The Last Princess Read Online Free PDF Page B

shaven with his dark hair combed back. “May I have this dance, my darling Eliza?”
    I glanced up at him. “I’m still mad at you.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have explained what was really going on earlier in the summer. But what I said is true. I will never letanyone hurt this family again.” He held my gaze, his arm outstretched. “So may I have this dance?”
    “Dad,” I sighed. “You know I’m terrible at Scottish reels. My feet get all muddled up.”
    “I’m the king of England, and I command you to stand on my feet,” he replied, winking.
    I groaned, but stood up and took my father’s hand in mine. I placed one foot on each of his shiny black shoes.
    “You’reheavier than I remembered,” he teased.
    “This was your idea.” I rested my head against his chest and closed my eyes as he struggled to move his feet beneath my weight. Finally I laughed and stepped off, my shoes touching the wooden floor as I followed his footsteps.
    My father twirled me out, then in again, making the room spin dizzily. The other dancers twirled around us, ball gowns of all colors—red,green, gold—swirling like a flock of exotic birds. I thought of the parties we used to have at the palace when my mother was still alive. Mary and I would hide behind the potted plants, sneaking desserts and whispering about whose dress was the most beautiful. If we had been watching this night, I thought, admiring the way Mary’s crushed velvet dress brought out the color in her lips andcheeks, she would have won.
    Suddenly, a shard of glass fell from the window to the floor. Then another, and another—a symphony of broken glass exploding in the air. The music stopped, and the dancers froze. My father grabbed my hand as we stared in stunned silence at the broken windows above. It seemed at first like a fantastic party trick, the shattered pieces sparkling like diamonds as theyfell.
    Then there was panic and screaming. The ballroom floor was covered in shards of glass, some of them glistening wetly with blood. I knew that my arm had been cut, but I ignored it. “Mary!” I cried, pushing my way through the chaos.
    The palace guards charged in on horseback, and I breathed a sigh of relief. But as they began overturning tables and chairs, and lighting the curtains on fire,I realized with a jolt that they were not the guards who had protected me my entire life. They were impostors.
    “Mary!” I shouted again, but the room was full of screams and my cries went unheard.
    My father pushed me back to the wall. “Stay here,” he told me firmly.
    The men on horseback stampeded toward him from across the room, knocking down everyone in their path. An elderly lady moaned onthe floor of the ballroom, her white hair stained with blood from a gash on her temple. I watched in terror as my father stood in front of one of the charging horses, trying to grab the reins from the rider before he trampled the old woman to death.
    “Why are you doing this?” I screamed into the room.
    A guard turned his horse on me suddenly, backing me up against the wall. “What did you say?”
    I looked up into a pair of cold blue eyes. I recognized himinstantly. The bright blond hair, the gleaming white teeth—this was the face that haunted my nightmares. The man who had killed my mother. Cornelius Hollister.
    He had been watching us. Waiting. Somehow my anger overpowered my fear. If he was going to kill me, I wanted him to at least answer me first.
    “Why are you doing this to us?” Irepeated, loudly and yet more calmly this time.
    He turned, looking back at his army as though searching for an answer. “Because you represent an era that must come to an end. Because while England starves, you are having a ball .” He dismounted. I willed myself not to back away as he stepped closer. He pulled his gun and held it to my chest.
    The cold metal pressed against the silk of my dress.I didn’t dare take my eyes off him. All it would take was one move of