Her gaze sidles away from mine. It’s no more than a mere instant of break before she looks at me again, unblinking. But it’s enough that I notice. “When petitioning the gods’ own aid for great and mighty deeds, it is vital that purity of both body and soul are protected.”
I blink. “So, I’ve got to marry my champion to maintain…appearances?”
“Appearances matter, Princess.”
I fight not to roll my eyes. Something tells me Philippa would not deem eye rolls ladylike. “You do realize this is nonsense, don’t you?”
“The ways of the gods are mysterious.”
She doesn’t believe what she’s saying. For all her carefully maintained eye contact, I’m not forgetting that telltale glance away. There’s something else going on here, something she doesn’t want to admit. Something she’s…afraidto admit? Possibly. But judging by the absolute rigidity of her features, I won’t be getting anything more out of her just now. I’ll have to keep my eyes open.
Philippa tilts her head a little to one side. Her stern brow softens slightly. “You do know I am trying to help you, Princess. Don’t you?”
And she is—I do believe that much at least. By calling meprincessat every turn, by adorning me in these fine garments, bycoaching me in courtly etiquette, by teaching me to balance books on my head while I walk, and all manner of things I had absolutely no notion mattered to anyone until recent history.
A hopeless endeavor in the end, I fear—for I don’t intend to remain here and be anyone’s tool or weapon. The second I see a chance for escape, I’m taking it. And if I don’t see one, I’ll make one myself. But I’ll play along. For now. “I know,” I answer. “I’m not sure what I’d do without you, Philippa.”
She takes my hand and squeezes it firmly. “One day, I hope you will understand just how vital all of this is. I myself had to fight for the honor of coming here, of serving as your personal lady. Dozens of women across the Kingdoms of Belanor tried to claw their way through one another to win the High King’s favor and be granted this role.”
“Why?” I scoff softly. “So you can spend your days mending all my rips and tears and fixing the embroidery on my gowns?”
“It is my honor to mend any number of gowns for the sake of the Dragon Princess.”
The way she says it…like I’m a saint or an angel, some sort of sacred being. Some creature utterly unrelated to what I know myself to be. But she means it. They all do. And I cannot convince any of them to think otherwise.
“That being said,” Philippa continues, letting go of one hand to take the other, preventing me from unconsciously picking at the embroidery emblazoned across the bodice, “I would prefer not to stay up until the wee hours of the morning perfecting my satin stitch, so…if you would try to be careful with this particular gown?”
“Yes,” I answer meekly. “I’ll try.”
“Good!” With a last tug to straighten the front of my skirts, Philippa turns to fetch a set of jeweled haircombs from the sidetable. She is just fixing them in my hair when a heavy knock sounds at my chamber door. “Ah!” she says. “That should be your escort, come to take you to the banquet hall.”
Immediately, a host of tiny butterflies springs to life in my stomach. Which is ridiculous, I know, but I can’t seem to help it. Who’s to say my new acquaintance wasn’t assigned to escort me this evening? I don’t know if the prospect pleases or embarrasses me more, but either way, the butterflies are dancing. I stand on my toes, trying to peer over Philippa’s shoulder as she moves to open the door, eager to see who stands in the passage beyond.
The gloomy face of Captain Norlan appears, framed in the doorway. Thescintilglow illuminates his bloodshot eyes. “Is the princess ready?” he asks in a dolorous voice.
One by one, my butterflies crumble to dust.
5
Rosie
Three guardsmen wait in the gloomy passage outside, ready to protect me from leaping shadows and the occasional bat, I suppose. Though each fellow is formidable enough in his own way, not one of them boasts the height and breadth of the lone guard I encountered in the alcove above the stairs. Their faces are likewise devoid of rakish scars, and their lips don’t strike one as unexpectedly soft and kissable.
Not that I’m standing here staring at their lips.
“And how are you this evening, Captain Norlan?” I ask as I step from my chamber. “I trust you and your men are feeling better?”
The captain flushes and doesn’t quite meet my eyes. “Aye, Princess. The flux has passed, and we’re all none the worse for it in the end,” he growls.
“And have you tried a brew of gingerroot and skullcap seeds?” I ask, the apothecary in me unable to resist offering a remedy to any malady that may cross my path. “It will soothe the ache, and skullcap is known for its restorative properties—”
A pointed clearing of the throat interrupts my eagerness. Glancing over my shoulder, I catch Philippa’s eye. She motions imperiously with one hand. I press my lips together, stifling my words, and step into the midst of the armored trio, matching my pace to theirs as we march down the passage. The tramp of their boots is the only sound to be heard throughout the echoing stone palace. I glimpse no sign of another living soul. If I didn’t know any better, I would think I was being marched through my own lonely tomb. Which is strangely fitting. After all, Rosie Harpwood is dead and gone…why should she not end up buried as well?
I clench my fists, manicured nails digging into the palms of my hands. I’m not done for. Not by a long shot. If my little act of rebellion earlier today proved anything, it was that the powers seeking to control me do not yet rule me. I’ll find a way out of this yet, gods help me. Escape might seem impossible at the moment, but there’s always a way if one is quick and brave enough to take it. My own history has taught me that much.
Much sooner than I’m prepared for, we stand at a pair of large double doors, carved in an elaborate frieze of cavorting monsters. Light from the nearestscintilcatches each fanged face, making the various chimeras, ogres, and even the occasional dragon seem much too lifelike for comfort. They tell me this whole palace was carved out of the mountain stone by dwarves long ago. They built it as a gift for some human princess, who, fleeing her evil stepmother, took refuge among the dwarf tribe. She fell in love with a dwarfish prince, who ordered the palace built in her honor. This is why, while the craftsmanship is distinctly dwarfish, the ceilings and doorways are all comfortable heights for humans.
I crane my ears, listening for sounds of life and movement on the other side of those doors. All is very still, but how muchsound could carry through such thick slabs of rock in any case? I draw a deep breath and glance back at my guards. They stare blankly straight ahead; no sympathy to be had from that quarter. Biting my lower lip, I face the doors once more. With a little inhale and a firm set to my shoulders, I grasp the heavy doorknobs and push the doors open.
