They shivered. A cat yowled in the shadows. Mally wasn’t sure she could stand much longer. They didn’t speak. They didn’t move. They just stared at the door. Mally didn’t understand why they were even here—would Maud heal their wounds? Mally wouldn’t have placed any bets that Maud would willingly help anyone—she didn’t seem the type. But she willed with every ounce of her being for that door to open. Then, quite suddenly, it did.

“Quickly,” Mally heard Maud rasp. Edwin helped Egan limp over the threshold and Mally and the others followed.

Maud stood stooped in an old, grey nightgown, the hems frayed, her feet in moth-eaten slippers. A single candle shined light from her claw-like hand, making the lines upon her face stand out even more sharply. She gave them all one piercing stare over her hooked nose.

“Follow me.”

Mally stared after Maud’s retreating back startled. Maud didn’t seem at all surprised that a group of wounded people stood in her shop. She led them behind the counter and down a few narrow, rickety steps that groaned and bent with their weight. They stood in a very small kitchen.

A small mug and a chipped plate with a half-eaten roll sat alone on a tiny table. On the floor was a heavy rug, its rusty reds faded to rusty pinks. Maud moved to a narrow table against the wall where a battered tea service was set up. She pointed to Edwin and the other rebel.

“You two. Push this aside.”

Mally, Lita and the rebel carefully lowered Garren to the floor and Egan collapsed in the only chair at the table, white hands clutching his blood-stained leg. Lita rushed to him and murmured something soothing in his ear. He nodded, biting his lip, eyes screwed up in pain. Mally was amazed he was still conscious, with the amount of blood he was losing. From the paleness of his face, she wondered how much longer it would be before he gave up and lost consciousness.

“Quickly!” Maud snapped.

Grunting, they pushed the table aside and Maud bent down and drew back a corner of the rug, revealing a trap door. She grasped hold of the iron ring in her twisted hands and yanked.

“Down there,” Maud ordered. “Quickly! Quickly!”

With difficulty, they managed to get Garren and Egan down a short staircase. Maud came last, swinging the door shut behind her, and they were flung into darkness so impenetrable Mally couldn’t see the hand that she lifted before her eyes. There was a shuffling and then light flared. Maud was lighting lamps and candles that were placed in brackets against the walls. Mally stared about her in startled surprise.

They were in an underground room. It was well furnished, though dusty, with tables and bookcases and chairs.

“You,” Maud barked, looking at Mally, “hold this to his forehead.” She tossed a cloth to her and pointed at Garren, propped up against one wall.

Within seconds, Maud had given all of them jobs before climbing back up the stairs in search of herbs and bandages from her shop. Mally desperately wanted to know where Galen was. He had said he’d be right there … but that had been so long ago. What if he’d been caught? What if he was now in the dungeons like the others? What if he was … no, don’t think that. Galen is fine. He’ll be here. He’ll—

The trap door swung open and a pair of boots appeared on the top step. Everyone tensed, staring as the newcomer emerged.

“Galen!” Edwin cried, rushing forward and throwing himself into his brother’s arms. Mally grinned like a fool, taking in every inch of him. He was fine—not a scratch. He looked at her over Edwin’s head and smiled slightly. Her heart raced so fast it hurt.

“Edwin!” Olive Dunker had joined them, still in her dressing gown. She swept up her son in such a strangling grasp that Edwin gasped for breath. “Thank Lenzar!” she moaned. Then she pushed him from her, holding him tightly at arms length. Her eyes inspected him with frantic scrutiny. “You’re not hurt. You’re not hurt,” she repeated in dazed relief.

“Come, Olive,” Maud ordered. She clamped a gnarled hand over Olive’s elbow and pulled the pale woman through the only door in the room. Olive still hadn’t let Edwin go and dragged him with her. That’s when Mally noticed that a third person had descended the stairs, a tall, neatly shaved man with short, slicked-back, white hair. He carried a small briefcase with him. Without waiting, he hurried over to Egan and inspected the damage to his leg.

“It’s not that bad, Dr. Keaden,” Egan bit out, his eyes scrunched up in pain.

