griffith edged toward the opening, glancing at the inn in front of us.
“Our last inn,” he said with a smile as if to reassure me that the tiring journey would end soon.
My heart dropped in horror.
Our last inn?
I knew we were close, but not a day away.
If I was going to make my declaration it had to be tonight, no more excuses, no more stutters.
But when?
We had so few moments in which we were alone, away from the eyes of the guards who, no doubt, would report any scandal to my father. My head throbbed with annoyance. There had been many opportunities in which I could have announced my feelings, but the fear of rejection had held me back. Slowly this fear was leaving as we got closer to Modare, but it was replaced with the terror of never telling him, never getting to hear his reply, the fear of living in regret.
“Your Highness?” I looked up to see Lord Griffith eyeing me with concern.
Without noticing, I had dug my fingers into my hair, one of my tell-tale signs I was upset. I clumsily untangled my fingers from my dark brown locks, creating bumps in the sleek pulled-back braid. I groaned, attempting to flatten them.
“May I?” Lord Griffith leaned back into the carriage, blocking me from view
I sighed, crossing my hands over one another, turning my back to him so he could have better access.
Though I enjoyed Lord Griffith’s touch, it was embarrassing to have him help me with such feminine matters. Under normal circumstances, I would have called for my lady’s maid. However, due to the recent change of power in the lands, Isara and Modare’s council had deemed it safer to travel with our identities hidden. Meaning a small travel party, leaving room for only an attendant, driver, and two guards.
I hated leaving my lady maids back home, as they were not only good at their jobs but also dear friends. It had made this trip that much more difficult.
Lord Griffith had tried to make it less so by finding me a tavern maid at each stop. They would help me get ready after the night’s rest, but none of them knew the proper hairstyles for a noble lady. Thus, their poor replications would easily become disheveled after an hour or two in the carriage.
The first couple of times this happened I would shyly attempt to fix the mess, but with the carriage knocking me about and only a tiny mirror to use, it deemed harder a challenge than I could handle. That is when Lord Griffith began to offer his hand in the matter.
He had grown up with two sisters and learned the basics of hair styling from them, not by choice, of course. I hated the idea, as it was a degrading job for a man of Lord Griffith’s standing. I refused his help at first, but as the hairstyles worsened Lord Griffith became protector of my hair.
“Sorry to trouble you with such trivial matters,” I grimaced out as his palms brushed past my ear.
He chuckled as he knotted the black ribbon at the end of my braid. “It’s no problem, Princess. In fact, it’s an honor to help you with something so intimate.“ He leaned back admiring his handywork, his hands seeming to linger on the ends of the braid. “Is it to your liking?”
I patted my head, ensuring all the bumps were gone, twisting to get a better look in the small mirror that hung in the carriage. It was perfect.
I turned toward Lord Griffith. He sat, smiling proudly, his eyes aglow.
How I wished to pull him to me, kiss him as a reward, but all I could do was murmur, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” There was silence for a bit as we smiled at one another and admired his work, but the moment was interrupted as a guard impatiently coughed.
Lord Griffith gave a quick nod to the guard, signaling we’d be out in a moment, then turned to me, his face solemn.
“Now, I know I say this every time but still, it injuries me to address you so.” Lord Griffith placed his hand flat on his chest and bowed as deep as the tight space of the carriage allowed. “So, allow me to apologize in advance for the belittling titles I will use tonight.”
I shook my head in disbelief. I had heard this apology every day and every day I told Griffith it was not needed and yet he continued.
I did not mind being called a Lady or being treated as such. In fact, it was an appreciated break from the properness of being royal blood. But to Lord Griffith, referring to me as Lady Estelle was the greatest sin he would commit in his life. It was for my safety, and he was instructed to do so by my father but still, he chided himself over this trivial matter.
“Lord Griffith,” I protested but was interrupted by the shaking of his head. He stepped out and offered his hand.
“Lady Estelle.” He grimaced as the word lady swept across his tongue and out of his mouth. I would have felt bad if not for my heart setting a flutter.
