Once Upon a Time E-Book

Wendy Toliver

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Once Upon a Time
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 283

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

A new Once Upon a Time novel that reveals a previously unseen adventure from the hit ABC series!Sixteen-year-old Regina is very different from the Regina known by fans of ABC's Once Upon a Time. She seeks romance, adventure, and approval.Of course, getting approval from a mother like Cora is next to impossible. For Regina, friendships have always been a rare commodity. Could it be that Regina has finally found a true friend? Or is it too good to be true? As Regina struggles to find her own identity and create her own destiny, she discovers that her fate might just be to become everything she despises.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Also Available from Titan Books

By Wendy Toliver

Based on the ABC Television series created by

Edward Kitsis & Adam Horowitz

TITAN BOOKS

Once Upon a Time Regina RisingPrint edition ISBN: 9781785659539E-book edition ISBN: 9781785659546

Published by Titan BooksA division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd.144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

First Titan edition: June 201810 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

© 2018 ABC Studios. All Rights Reserved.

Published by arrangement with Kingswell, an imprint of Disney Book Group.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

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This book is dedicated tobelievers in magic and happy endings.

By Wendy Toliver

One

Friday, May 5

The bolt slammed into its brackets with a terrible bang. Cowering against the wall, I clutched my chest as if trying to keep my heart from bursting right out.

“You will stay in your room until I grant you permission to come out.” My mother’s voice reverberated from the bottom of the staircase to the arched ceiling and vast walls of the hallway. “Do you hear me?”

Though I couldn’t see her, I pictured her standing on the landing, arms crossed and head tilted, as still as a statue—except for the plumes of residual purple smoke coming from her fingertips.

I wished she would have tromped up the stairs and locked the door with her own two hands, instead of using magic. However, subtlety was not in her nature.

“Answer me, Regina.”

“Yes, Mother,” I said.

I heard a faint pattering noise, but I couldn’t tell if it was my mother’s high heels tapping on the tiles as she walked away, or the bolt on the outside of my bedroom door trying to settle into place after having suffered such a blow.

I hung up my riding jacket and peeled off my boots. I had no idea how long I’d be imprisoned in my room, so I figured I might as well be comfortable. Heaving out a gust of air, I slid down the wall until I was seated on the rug. I’d always admired the rug my father had brought home for me from one of his many trips. Not only did it protect me from the hard, chilly floor beneath, but it also kept me amused. Growing up, I’d spent countless hours lying on my belly, letting my imagination run rampant with the adventures I could have with all the trees, flowers, and animals woven into it, as if they were real.

With the tip of my finger, I traced along the familiar scene, from the pond where frogs floated on lily pads to the stream teeming with fish, pausing when I reached the green snake coiled up on its bank.

* * *

September, ten years earlier

“Come, child,” my father urged when he spied me peeking into his smoking room. I wiped my eyes on the cuff of my blouse, hoping he hadn’t spotted the tears. My mother and I had gone to town, and a pair of little girls had invited me to play marbles. My mother had scooted me past before I’d even been able to answer, and when I’d begged her to let me play one little game, she’d said, “We have more important things to do.” Only I couldn’t think of a single thing we’d done that afternoon that was important at all.

My father finished cutting an apple and placed the slices on a plate beside his favorite chair. It was autumn, the best season of the entire year, and the orchard was bursting with beautiful red fruit.

“I have a story for you.” He patted his knee and I hopped onto his lap. “Once there was an old man,” he began.

“As old as you, Daddy?” I asked, pulling playfully on his beard. Unlike Mother, he never seemed to mind when I interrupted. He used the break to hand me a slice of apple.

“Even older, if you can believe it.”

“Oh, I can believe it if I try really hard,” I teased him as I relished the crispy, sweet fruit.

“Well, that’s good to know,” he said with a chuckle. I snuggled up to his velvety-soft vest as he continued his story. “The old man loved having his breakfast beside a beautiful gurgling brook. The animals who made their homes near the brook looked forward to his daily visit, for he always had a song to sing and brought plenty of food to share. One morning, a green snake slithered over to the old man’s basket. The birds took to the air, the squirrels and rabbits and foxes scurried off—even the fish swam downstream, safely out of the snake’s reach.

“ ‘Why are you still here, old man?’ the snake asked. ‘Are your eyes too old to see I’m a poisonous snake?’