“It needs stitches,” Dr. Keaden replied. “Maud, did you—”

“I already cleaned it, William,” Maud replied, poking her head back through the open door. “He needs stitches. That big one against the wall should be coming ‘round soon, he mostly got knocked out,” she said. “The cuts are shallow.”

“Lucky for him,” said Dr. Keaden, turning his attention back to Egan.

“Mally, you’re bleeding.”

Mally looked up startled as Galen knelt down beside her, frowning at her right shoulder. She stared at it in surprise. She had no idea she’d been cut—when had that happened? Maybe when she’d climbed out of the window?

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s bleeding,” Galen repeated and before Mally could do anything, he’d grabbed hold of her arm and gently tugged her into the room where his mother, Edwin, and Maud sat.

“But I need to help—”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Dr. Keaden will take care of them. He’s brilliant,” Galen replied. “And Lita and Daniel are in there. The only one seriously injured is Egan and if I know him, he won’t let some stitches slow him down.”

They had entered a very small room that seemed to be a storage area. Olive and Edwin were already sitting at a small table in the center. There were cabinets of dusty silverware, and a washing basin. Ropes of garlic, dried flowers, and herbs dangled above their heads. Along the walls were shelves filled with wines, pickled vegetables, containers of tea leaves, yarn and string. Maud had her stooped back to them, busy boiling a pot of water over the most minuscule fireplace Mally had ever seen.

“And how do you know him so well?” Olive demanded, eyes flashing at Galen.

Mally was taken aback not only by the harshness of her tone but the fury burning in her eyes. Edwin seemed to shrink in his chair, his eyes shifting from his mother to his brother tensely.

“The reason couldn’t possibly be that you joined an illegal group that I specifically forbade you from joining?” Olive continued, seeming to swell in anger.

Mally unconsciously took a step back.

Galen stared at his mother, his back stiff, before he abruptly turned from her and retrieved a damp clean cloth.

“It was my decision to make, Mother.”

“Your decision!” Olive exploded. “Your decision has not only risked your own life but mine and your bother’s! Were you thinking at all?”

Galen didn’t respond as he returned to Mally, pressing the cloth against the cut on her shoulder, making it sting. But Olive, in her old and faded dressing gown, looked wild with anger.

“Because of your decision we are all in danger!” she raged. “If Thomas were here—”

“He would be proud of his son.”

Everyone in the room turned to Maud, startled. She carefully poured tea into a large mug before splashing a healthy amount of whisky in it. Maud gazed sternly at Olive, while handing her the cup.

“Thomas never approved of the rebels,” Olive argued, though she took the mug without hesitation.

“Thomas never approved of the knights either,” Maud countered. Suddenly Mally felt such warmth for the frightening old woman that she wanted to grasp one of her gnarled hands in appreciation. Galen’s neck looked slightly warm, as if he was just as startled by—and thankful for—this unexpected aid as Mally was.

“But you lied to me.” Olive choked on the tears now glittering in her eyes as she turned to Galen. “How long have you …” She squeezed her eyes shut as if she couldn’t bear to name those who had endangered her sons.

“Nearly two years. Since Dad died,” Galen answered softly.

With those words, whatever restraint Olive was clinging to crumbled and the tears streamed down her round cheeks. Galen knelt beside his sobbing mother, taking one hand in his own.

“I’m so sorry,” Galen continued. “I couldn’t stand what happened to Dad … I had to do something. Please, please understand. I never wanted to upset you.”

“Like I said, Thomas would be proud,” Maud repeated firmly, approval glittering in her eyes. She nodded to Galen, picked up the tray of tea she had just finished pouring and limped back into the main room.

Mally shifted uncomfortably. This wasn’t something that she should be witnessing. She doubted any of them noticed when she quietly exited after Maud. While they had been talking, Dr. Keaden had stitched up Egan’s leg. Lita was in the process of trying to convince an ashen-faced Egan to drink some tea, and a fully conscious Garren was cursing and grumbling darkly under his breath. Mally wondered what had happened to the other rebels—if they were even still alive. Their capture was probably the greatest of Molick’s triumphs.