I yearned to be just a lady. I would give up the jewels, my title, the luxury of it all just to be a lady. I would not be bound by my royal duties and could simply live day by day. My only duty would be to give my husband heirs. A duty I would welcome with open arms, especially with Griffith. The idea of his miniatures, our miniatures, running around made my heart soar.
In that world, I would be able to marry the one I loved. It was in these moments of pretend that I forgot why we were on this trip, and even though it pained Lord Griffith to refer to me as a lady, I fully enjoyed it.
Chapter 2
Iwiggled my hips left to right in the creaky wooden chair—attempting to find comfort in the overly crowded tavern—shifting any time a patron stumbled toward me in hope to avoid any more incidents.
Upon our arrival, one drunkard had bumped into me, his ale sloshing out of his cup. Lord Griffith pushed him away, blocking me with his forearm, so the contents only drenched him. This happened twice more till Lord Griffith deemed it best for me to wait at one of the few empty tables as he inquired about rooms. I did as he said, but as I sat at the table alone, the already small room seemed to close in, the drunk patrons looming closer.
Having lived in the palace for the entirety of my life, I had not seen men drink to this excess. I hadn’t seen much of anything really. Being in this environment, watching everything by myself, it brought about a sense of unease. However, this discomfort did not stop me from examining the room further, after all, curiosity always got the better of me.
Glancing around the room, I noted that this stop was not much different than other taverns. The walls were crafted from oak and lined with tapestries and ornamental steelworks that were slightly stained with drink. The door, located center of the front wall thus allowing the barkeep to fully examine each patron upon arrival from his perch, whined with age anytime it was forced to move. Bulky, wooden tables and chairs were scattered about in a pattern undiscernible to me. Their various scratches and nicks on them making each unique. Then, just left of the bar, a stairway sat leading to the boarding rooms on the second floor. Each step slightly bending and loudly squeaking as patrons ascended.
Despite examining the entirety of my surroundings, my curiosity was still not satisfied. I needed to watch the crowd. Thankful I had sat at a table that gave me a view of everyone on the first floor without moving my body, my eyes began to roam.
To the left, a group of men of varying ages held cards in their hands, faces unreadable, undistracted by the ever-growing pile of money in the center. Diagonally, a band of raucous men held their goblets high, singing an off-tune song as harlots sat on their laps. The women’s fingers drifted across the men’s chests then down just above their belts, forcing the men to meet their wolfish eyes. In response, one man grasped the breast of the woman in his lap. Immediately my cheeks heated at the sight, and I averted my gaze.
My eyes rested on the table directly in front of me, a rather safe sight. Here three men sat, smiling. Their attention directed to a fourth member who stood. His hands theatrically moved as words flew out of his mouth. The seated men began to laugh at his actions, in response he ran his fingers through his jet-black hair, devilishly smiling as he propped his leg up on the chair.
It was such a happy scene to behold that I could not help but laugh as well. The sound, uncontrollably loud, caught the attention of several other patrons. Quickly, I muffled myself, my eyes darting to the floor as I regained my composure. But I could not hold back my curiosity for long, as I wanted to see what this man would do next. I looked up once again, only for my gaze to be met by a pair of striking silver eyes. I stared back, lips parting, unsure how to react.
The man’s gaze became softer the longer we looked at one another, then all at once, he put on a dashing smile and blew me a kiss. Shocked at this sign of affection my cheeks turned a bright red. I lowered my head to conceal it.
I couldn’t help but wonder why my body was reacting this way. The only times, to my recollection, that I had blushed was due to embarrassment for myself, which rarely happened, and when I interacted with Lord Griffith.
So, what caused it now?
It was not embarrassment, that I was sure of. I had often caught men, while at court, infatuated with me and it would never bring a rogue to my cheek. So why, on this occasion, were my cheeks burning?
“Is it Lady or Miss?” a honeyed voice asked.
My heart skipped a beat as I looked up. The sliver-eyed man stood confidently in front of me, his aura overpowering mine. I looked him over once more in hopes to understand why he was so different from other men.
His jet-black hair complimented his sun-kissed skin as it slightly swopped over his forehead. His face was suitable, perhaps better than average, but other than his silver eyes there was nothing unique about him. Surely, eyes were not enough to make me feel this way. I continued my examination.