“ ‘My bones might creak, my skin might be wrinkled, but there is nothing wrong with my eyes,’ replied the man. He then reached into his basket and held a piece of bread before the deadly serpent.

“The snake smiled slyly at the old man as his venomous fangs sank through the bread and deep into the man’s palm.

“As the snake glided away, the man jumped up as best he could on his old legs and soaked his hand in the cool waters of the brook, hoping to get relief from the pain. Soon enough, a fish spotted his wounded hand and, though the man thought it was just the waters lapping at him, sucked and spat the poison out, leaving the man to live another day.

“The following morning, the old man returned to the brook with his basket of food. As had happened the previous day, the man offered the snake some bread. Again, the snake bit him. The man shuffled to the brook and dipped his throbbing hand into the water, where another fish sucked out the poison and saved his life.

“On the third morning, the snake said to the old man, ‘I do not know how you’re still alive, but even more perplexing is why you keep feeding me when you know I’ll bite you. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again. It’s in my nature. It’s what I do.’

“The man pondered this for a moment before reaching in his basket. ‘Because,’ he said, holding out a piece of bread for the snake, ‘this is what I do.’ ”

I waited for my father to continue, but he just sat there, smiling down at me. “Is that it?” I asked.

“That’s the end of the story,” he confirmed.

“But I don’t understand it.”

His smile deepened and his eyes twinkled. “Someday, my child, you will.”

* * *

Friday, May 5

A knock on the door startled me. It had only been a little over an hour since my mother had locked me in my room. Fearing the worst, I clambered to my feet. Wood scraped against wood. The bolt had been lifted.

I hated what I’d become, a pitiful creature who cowered when it came to my mother. For once, I wanted to have the courage to stand up to her. Alas, as long as she used her magic, she would always have the upper hand.

“Come in, Mother. Again, I’m very sorry.”

To my relief, it was my father. “Actually, it’s me,” he said. He entered, and with him came the sweet, earthy aroma of tobacco. He looked dapper in his scarlet coat, beige breeches, and knee-high riding boots. “Your mother said you may come down for tea now. She also wanted me to tell you your horse is in the stables, and Jesse is seeing to him as we speak.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” I said as I brushed the wrinkles out of my blouse. I hoped he would ask what I’d done to deserve being locked in my room, but he did not. To be honest, I wasn’t surprised. He seldom inserted himself between my mother and me, and I oftentimes wondered if he was afraid of her, too. “I’m surprised she’s granting me my freedom so quickly this time.”

He blotted his forehead with his handkerchief and then tucked it into his breast pocket. “Your mother’s heart is in the right place. She only wants what is best for you, my child.”

Instead of meeting his gaze, I pulled open the drapes and peered out the window. The spring rains had given the hills a surreal lushness—a shade of green that rivaled the brightest of emeralds. I could only imagine how beautiful the flowers in the royal gardens looked.

“How was the hunt?” I asked. “You went with Giles this morning, isn’t that correct?” Giles Spencer was our nearest neighbor, as well as the royal doctor.

“The foxes hoodwinked us again,” my father confessed. “Since today is the final day of the hunting season, I’m afraid we’ll have to wait until November to salvage our reputations.”

“Giles’s hunting reputation isn’t the one I would worry about, if I were him,” I said, and when my father sighed, I instantly regretted my insensitivity. He was my father’s friend, so I should’ve done better to tolerate him, even if he had been found passed out in some farmer’s chicken coop the previous Saturday night.

“Since his wife and baby passed away, he isn’t the same man. But when you’ve been friends for as long as we have, well, we stick together through all the ups and downs, the highs and lows, the good and the bad, the thick and thin. . . .”

I smiled at him as he blathered on, but deep inside I felt a pang of jealousy. Sure, I was sometimes bitter that my father chose to spend his mornings foxhunting with Giles rather than riding horses with me, but that wasn’t it. It was something about the reverence with which he spoke about Giles, the way my father came to his defense without hesitation. It made me yearn for that kind of friendship myself.

My father cleared his throat, making his Adam’s apple bob against his cravat. “You should hurry and change, child. Your mother is waiting.”

“Is something wrong with what I’m wearing?” I gave myself a quick once-over in the mirror. The day before I’d shown up for tea with grass stains on my hemline, and with a flick of her wrist, my mother had used her magic to change me into a clean and starched dress, glaring at me as she did so.

On second thought, perhaps I should quickly swap my riding pants and blouse for a frock straight from the laundress, just to be sure.