Dr. Keaden turned and glanced at Mally who still held the cloth to her shoulder. “One more patient,” he said cheerfully to Mally, giving an obvious stare to her shoulder.

“It’s nothing,” said Mally. “Just a scratch.”

“Scratch or not, it needs to be looked at,” the doctor replied.

Mally withdrew the cloth. To her consternation, he ripped her sleeve open to get a better look. He stiffened.

“Is it bad?” Mally asked nervously. She really hadn’t looked at it, and though it stung and throbbed she hadn’t thought it was worth fretting over.

Dr. Keaden exhaled shakily, which only increased Mally’s consternation. He hadn’t reacted this way to any of the other injuries—even Egan’s, which Mally hadn’t been able to look at for very long without her stomach turning.

“Let’s go up to Maud’s shop,” said Dr. Keaden. “I need some of the ingredients to make a paste.” And without even waiting for a reply, he had pulled her to the stairs and they soon stood in Maud’s kitchen. “Let me have another look at that.”

Mally sat at the table and Dr. Keaden pulled up a chair so closely that their knees bumped. His nose was inches away from her shoulder and Mally blushed uncomfortably. His brow was furrowed, his eyes shining with some emotion that Mally didn’t understand, and his mouth was in the thinnest of lines. Finally he looked up from her shoulder to her face.

“What is your name, my dear?” he asked quietly.

“Mally Biddle,” Mally answered, wishing he would move back some.

“Mally Biddle?” Dr. Keaden repeated slowly and carefully, his frown even more pronounced. Mally had the strange feeling that he didn’t believe her.

“Yes,” Mally replied a bit forcefully.

Dr. Keaden leaned back in his chair, expelling a caught breath. He entwined his fingers and stared hard at Mally as if debating with himself whether he should say the thing that was obviously on his mind.

“I don’t think that’s true, Miss Biddle,” the doctor finally murmured.

Mally blinked. It took a moment for her brain to process what he’d just said and then to realize he was serious.

“I’m sorry, but that is my name,” Mally replied, frowning in confusion and irritation.

“No. It’s not.”

The sharpness of those words took Mally completely by surprise. She stared at the doctor.

“You may think of yourself as Mally Biddle but you are most certainly not just Mally Biddle,” Dr. Keaden continued.

The only response Mally managed was to blink at him stupidly. Was the man crazy?

“You have a birthmark on your right shoulder,” Dr. Keaden stated, nodding to the shoulder that he had moments before been inspecting with such close scrutiny.

“So?” Mally asked slightly rudely. “People have birthmarks.”

“But no two are the same. Yours is quite distinctive. A paw print.”

Mally nodded, still not understanding what this had to do with anything. She had always been fond of her birthmark. It was so small that people didn’t tend to notice it, but it did have a rather attractive shape.

“I’ve only seen one other like it,” the doctor continued quietly. “It was located on the right shoulder of Princess Avona.”

“That’s interesting,” said Mally pleasantly, but crisply. She rose, wanting desperately to get back to Galen and Lita and far from this man.

“I was the one who oversaw the princess’s birth. I cleaned her. I remember the birthmark quite distinctly.”

“Well that was many years ago—”

“Seventeen in fact. Tell me, my dear, how old are you?”

Mally froze on her way to the trap door. Slowly, she turned on the spot. Ice seemed to be running down her back.

“You’ve made a mistake—”

“I haven’t made a mistake,” the doctor shook his head.

“How can you possibly remember a birthmark exactly after seventeen years?” Mally fumed, irritated by his calm countenance.

“You made quite the first impression—”

“That wasn’t me!” Mally yelled, removing the smile on his face quite effectively.

His smile might have been removed, but his persistence hadn’t.

“How did you manage to leave the castle?”

Mally wanted to strangle him!

“I am not the princess! I was raised in Blighten by my mother and father!”

Dr. Keaden met her gaze calmly.

“You may deny your identity as much as you wish, but your own skin tells the truth. You are Princess Avona.”