PROLOGUE
Ur wech e oa...
Il était une fois…
Once upon a time…
The waves crashed against the walls, their rage beyond control. The skies darkened, black clouds blotting out the sun. Servants lit lanterns and frantically secured the shutters and the doors. They pushed sandbags against the cracks and the entrances. The water still found its way inside, as water will, until damp permeated everything.
In the ballroom, the dancers whirled and laughed, without a care in the world. The musicians played furious reels, drowning out the sound of the storm. The king drank the fine wine from the south, rich and red, in endless supply, ignoring them all, even the priest who whispered urgent warnings, muttered prayers and tried to raise the alarm.
But the king did not listen.
No one listened.
The princess swept through the ballroom, her silks rustling as she walked, a gait that was more like a dance, so graceful, so beautiful. In her hands she carried her mask, intricately crafted, a work of art. The glazed porcelain shimmered with decorations in gold and lapis lazuli, the image of a human face made inhuman.
They called it her favour.
And the stranger watched her, drinking her in. The princess smiled and he returned the expression, the lazy, desire-filled darkening of his eyes mirroring her own. All men loved her. They couldn’t help themselves, and she was used to that power. She could command and compel anyone who took her fancy.
He was the most handsome creature she had ever seen. From the moment he arrived, every eye was drawn to him, heartbeats sped up at a glimpse of his bewitching looks.
Her decision was made.
She would give him the mask, grace him with it. And with it her body…for the night, at least.
And if he lied, as others had lied, there would be a price…he would never know, until it was too late.
There had been many, so many, vying for her favour, lusting for her and the power she embodied.
But their love was never true. That was her tragedy. It broke her heart. It cost them their lives. The mask had been a gift and she treasured it. It protected her fragile heart.
But this time, for the first time in years, she hoped…she desperately hoped… There was something in his eyes.
‘The mask compels the truth and you can see it,’ her first lover had told her, when he gave it to her. He was Death’s right hand, called Ankou, and she had known the dangers of dancing with him, but the magic he taught her was too addictive. He was too addictive. He’d left her in the end, as he had always warned her he would have to though it broke his heart to do so, and she had sought the same love ever since. In endless faces, the mask showed her only that they lied, that they would never really love her as Ankou had. And if they lied while wearing the mask, it killed them without mercy. Ankou’s gift to her, his protection.
This lordling was different, she was certain of that. And she wanted him.
They danced, they flirted, they teased, they slipped away unseen and made love.
‘Put it on,’ she whispered. But he smiled against her lips and refused. He set the mask aside.
‘I can’t wear another’s face for you,’ he said so sweetly, so compellingly, that she believed him.
She trusted him. He would be true. He could not lie to her, not when he looked at her that way.
While the storm raged outside, the skies turned black and the sea rose, lashing itself against the city walls, they lost themselves in each other.
And afterwards…afterwards, his smile faded like the first flower in the garden.
Around her neck she wore a golden key and while she dozed, sated and happy at last, he took it.
She woke with a start and cried out in alarm.
‘Give it back.’
‘Alas, that I cannot do,’ he replied, mocking her. The kindly, courtly lover was gone. He made for the door without a backwards glance.
