Page 11 of The Masked Princess

Soren took in the expression with a calm gaze. He’d faced down a raging tempest with a battered ship, even lashing himself to the helm to ensure the waves didn’t wrench the wheel away and send him and his crew to a watery grave. He’d been through far too much to still be afraid of his father’s displeasure. “Surely these years have been lonely for you. Why did you never remarry after Mother?” he repeated.

The general blinked slowly, then looked away and leaned back in his seat, staring up at the lacquered carriage ceiling. “Your mother was a special woman. She was kind and compassionate and loved with her whole heart. Everything about her was soft, but not in a sickly way. She was warm and tender and comfortable, like her lapdog. You remember Ember?”

Soren nodded. His mother’s pet had died when he was a young boy, but he still remembered the small furry dog that always seemed to insist on sitting on his lap. He remained silent for fear that if his father were interrupted, he’d stop talking entirely.

“She loved that little dog like it was her first child, and it loved her. They were kindred spirits; beautiful and delicate creatures whose main purpose always seemed to be to love others and to be loved in return. Even with all my campaigning, she never complained about how long I was away. When I returned, she always had the servants draw me a warm bath and bathed me herself, making sure all my bruises and injuries were tended to and then we spent the evening talking and catching up. She never once made me feel bad about my absences.” One corner of his father’s mouth quirked up as if savoring the memory. “Don’t mistake me—weak, she was not. She knew her own mind and refused to let others walk over her. She kept up a steady correspondence with the other army wives, and if she thought I was acting unfairly, she was sure to let me know. The comfort of a roaring fire on a snowy day, the beauty of an early spring, and the wit and wisdom of the most seasoned diplomat were all attributes that she wore proudly like the finest jewels. How could any other woman compare? It would be unfair to ask any of them to even try.”

Soren swallowed a lump in his throat. He’d never heard his father speak in such a way, and it made his heart ache to think about the woman he’d never known. “It sounds like you truly loved her.”

“I still do. Deeply.” Soren’s father looked at him, then glanced away, his eyes glistening. “The ballroom was her favorite spot in the house. She’d spend hours there playing the piano, writing letters, and looking out over the gardens.”

As the carriage rolled to a stop and his father got out, Soren sat in shocked silence. Suddenly, the reason the ballroom had been repurposed to a training room and armory made sense—his father spent several hours there every day practicing and keeping his skills sharp. Soren had always assumed it was for efficiency’s sake; as the largest room in the house with easy access to the gardens, it was the perfect place for training. But now he realized it was for another reason entirely: so that his father could remain close to the woman he still loved with his entire heart.

He followed the high general inside, and then, before he could change his mind, wrapped his arms around his father.

“I’m sure she loved you too. I wish I could have met her. Thank you for telling me about her, even if it was painful,” he whispered.

High General Kierson was stiff at first, but gradually relaxed and returned Soren’s hug. “Yes, well, like I said, your mother was a very special lady. I’m sure if she was still around, she’d have her own ideas about which women you should pay court to, but we’ll just have to muddle through without her. I’ll write out a list of the different families with eligible daughters and what I know of them so that you can grasp the lay of the land before we head back to the castle for dinner this evening.”

Soren bowed, and his father walked away. As a dutiful son, he would read over the list and commit it to memory, but despite the tumultuous events of the day, he had no intention of paying court to any lady save one.

CHAPTER 8

As she waited for the servants to serve the next course, Princess Annalise looked over the members of court in the dining hall, searching for one face in particular. Earlier in the day, when Soren strode down the center of the throne room like a victorious conqueror coming home, her cheeks had warmed and she’d been grateful for the cover of her mask. When she was a young girl, she had a crush on the cute boy who’d been sent away to learn the seafaring trade, but the man who came back nearly took her breath away. His face had lost its childish roundness, revealing a strong jaw and high cheekbones. His hair kept its reddish-brown color, but instead of sticking up every which way like a tossed pile of hay, he’d tamed it into a short dashing style that curled over his forehead in a soft wave like a gentle ripple on a quiet pond. His brown eyes were open and honest, but still held the mischievous light that she remembered so well. It had been a long time since she last saw him, and the years had been more than kind.

