Page 10 of The Masked Princess

Over breakfast that morning, Soren’s father had told him about the arrival of the delegation from their enemy. He was well aware of the history between the Doveans and the Rhinneans: the hotly contested border between the two kingdoms lay on the mountainous west side of Dovea. The most recent war between them occurred when King Everet first ascended the throne, but, to everyone’s surprise, there had been only peace in the intervening years. Much of the border fell within the Kierson estate, and after generations of defending their land from mountain beasts and sworn enemies, their military prowess seemed nearly as hereditary as their title.

The Rhinneans were dressed in various shades of red and black. When they stopped in front of King Everet, they gave flourishing bows that were synchronized so perfectly Soren wondered if they’d practiced ahead of time.

“Greetings, Your Majesty, King Everet of Dovea. May you have a long life and happiness. I am Selveg, ambassador from Rhinnea. My men and I are here on business from our king, and request an audience with you to hear our petition,” the head of the delegation said in a smooth voice that sounded like dark syrup.

“And what does your king wish of this court?” King Everet asked.

“Our former king, Vanar the Strong, may he rest in peace, has died and his son, King Nelan the Wise, has ascended the Mountain Throne. As such, he has charged us with reminding you of the treatise between our two kingdoms at the conclusion of the last war, and has requested you send your daughter to him with all expediency so that they may be married at spring equinox.”

As the Rhinnean delegate spoke, King Everet’s eyebrows drew together even as everyone else’s rose in surprise. Treaties with the Rhinneans were considered the diplomatic equivalent of a cloth plugging a full wine barrel, which at the slightest jostle would fall out, leaving the blood-red wine to flow freely.

As the words sunk in and he realized exactly what was being discussed, Soren’s heart dropped to his toes. His hand drifted to his side and tightened reflexively on his sword hilt. Unlike many of the older generation, thanks to the efforts of his father, Soren had grown up during a time of peace and harbored no hatred toward the Rhinneans. Whatever prejudice he may have held was quickly washed away during his third-year sailing when he’d served under a Rhinnean first mate who had been a good man and treated Soren sternly but fairly despite the history between their peoples.

No, it wasn’t because the other suitor was a Rhinnean that caused Soren to want to reach across the vast distance and strangle his neck; it was because, despite the esteem and high rank of the Kierson family name, in the grand hierarchy of courts and kingdoms, one of the few stations he could not compete against was that of a king. He cut his eyes to Annalise, but she sat as still as a statue despite the momentous news.

He forced himself to let go of his sword hilt and relax his jaw, lest he crack a molar from grinding his teeth. Judging from the rapidly darkening face of the king, Princess Annalise’s fate was far from sealed.

“You would presume to pull my only daughter, my heir, away from the throne to marry your cur-bitten child king? I do not recall signing such a betrothal. How am I to know that you haven’t made it up?” King Everet thundered, his dark brows drawing together in a scowl like storm clouds brewing.

Despite the angry king sitting in front of him and the surrounding guards, Ambassador Selveg stood tall. “It’s been many years since you signed the betrothal—nearly as long as the princess has been alive. I understand that your copy of the agreement may have been lost in the intervening time, especially as tragedy has plagued your household. To assuage your concerns and to prove that we are only acting with the utmost goodwill, we have brought our copy of the treaty, which includes the betrothal clause. As you will see, your signature and that of your high general, along with your seals, are both here.” The Rhinnean produced the scroll with a flourish and handed it to a guard, who took it to the king. “We have also brought with us a bride price for your daughter, to show our regard for her,” he added as King Everet unrolled the scroll.

Two Rhinneans stepped up to the side of the ambassador, hefting a small-yet-substantial-looking wooden chest between them. With a flourish, Ambassador Selveg opened the lid, revealing an overflowing abundance of gold and precious gems, several of which cascaded to the floor with a clink reminiscent of rain on armor. The courtiers nearest the chest gaped at the extravagant wealth displayed, and the ones further away craned their necks to get a better look.