“A guest will be joining you,” he said.

I turned back around to face him. “Really? Who?”

He winked at me. “It’s a surprise. Now get ready, and I’ll be waiting to take you down,” he said and backed out of my room, softly closing the door. I heard him whistling a jolly little tune out in the hall.

I slipped into a simple yet pretty dress and ran a brush through my long black hair. Before leaving my room, I checked my appearance in the mirror once more, wondering again who my mother had invited to tea. I knew better than to get my hopes up that it would be somebody I’d actually want to meet. Knowing my mother, I’d find her sitting across from the most pitiful old maid she could dig up: a threat to show me what would become of me if I didn’t begin taking her quest for me to marry a royal prince or king seriously. She’d even christened me with a name that meant “queen.” I heard her voice in my mind, saying it for the thousandth time: “I named you Regina, for one day, you shall be queen.”

When I opened the door, my father nodded his approval of my attire. I followed him down the stairs. We passed my parents’ wedding portrait, a life-sized rendering that proved they’d made a striking couple when they were young. I paused to study their faces, something I often found myself doing. When I was a little girl, I’d seen in their eyes the look of true love—something I wished I, too, would find someday. Now that I was sixteen, however, I saw something more hidden deep in their expressions. If the artist had authentically captured what they’d been thinking that day, I’d say as a young prince, my father had appeared dutiful and proud, and as the newly crowned princess, my mother had had a triumphant glimmer in her eye.

My father had kept walking while I’d paused. Although he was balding and had thickened around his midriff in the seventeen years since he’d posed for his wedding portrait, I still thought him to be a handsome man. I took the stairs as quickly as possible to catch up with him. At the bottom, I accepted his elbow and he dutifully escorted me to the drawing room and then dismissed himself. Before entering, I took a calming breath, hoping my mother’s mood had improved.

Two

My mother sat at the head of the table, staring at her reflection in a silver spoon. She was impeccably dressed in a white blouse and a fitted midnight-blue skirt. Her ears, chest, wrists, and fingers dripped with some of the finest jewels in the kingdom. “It’s about time you graced us with your attendance, Regina.” She placed the spoon on the lacy tablecloth. “We were about to start without you.”

I winced, weighing whether it would have pleased her had I been on time, but in my riding clothes. In the conclusion of my brief inner debate, I figured she would not have been satisfied no matter what I had done.

Our guest, who until then had her back to me, promptly scooted out her chair with a dreadful screech. She stood and gave me a little curtsy as I entered the sunlit room. I was happy to see she was not a pitiful old maid. She appeared to be about my age, only taller and thinner. Her flaxen hair twisted and swirled around the crown of her head, feeding into an off-center bun at the nape of her neck. The style was fashionable enough, yet some tendrils were seemingly too stubborn to remain smoothed in place and instead floated around her head like silken spider-webs. Her deep-green dress was plain and ill fitting, but I remembered the one I’d chosen to wear left little to boast about, either. When she finally lifted her gaze to mine, I almost gasped; her eyes were as clear and blue as my mother’s best sapphire earrings. I forced myself to blink so she wouldn’t think I was gawking.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” I said, hoping to placate my punctuality-devoted mother. As I settled into my chair, I was pleasantly surprised that my view of my mother was obscured. In place of the usual centerpiece towered an elegant, albeit cumbersome, arrangement of orchids.

While Rainy, our faithful servant, bustled about, pouring tea and making sure the three of us had everything we could possibly need—including several spoonfuls of honey for our guest—my mother commenced the introductions. “Regina, this is Claire Fairchild. She is Giles’s niece, and she’s come to live with him for the season. It’s a very fortuitous arrangement, as she’s only a year older than you and is eager for companionship. Isn’t that so, Claire?”

Claire nodded eagerly. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Regina. Your mother has told me such wonderful things about you.” I’d never known my mother to say anything even vaguely “wonderful” about me to anyone. Well, anyone other than a prospective husband for me, which was always a gentleman with a strong stream of royal blood pumping through his veins.

I pondered that as I stirred two lumps of sugar into my tea. “I never knew Giles had a niece,” I said, “and Mother has never mentioned you until this very moment.” As soon as the sugar dissolved, I took a quick sip, only to burn my tongue.

My mother slid the orchids out of the way, leaving the vase teetering on the edge of the table. I held my breath, fearing that at any second, it would topple and smash into bits on the gray floor tiles. She was seemingly too busy shooting me the evil eye—no doubt in response to my less than noble behavior—to notice the foreseeable calamity.

