Page 57 of The Masked Princess

Soren started, and then a wide grin creased his face. “Matheus? Matheus Risebach? Is that you?”

“In the flesh. Surprised to see me?” Matheus grinned and slapped Soren on the shoulder. “When I last saw you standing on the wharf next to Captain Earon I’d never expected to see you again, let alone somewhere like this.”

“You and me both. How have you been?”

“Not bad, not bad. My parents are still kicking around, healthy as horses. Sometimes I wonder if I should have left the ship when I did since they don’t need me after all… but then again, if I hadn’t, maybe I’d still be serving on our eastern border instead of working this cushy job in the capital.”

Soren took in the other man’s clothes, including the insignia on his shoulder. “Well, it looks like you reached captain after all; perhaps you left just in time.”

“You may very well be right.” Matheus paused and looked around, then raised his voice so the entire table could hear. “Everyone, this is Captain Soren Kierson. I know we’ve had our issues with the Doveans, but I can personally vouch for this man. He served as a cabin boy under my last captain at sea, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone work so hard. Even when he was seasick, he was trying to clean anything he could reach—holding a vomit bucket in one hand and polishing the deck with the other.” Matheus mimicked the motions, and a few of the men sitting around them laughed. Matheus shook his head and his fork at the man sitting across from him. “He may be a Dovean, but you won’t find a better man anywhere. He’s loyal to a fault, smart as a whip, and could probably take on any of you lot with one hand tied behind his back.”

“Say what you want, but his father is still the Dovean high general,” one of the guards near the end of the table sneered.

“Is that so? Did his father personally wrong you?” Matheus stared at the guard and waited until he shook his head. “That’s what I thought. Look, we’ve been at peace for over twenty years and the current Dovean heir is sitting on our dais and pledged to marry King Nelan. Personally, I say let bygones be bygones. We’ve all got too much to do to hold grudges.” Matheus’s voice dropped, and the surrounding guards leaned in closer. “Plus, if you ask me, giving the head of the princess’s guard a hard time is a great way to make a powerful enemy.”

Before anyone else could respond, Matheus dug into his food and started talking to the man seated on his other side about a sighting of a wolf pack around Rea.

The guards around Soren relaxed infinitesimally, their expressions turning from glowers and glares into frowns, and when he asked one to pass the salt, they did so without making him ask several times or pretending to throw the shaker at his head. Still, he didn’t push his luck. While the others talked and jested freely with each other as they drank more ale, Soren kept a pleasant look on his face and kept to himself. He was grateful for the chance to keep an eye on Princess Annalise and gauge how she was doing instead of being relegated to the barracks with the other Doveans for his meals.

An ember of jealousy burned in his chest when he saw her laugh at something King Nelan said. Alaric the healer had told him several disturbing stories about Nelan he’d picked up during his journey through rural Rhinnea. The rumors spoke of a man who hid his terrible cruelty and capricious nature behind an easy smile and a generous purse, and after the scene with Ambassador Selveg and the brief meeting in the library, Soren feared that the worst of the rumors didn’t even scratch the surface of the truth.

He was just sopping up the last of his soup with a scrap of bread, trying to think of ways to help Annalise and keep her path smooth, when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

A noble lord, who looked to be around sixty, stood behind him. “Dovean filth, how dare you proposition my daughter?”

Soren’s eyebrows went sky-high at the accusation. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir…?”

“Lord Wethernon, of the Eastern Forest. I believe you met my daughter, Lady Dakoa Wethernon yesterday while she was waiting for me in the Rhinnean barracks.”

“Uh, yes, that is correct, but I don’t remember anything untoward occurring.” Soren attempted to lean back to put more space between them, but the lord, despite his frail appearance and trembling hand, had a grip like iron.

“Untoward? You don’t remember anything untoward?” Lord Wethernon’s face turned a shade of red that matched the livery of the guards sitting around Soren. “You handed her a filthy romance novel and told her to think of you while she read it, and I demand restitution for her lost honor.”

CHAPTER 43

“Hold on, my dear sir, I did no such thing.” Soren rose to his feet to better face the man on equal footing.

The man’s hand fell away, and he stepped back and looked down his nose at Soren—an incredible feat considering Soren was easily a full head taller.

“I was reading that novel because I wanted to understand the ladies of the court, and the Rhinnean people by extension,” Soren said as he held his hands in the air as if to signal that he was no threat. “Your daughter is the one who walked up to me, asked to sit in the open seat, and requested that I read a specific chapter. I complied with her request until I realized that the content wasn’t suitable for reading out loud in public, and especially not suitable for a man to read to a woman who is not his wife, at which point I stopped. Lady Dakoa seemed keen on the book, so I handed it to her and left the room. I have not spoken to her since.”

“But you admit to giving her the book?”

From the corner of his eye, Soren saw King Nelan raise his hand, and the conversation around the Great Hall fell quiet.

“What are you hoping to accomplish with this, Lord Wethernon?” King Nelan asked.

The old lord drew himself up to his full height, and his lower lip jutted out as he clenched his jaw. “As you know, Your Majesty, my daughter is betrothed to Lord Grenlef’s son. The events of the past two days, including her having that hateful book in her possession, have called her morals into question. I wish for a trial by combat.”

King Nelan rubbed his jaw. “I see. What terms do you desire?”

“If my champion wins, Captain Kierson must marry my daughter to restore her honor.” The title sounded like a slur in the Rhinnean’s mouth.

“And if you lose?”

“I doubt that outcome, Your Majesty. I will not lose.” The lord’s manner was that of a puffed-up rooster in the midst of winter, and Soren would have laughed if the mood wasn’t so serious.

“Captain Kierson, what would you desire if you accept this duel?”