At the gasps and subsequent swell of conversation, King Everet glanced up at the delegation, then back down at the scroll before setting it aside. “Look around you, gentlemen. Do you think I have any need for third-rate jewels and gold? My advisers will examine this document and verify its legitimacy, and you’ll have my answer tomorrow.”

“Your Majesty, please forgive me for speaking so plainly but time is of the essence—” Ambassador Selveg ducked as King Everet threw a silver plate at his head, and the last of his words were drowned out by the ringing clash as the plate and leftover food hit the floor.

“You will not dictate orders to me, Ambassador. If you don’t wish to spend the night in the dungeons, I suggest you keep your mouth shut. I will inform you of my answer tomorrow.” The king’s voice reminded Soren of the calm in the eye of a hurricane—quiet, but no less deadly than the blustering winds and lashing rain.

For a moment, the hall was silent with every eye riveted on the scowling king. Then Ambassador Selveg bowed deeply, and with the spell of the tableau broken, the guards escorted the delegation back down the royal hall.

When the great throne room doors shut behind the last of the Rhinneans, King Everet shoved himself to his feet. “Court is adjourned for today,” he boomed before storming out.

Princess Annalise rose next, as graceful as a willow tree dipping its fronds into a still pond. Her hands were clasped in front, her long light blue sleeves just short enough to reveal white gloves. She stood in silence, looking over the court. Her eyes lingered on Soren for a moment, then she turned and glided away, exiting through a different door than the king.

Once she’d left, conversation immediately broke out as everyone discussed the king’s angry departure. Soren didn’t have long to process the most recent court events; he was soon beset by several lords and a handful of ladies seeking to reintroduce themselves. After nearly twenty minutes of shaking hands and bowing, he felt something brush his elbow and was grateful to see his father at his side.

“The boy has been gone for far too long to withstand so many names and faces, new and old. Remember that he’s more used to seeing the open ocean and rough sailors, and I don’t want him to be so intimidated by all these beautiful ladies that he declines to dine at court tonight,” General Kierson said loudly.

The women surrounding them tittered, but eventually turned away, and the general and Soren left not long after.

“What do you think King Everet will do?” Soren asked his father as they entered the carriage.

The high general pursed his lips as he settled into the stuffed leather seats. “I’ve searched my memory for what the Rhinneans speak of, and although it was long, long ago, I think I remember such a clause being discussed. It was a hard time for me—your mother had passed recently, and you were a toddler who loved to run and climb on anything you could when no one was watching, which terrorized the staff. If I’m being quite frank, much of my recollections are clouded by grief and worry. My subordinates were handling most of the military day-to-day, and I wouldn’t be surprised if King Everet allowed such a thing to be added. With his only heir a fragile newborn and his high general wracked with grief, he may have sensed that it wasn’t the time to reject the peace treaty and press an offensive. It was a wise move—especially as no one would have ever expected peace to last this long.”

They fell into silence as they waited in line with the other carriages, but as they passed over the castle drawbridge, the high general chuckled. “I hope you’re ready for this evening. There are only a handful of bachelors at court, and none as eligible or accomplished as you. I have it on good authority that many of the court matrons are already salivating at the thought of pairing you off with their daughters.”

“Why me? I’d wager the esteemed High General Kierson of Dovea is just as much of a catch,” Soren said. It was something he’d often wondered but had never had the courage to ask when he was younger.

“I have no interest in remarrying, and have made that quite clear whenever the topic is mentioned anywhere in my vicinity. You’re right in that every year some ambitious mother with an older daughter or young widow gets a hair and tries her luck, but all of them swiftly find themselves disabused of their fantasies of bringing me to heel.”

The silence in the carriage was heavy, and his father’s body language made it clear the matter was closed, but Soren still had more questions. “My mother died a long time ago. Why did you never remarry, Father?”

“Varley keeps the house running just fine, and you had your tutors. There was never a need for another woman’s touch in our lives, so I saw no reason to bring anyone in. Now, I believe you are done asking these unnecessary questions.”

“Not quite, actually.”

“Yes, you are.” General Kierson’s mouth curved down into a frown as he pinned his son with a scorching look.