There he was, sitting at one of the upper tables. His father, High General Kierson, was dining in his usual spot at the other end of the high table. She guessed the head butler had seated Soren strategically so that her father could keep an eye on him after the interest Lady Evelina had shown earlier. Annalise tried not to think about how Lady Evelina flirting with Soren made her chest twist with ugly jealousy.

Soren conducted himself with ease, his white shirt and blue coat stylishly cut and pairing nicely with his black breeches. He laughed freely, and his dining companions kept their attention on him as though they were flowers and he was the sun. Soon, his table was among the liveliest in the entire hall.

She felt eyes on her, and turned to find Selveg, the Rhinnean ambassador, watching her from his seat at the back of the hall. He nodded and raised his glass. Princess Annalise returned his nod before focusing on her plate, having seen enough to tide her through the evening. Of everyone at court who heard the Rhinnean delegation’s demands, she considered herself to be the most shocked. Never had she heard so much as a whisper of her betrothal to the Rhinnean prince, and the announcement and subsequent implication that she must either become his wife or the two kingdoms would go to war made her head swim.

She still didn’t understand why the Rhinneans would want Dovea to honor their request, especially after her curse. There was nothing that could be done; she might be the crown princess, but her fate was in the hands of the king and his advisers. Annalise knew better than to count on the little support he’d shown her the evening before as anything more than what it was—manipulating a pawn in his spat with his Larken.

“Annalise, we never talked about what happened yesterday,” her father said between bites.

Her hand, which was reaching for her goblet, stilled. She’d hoped the conversation, if it were to happen, would be in private chambers. It appeared she wasn’t nearly so fortunate. “What is it you wish to talk about?”

“Are the reports of what happened in the market true? That you killed your attacker with only a touch of your hand?”

“I also spat on his face, but essentially, yes.”

King Everet stared at her, his drink halfway to his lips, and Annalise put her hands on the table so he could see her nervously toying with her napkin, hoping the display of vulnerability would stop him from thinking the worst. “He’d trapped one of my arms, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get my glove off, but I managed to knock my mask askew. The spit distracted him enough to give me an opening to remove my glove.”

“I see.” He turned back to his drink, swirling his wine around in the cup. “A curse like yours would be very useful for a country at war. Imagine the effect that arrows dipped in your blood would have.”

“Imagine what an assassin could do with such a ready poison supply so near to the crown. All it would take is a covert murder, and then dumping the cursed body in the water supply for the entire castle and town to come to ruin,” Larken said.

Despite the bitter wind that howled outside and foretold a tough winter, the dining hall was warm and the fires burned merrily in their hearth. At Larken’s words, sweat dripped down Annalise’s back, and the formerly cozy room suddenly felt stifling. A swell of laughter drifted from elsewhere in the hall, and she wondered how they could be so carefree, as if life-and-death decisions weren’t being weighed at the high table.

King Everet frowned and drained his wine goblet. “That is an excellent point, Larken. We certainly would not want to endanger anyone else.” He turned back to Annalise and the look on his face reminded her of when Orena accused Annalise of intentionally poisoning her. “Tell me, girl, if you were to go with the Rhinneans and they ordered you to hurt Dovea, what would you do? Would you stay loyal to the country of your birth, or would you seek to curry favor with your new home?”

Something in his tone reminded Annalise of the burning pain of her mother’s last words, the heartbreak at the news that her mother was dead, and the utter helplessness she’d felt when she realized she was forever cursed.

“Don’t lie to me. You may wear a mask, but I’ll still hear the deceit in your voice,” he said, and she judged she’d weighed her thoughts for too long.

“I am a Dovean first and foremost, Your Majesty. I love my kingdom more than I love myself, and I’d never willingly do anything that might hurt anyone within our borders. If they were to order me such a thing, I would refuse, and then because I know that such an order wouldn’t truly be a choice, I would do whatever I could to stop them, even at the cost of my life,” she replied.

“They could still use your dead body for nefarious purposes.”