Page 5 of The Masked Princess

Priscilla finished lacing the back of her dress and walked around to the front, giving the fabric a tug here or there to straighten it. “Your wardrobe isn’t bad, but that’s something entirely different from being good. You’re a beautiful woman. Aren’t you tired of hiding?”

“It’s not like anyone will see my face, either way.”

“Then the rest of you should make up for what your mask hides. What jewels do you want for the evening, Your Highness?”

“None.”

Priscilla raised an eyebrow, and after a short staring contest, Annalise’s shoulders slumped and she waved a hand at her vanity. “The gold cuff necklace, if you insist.”

“Excellent choice, Your Highness.” Priscilla fastened the hammered gold necklace around Annalise’s neck, then added a golden brooch and a golden tiara to match.

“Surely this is too much for a regular evening meal,” Annalise protested.

Priscilla clucked as she set the tiara on top of Annalise’s head. “This is the simplest of your jewelry. We don’t know when the Rhinneans will appear, and if they see you like you normally dress, they may mistake you for the wife of a simple backwoods noble.”

“That seems rather unlikely to me. I doubt anyone for several weeks’ ride hasn’t heard of the poor cursed princess whose touch is death, doomed to hide behind a mask for the rest of her life.”

“You don’t have to eat with the others tonight. Say the word and I’ll tell the head butler that you’re ill and will not be attending. Considering the events of the day, no one would fault you for staying in.”

Annalise stared at herself in the mirror, and her ivory mask, with its delicate silver filigree overlay, stared back. It was a thing of beauty and covered her entire face, save for two round openings through which her blue eyes peered through.

She hated it and what it represented with every fiber of her being.

“No, I should go. I’m sure there are already many rumors, and I don’t want my father thinking I’m shirking my duty.”

“If you’re quite sure, Your Highness.”

“I am. If I don’t go, I fear he’ll quiz me about what happened tomorrow during court, and I’d much rather answer questions tonight when the lords and ladies are deep in their tankards and goblets and less likely to remember the details.”

“I understand.” Priscilla stepped back and surveyed Annalise, then nodded. “You are ready.”

“Thank you, Priscilla. I’ll be out in a moment.” Annalise inhaled deeply to steady herself, then imagined she was breathing out her anxieties. Tomorrow was a court day, and many noble families were in town for the start of the winter social season. No matter how perturbed she was, she must be wary and ready for anything.

She was the cursed daughter of King Everet, the man who fancied himself as the Serpent King. She was loved by no one, feared by many, and as much as she hated her father and his court, she must do her duty and accept the role that only she could play.

CHAPTER 4

Soren inhaled the fresh air of Dovelan, savoring the scent of pine and the mild bite of the autumn day. The combination of the fading twilight sky and bright torches cast the stable yard in front of him in a variety of shadows ranging from mauve to dark gray. He tossed the reins of his borrowed mount at the stable boy, pressed a silver coin into the boy’s other palm in thanks, and made his way into the city’s premier tavern.

He waved a peculiarly shaped wooden token at the buxom barmaid whose brown hair curled around her head in a braided crown. “I was told if I presented this to you, I’d get my deposit back for the horse.”

“Aye, that you will. Would you like anything else?”

“A meal and a drink. It’s been a long day.” Soren sat on an empty bar stool and looked around. The exposed oak beams, long bar, and floor of the tavern gleamed in the firelight, speaking volumes of the care their owner levied into polishing and cleaning them. The walls were bare except for two paintings of epic scenes—one of a royal boar hunt and the other of a ship being tossed in the middle of a storm. At the second, he snorted and took another sip from his tankard.

“You don’t think much of our painting? A master painter made it for us. He said he took inspiration from a storm on one of his travels.”

Soren turned his attention back to the bar, where a bartender had replaced the barmaid. He was a bear of a man, with gray and white hairs sprinkled through the dark beard and mustache that covered most of his face.

“It’s very well done, just rather ironic for me, I think.”

“You’re from a coastal town?”

“No, I grew up in Dovelan but spent the past several years at sea. Fairly recently, I decided that life wasn’t for me anymore and came back home to settle down.”

The bartender nodded as he slid a hefty bowl of stew and a thick slice of bread across the bar. A group of patrons entered the tavern, and he went to serve them, leaving Soren with his stew, bread, and beer.

It had been years since Soren was last in Dovelan, and he’d worried that his memories of the capital city wouldn’t hold up to reality, a fear which he’d so far been glad to find unfounded. When he was a stripling boy of sixteen, his father, the High General of Dovea’s armies, arranged for him to be apprenticed to a ship’s captain who was based out of the Vintreal, the kingdom to the south of Dovea that was home to the best seaports and harbors in the region. The news had come as a shock to Soren, who’d always assumed he would follow in his father’s footsteps and enter the military.