However, Claire obviously noticed, and she reached across the table to rescue the orchids before they had the chance to fall. When I met Claire’s striking blue gaze, the strangest thing happened. We smiled at each other, at the exact same time.

“I’m very glad you were able to join us today, Claire,” I added. Although I needed to say something polite to try and keep my mother from exploding, I actually meant what I’d said. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” To my relief, my mother seemed satiated, and the side of her mouth twitched into an almost-smile.

“Thank you, Regina. It’s nice to be here,” Claire said. “And thank you, Your Highness,” she said to my mother.

My mother nodded benevolently. “You may call me Cora.”

The three of us lifted our teacups and sipped, and as the moments marched along, I found my tea cooling to a more comfortable drinking temperature and my heart warming to my newest neighbor.

“Cora happened to stop in my ma’s tavern when she was passing through Port Bennett, and when she mentioned her estate was located just beneath King Leopold and Queen Eva’s castle, my ma told her that her brother lived there, too,” Claire said as Rainy poured her more tea. Although my mother had given our guest permission to call her by her first name, it surprised me she was so comfortable doing so. Surprised and intrigued me. “She told my ma it’s a wonderful place for a young, unmarried lady to find a suitable husband. It was music to her ears, as you can only imagine the sort of fellows who’re drawn to a port town.”

As Claire spoke, I grinned to myself, picturing the rogues who undoubtedly haunted a place like that: bandits with skilled hands and wild eyes; pirates and buccaneers with long hair and tattoos; boisterous and stinking men, unshaven and undignified, full of rum and spine-tingling tales. Maybe, if I was lucky, I would get to go there someday and hear the tales for myself. “Oh, I can only imagine,” I piped up, lifting my upper lip to feign my disgust at the very existence of such men.

I wondered if the ring Claire wore on a silver chain around her neck—a garish, masculine ring, designed to look like a dragon claw curving possessively around a large dark-red stone—was a token from such a scoundrel. I was dying to know, but I’d have to wait for another time to ask, a rare moment when my mother wasn’t breathing down my neck.

“Cora generously offered to give me a ride,” Claire continued, “and it was decided I would spend the warmer months at my uncle’s estate.”

“It was no trouble at all,” my mother said. “Imagine my surprise when I realized her uncle was Giles Spencer.”

I highly doubted Giles would have offered to take in his niece of his own volition. Yet, as my mother was the one behind it, it was no surprise he’d agreed, if only for the sake of getting another feather in his cap, so to speak.

“Naturally, given Giles’s misfortune with his own family, he was delighted to have the opportunity to get to know his next of kin,” my mother said, filling me with guilt for my previous misgivings.

Solomon, a servant as cold and stony as a statue, with skin almost as gray as one, appeared at our table. “Your Highness, a messenger came by with this.” He placed a scroll before my mother and rigidly backed away. I was surprised he’d dared interrupt our tea, but a cursory glance at the scroll showed it was of a fine parchment, and the wax seal bore the initial L. L, as in Leopold.

My mother unrolled the message and read aloud: “ ‘His Majesty King Leopold and Her Majesty Queen Eva request your presence at a royal ball to celebrate the victorious end to the Ogre Wars.’ ” She tapped her fingernail on the parchment. “The end of the wars,” she said with a little laugh. “Now, that’s presumptuous.”

“Don’t be such a pessimist, Mother,” I chided her. “Aren’t you happy? Our first party invitation of the season, and it’s at the royal castle.”

“Indeed,” she said. “And you two girls will be the belles of the ball, I’m quite certain.”

“Only because you’re already married, Cora,” Claire said.

“My, oh my, what a sweet thing to say. I guess all the honey Rainy put in your tea is paying off,” my mother quipped. Humbleness wasn’t her best quality, and whenever someone paid her a compliment, it seemed to always fall a little short of what she wanted to hear.

“The tea is delicious, I meant to make mention of it sooner. Not bitter in the least, like the sort I’m used to.” Our guest absently fingered the ring she wore on her necklace. “And to think, I, Claire Fairchild, will be going to the royal ball! Oh, I’ve always wanted to meet Queen Eva in person. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about the benevolent ruler. My uncle said she was the portrait of grace.”

