Page 27 of The Masked Princess

“Nice try, Witch, but it will take more than a little magic to hurt me. I hope you rot in that bed until the darkness of the underworld comes for your soul,” King Everet growled. He shoved Annalise away before storming out of the room, indifferent to the sound of his only living child on the floor groaning in pain. The door slammed shut behind him so forcefully it rattled the medicine vials on the cabinets.

“Mama, it burns. Why does it hurt?” Annalise cried, crawling to her mother’s bedside and pulling herself to her knees. It felt as though someone had written invisible words of fire all over her body. Once, she’d fallen asleep in the garden on a sunny day and had a sunburn so terrible she’d barely moved for a week; the pain she now felt made that sunburn feel like a warm hug.

Her mother helped her into bed with a thin and pale hand. “I’m sorry, dear one. I expected many things from your father, but never for him to do… that. Still…” Queen Elvira paused, taking a labored breath. “Perhaps this is for the best. I love you, my sweet child, my darling girl. Never forget that. I’ll always be with you, even when you can’t see me. I know it burns. Here, let me sing you a song. With any luck, it’ll help you feel better.”

Something about her mother’s touch soothed the worst of the burning. As Annalise curled into her side, the queen sang over her in the Old Tongue. It was a lullaby Annalise recognized from when she was a little girl, and her mother’s soft accent gave the song a soothing lilt.

“Will you teach me the Old Tongue one day, Mama?” Annalise asked.

Her mother smoothed her hair and kissed the top of her head. “Your father forbade me from ever speaking to you of this, but one day, if you make it to the valley between the walls, my home kingdom of Murana, my people there will teach you our ways and our language. That is your birthright, as much as any plans your father may have for you. In Murana, you will always be welcome.”

Annalise fell asleep to husky singing, which cooled the burning and stinging on her skin.

She awoke the next morning to shrill screams.

Queen Elvira, beloved monarch of Dovea and Annalise’s doting mother, had died during the night.

In the chaos that followed, as the room filled with lady’s maids, healers, and servants, Annalise gradually learned that her father had forbidden anyone from entering her mother’s chambers until dawn on pain of death.

Amid the flurry of activity and mourning, her father strode into the queen’s bedchamber. His eyes were as red as the last of the coals in the hearth, and the scent of alcohol was so strong that Annalise could smell it from across the room.

“No one will mourn the queen. I forbid it.” He turned his baleful gaze on Annalise, who cowered from him. “All that useless woman did was give me one girl and a few stillborn sons. She no more deserves to be mourned than an old nag who breaks down on the side of the road before it can fulfill its duty.”

“Oh, you poor girl. You must be so heartbroken,” one of the court ladies said to Annalise.

In the intervening years, she’d forgotten the lady’s name, but she remembered it was one who her mother held great animosity toward. The woman had been a favorite of her father’s, and was only given a place in the queen’s retinue at the request of the king.

The lady folded a begrudging Annalise into her arms. However, just as she pressed Annalise’s head to her ample bosom, she shrieked and shoved Annalise back so hard the princess nearly fell to the ground.

As everyone looked on in horror, the lady’s skin reddened, then turned purple. She screamed in pain and pointed an accusing finger at Annalise. “You did this. This is your fault, you cursed child!” She tore at her clothes and ran from the room as if chased by demons, her shrieks echoing down the hallway.

CHAPTER 21

Present day

Annalise shifted uncomfortably on her horse. Between the tense passage through the pass, the four terrifying days with the bandits, and her rescue the night before, which was followed by a few hours of restless sleep on the ground with only a handful of scavenged blankets and an old tent for comfort, her body was bloodied, bruised, and sore. The fact that she’d had a nightmare that felt like she’d gone back in time to the night of her curse only made her that much more irritable.

Soren walked at her side, his face taciturn. Because of the unfamiliar terrain and the thickness of the forest undergrowth, he and his men had pursued her abductors on foot. They’d only brought one mule to carry the men’s things, which would have doubled as a mount for Annalise to ride back on. When Captain Padrin saw the coarse pack animal as well as the injured men from the raid, he’d immediately ordered half of the members of his party to give up their mounts.

At first, Annalise refused the mare offered to her and insisted it go to Soren instead. He had a terrible limp, and she was concerned that he’d only injure himself more if he didn’t rest. However, he’d refused with a stubbornness that surprised her, although he wasn’t above walking beside the horse and occasionally using it to help steady himself.

They still hadn’t spoken about his words the night before; she doubted they ever would. What he said was dangerous. Dearest, he’d called her, as if she meant something more to him than just a friend. As much as she longed to know why, she didn’t dare ask, afraid that such questions would only lead to heartbreak. Instead, she embraced her irritation at his refusal of the mount, when he obviously needed it more.

“How did you find me?” she asked after the worst of her ire had faded.

“We tracked you for three days. Those bandits may have been passable fighters with a solid head start, but they were average wood craftsmen, and we have several in our party who are master hunters.” Soren winced, and his shoulders slumped. “Were master hunters. One of them survived, but he’s among the injured. I wasn’t expecting the mage, and my men paid for my mistake with their lives.”

“Don’t blame yourself too much, Captain Soren—I traveled with those bandits for four days and still didn’t know they had a mage in their party.”

“I have no excuse; I should have exercised more caution, but I was blinded by the need to make sure you were okay. Don’t worry, Princess Annalise, it won’t happen again.”

The silence between them stretched for nearly an hour. She kept herself entertained by marveling at the trees they rode under—their strong boughs arched overhead to such great heights that it put her father’s throne room in Dovea to shame. The forest canopy protected most of the understory from snow, and a few of the branches looked wide enough to allow a horse to ride over them.

A small bird hopped from one branch to another, and Annalise was suddenly reminded of her lady’s maid. “How was Priscilla doing when you saw her last?”

“Frightened and worried for you, but holding up well overall. Lieutenant Rorarck will take good care of her as well as your trousseau and dowry. Once we’ve met Captain Linnean’s liege, we’ll return to our journey and rendezvous outside of Rea, if not before.” Soren cut his words off with a hiss through his teeth when the horse bumped into him unexpectedly. Annalise glanced at him, but kept her concern to herself when he continued talking as if nothing was wrong. “Oh, that reminds me. Priscilla packed several things for you—dresses and such, I think.”

Annalise eyed Soren’s pack strapped to the saddle behind her. “I hope you have enough space left for your own use.”