Father looked up, his smile not reaching his eyes. “Amarissa. Done greeting our guests?”
“Yes. What happened?”
Lord Baswick, the oldest of Father’s advisors, cleared his throat. “We were discussing the southern rebels, Your Highness. Their attacks are growing more frequent.”
“They’ve been targeting our people on the southern main roads,” Lord Erradorn said, his face creased with concern.
“Committing murder,” another hissed.
“And raiding villages for supplies,” Erradorn said.
I studied their faces, searching for what they weren’t saying. “Who leads the rebels?”
Silence fell over the group. The advisors exchanged glances, their expressions now bland and unreadable.
“We have strong evidence,” Lord Baswick finally said, “that they’re led by the son of a former rival court.”
“You mean Syllavar?” Syllavar Court ruled the land on our southern border, though much of it had turned to wasteland over the past fifteen years or so. No one knew why.
Father’s scowl deepened. “This is hardly relevant to tonight’s festivities, Amarissa.”
“It seems quite relevant if our people are being murdered.” I met his steely gaze with my own.
His smile stretched too long, the muscles around his eyes tightening in warning.
Pain arched across the slashes on my back. He hadn’t broken the skin, but I could stillfeelthem.
And that was the point.
“You shouldn’t concern yourself with matters like this,” he said. “We’ll handle it.”
Lord Merkis, a broad-shouldered man who wore a permanentexpression of distaste, leaned forward. “The appropriate response is force, Your Majesty. These rebels only understand violence.”
“I agree,” Lord Erradorn said. “We should burn their camps and make an example of their king.”
“King?” Lord Merkis scoffed. “Can someone actually rule a desolate land made up of swamps and uncivilized people?”
“What about the children taken from the reformatory?” I asked.
Father’s hand landed on my back. To anyone watching, it would look like a kind gesture.
I bit back the pain roaring up my spine.
“You should dance, Amarissa,” he said. “Lord Alfred seems quite eager for your attention.”
“I’d rather understand the threat we’re facing.” Shifting out from beneath his touch, I kept my voice low enough only he could hear.
“And I’d rather you remember your place. The security of the realm isn’t your concern.” He turned back to his advisors. “Gentlemen, shall we continue this discussion privately?”
They moved as one toward an adjoining chamber, the heavy wooden doors swinging closed behind them with a heavy thud. I stood alone, excluded again from decisions that would shape my future as much as it would theirs.
The music swelled, couples spinning across the polished floor.
I hated it here. Hated this ball, the Day of Mercy, and, let’s face it, everything about my life.
The irony wasn’t lost on me that I moved through the room, smiling behind my mask while plotting small rebellions. I was the dutiful princess by day, the secret rebel by night. I sometimes wondered if the real me still existed somewhere between these versions, or if I’d played both parts so long I’d forgotten who Isi truly was. Only while helping someone escape, training with Thorne, or laughing with Addie did a tiny part of who I truly was break through the princess façade Father had crafted for me.
If Addie was here, she’d whisper in my ear, inventing outrageous stories about the lords and ladies around us.