“Interesting you should mention Eva. . . .” My mother shooed Rainy and her teapot away, and I braced myself for her to say something truly blasphemous about the queen. While my mother was dreadful at being humble, she was an expert at being bitter. “You see, if it weren’t for our benevolent ruler,” she said, twisting the emerald and diamond ring on her fourth finger, “I would never have wed Regina’s father.”

Claire’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“It’s true,” I said. “Now, Mother, I’m sure you have important matters to tend to.”

“Oh, but I love a good romantic story,” Claire said. “Please, Cora, continue.”

I blew a stream of air up my forehead, wishing we could declare teatime over before my mother told her story. Alas, it was too late. Our guest had been successfully enticed, and my mother was more than happy to oblige.

“Very well,” my mother said, placing her hands one upon the other on the tabletop. “One day, I was delivering flour to King Xavier’s castle for my father, the miller. Eva, who at the time was a princess of the northern kingdom, happened to be there visiting. I was making my way to the kitchen with the bags of flour when she tripped me, and she began complaining that my ‘clumsiness’ had ruined her shoes.”

“I don’t understand. Why would she trip you?” Claire blinked. “It doesn’t seem like civil, let alone royal, behavior, if you ask me.”

I wondered if my mother would chastise Claire for having interrupted, but instead, she merely threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, Claire, you little lamb. You’d be surprised the sort of debauchery that goes on within castle walls. And,” she added in a whisper loud enough for Rainy to hear beyond the wall, “I must confess, I’ve contributed my fair share.”

“Queen Eva actually has a valid reason for despising my mother,” I told Claire, trying to push forward through the embarrassment of my mother’s previous admission.

“Regina is correct,” my mother said. “If I can trust you with a secret, I will tell you.”

“Of course,” Claire agreed. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“You see, before that fateful day Eva publicly humiliated me, through no fault of my own, Leopold had fallen in love with me. He wanted to marry me. The problem was, he’d been engaged to Princess Eva since birth.”

“But they’re married now, so what happened?”

“Let’s say for time’s sake that it didn’t work out between Leopold and me, and since Eva never left him, even after he’d professed his love for me,” she said, dipping her voice in a way that made it clear she found the woman pathetic, “the two of them picked up where they’d left off.”

“What did you do after Eva tripped you?” Claire prompted, sitting on the edge of her chair.

“King Xavier commanded me to kneel and apologize to her.” Consumed with the memory, my mother’s eyes blazed with fury.

It might have been my mind playing tricks on me, but it felt like the temperature in the room dropped. Claire rubbed her arms as if she’d caught a sudden chill, too.

“As luck would have it,” my mother continued, “the king was hosting a masquerade ball so his son could choose his bride.”

“His son is Prince Henry, my father,” I interjected, although everybody in the Enchanted Forest—and I’d wager even those living way out in Port Bennett— knew that.

“I showed up to the ball uninvited, and when the king threatened me, I told him I could save his kingdom by spinning straw into gold,” my mother said. “Of course, that kind of magic seemed impossible to him, so he put me to the test. He locked me in the tower, and I had to spin a roomful of straw into gold. If I succeeded, I would be married to the prince. If I failed, I would be executed. I’m living proof it is possible, and shortly thereafter, I had the supreme pleasure of looking King Xavier in the eye while I said ‘I do’ to his son.”

Claire’s blue eyes gleamed as my mother finished. “I’ve never met somebody who can spin straw into gold. That’s a fascinating story.” For a moment or two, she sat in silence, absently dunking a biscuit into her tea. I guessed she was probably picturing my mother’s magical feat in her mind. “Goodness, these biscuits are delectable. Did you bake them yourself, Cora?”

I shuddered at the thought of my mother cooking anything at all. She wouldn’t be caught dead doing something as banal or beneath her as baking.

My mother laughed heartily. “Goodness, no. A sweet old lady came by on her way to the castle, peddling her baked goods. I think she called herself Granny Lucas.”

“Well, then my sincerest compliments to you for having the good sense to buy them,” Claire said.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about Claire complimenting my mother so often, and the way she hung on to my mother’s every word. Although I would be fooling myself if I claimed I never stroked my mother’s ego. Mostly, I did it to win her approval. It seemed nothing I ever did worked to that end—at least, not for long.

I reached for the biscuits, but my mother slapped my hand. “You’ve had enough, Regina,” she said, almost sweetly.

“I’ve only had one. I’d like another.” I sounded like a little girl, and I hated myself for it.

My mother placed her palm on King Leopold and Queen Eva’s invitation, flattening and smoothing it into the table, as its edges had begun rolling back up. “It’s officially party season, my dear daughter. If you’re to become queen, you’d best stay away from baked goods.”

I could feel my blood begin to boil. I wished I were able to say I couldn’t believe my mother would say such a thing, but I could. I hated that she’d said it in front of someone with whom I might like to become friends. Under the table, I twisted my hands together until they began to ache.

“Forgive me, Cora, but your daughter is one of the fairest young ladies I’ve ever seen. Any man—royal or not—would be lucky to have her as his bride.” Claire popped the last bite of her biscuit into her mouth. Though her hands trembled, the girl somehow managed to look my mother straight in the eyes.

A strange sensation flooded my stomach. On one hand, I wanted to leap up from my chair and hug Claire. On the other, I felt nauseated as I waited to see how my mother would react. Never before had somebody stuck out her neck for me.

As I held my breath, my mother’s back stiffened and the left side of her mouth rose. “Claire, you’re quite correct.”

At that very moment, I had a good feeling about the blond girl who sat at my right hand. I finished the last drops of my tea, thinking how fortunate I would be to have Claire Fairchild as a friend.

Three

Saturday, May 6

I’d slept well that night, looking forward to the next time Claire and I would get to spend time together. I couldn’t believe she’d stood up to my mother, and the memory of it made me grin as I brushed Rocinante’s shiny brown coat.

The colt perked his ears and raised his head in the direction of the stable door. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow fall onto the hay-sprinkled ground, and I presumed it was Jesse, the stable boy. But I was delighted to have been mistaken.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re up to some kind of mischief,” Claire said with a hint of a smirk. She wore a frock much like the one from the day before, only it was pale lavender with thick yellow threading. Her cheeks were extra rosy, like she’d run the whole way from her uncle’s place, and her hair fell down her back in a soft straw-colored sheet.

I dropped the brush into the basket and put my hands on my hips. “What if I am?”

“Then I want in, of course.”

I racked my brain trying to come up with something extraordinary to do. I’d hoped to pick the apple I’d discovered the day before, but I doubted Claire would consider that particular plan impressive, let alone “mischievous.”

“That’s a beautiful horse,” Claire said, reaching out to pet Rocinante.

He sniffed her hand. I opened my mouth to warn her he wasn’t good with strangers, something he’d proven over and over again since his mother had died. However, to my amazement, he not only allowed Claire to stroke his neck, but he stepped closer so she could better reach him, lowering his head so she could scratch his ears.

She laughed. “I think he likes me.”

While she continued to pet him, I picked up where I’d left off brushing him. “This is Rocinante. He lost his mother when he was very young. I hand-fed him for quite a few weeks, and ever since, I’ve had a special spot for him in my heart.”

“Well, I can certainly see why,” she said. “He’s very special.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Do you ride?”

“A little.”

“Then it’s settled.” I stepped outside and called to the stable boy. “Jesse, will you prepare Opal and Rocinante? We are going riding.” Then I smiled at my friend. “Let’s go to my house so you can change clothes.”

The sweet aroma of apple blossoms filled the air as we walked up the road. Claire reached up with her long, slender arm and touched a branch, which gave me an idea. What if Claire could help me pick the mysterious apple I’d discovered? She was certainly tall enough to give me the boost I needed.

“I have a favor to ask,” I said, leading her off the road and into the orchard.

“All right. What is it?” she asked.

As we meandered through the trees, I took her a little ways off the path to keep her from noticing the trunk in which I’d carved R+J a few weeks before. Once we arrived at the center of the orchard, I pointed at the lone apple among the budding leaves and fragrant blossoms.

She stared at it, agape. “I don’t know about here, but in Port Bennett, apples aren’t ready until late summer, early autumn.”

“I think that’s the way it is everywhere. That’s why I want to pick it.”

“It’s too high. You might get hurt,” she said.

“Really, Claire.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “You’re beginning to sound like my mother. If you’ll lift me up to that branch, I can climb the rest of the way.”

She sighed. “Very well. Please be careful.”

Using the trunk as support, I placed my boot in her cupped hands and she hoisted me up. I missed the branch the first two times, but on our third attempt, I got a firm hold of it. It took some doing, but I was luckily able to pull myself up and climb even higher. Finally, I wrapped my hand around the bright red fruit and gave it a tug. “Got it!”

“Here, toss it down.”