Page 72 of The Masked Princess

“So she has conspired with you, I see.” Nelan’s eyes narrowed into slits and the sneer across his face turned him into one of the ugliest men Soren ever had the misfortune of seeing.

“She did no such thing. The Rhinnean guards who stood outside her chambers can attest to the fact that she read for many hours, and that anyone who cared to listen would have found themselves better for the education.” Soren cut his eyes to Annalise and his voice softened. “If it wasn’t for the death of her father, she would have married you for the good of her people, and I would have respected her wishes.”

The priest nodded, as if satisfied with Soren’s explanation. “The Goddess treasures the pursuit of knowledge. I see nothing untoward in the princess seeking to learn more of our customs. I declare the challenge valid.”

“She was a princess at the time, but is a queen now. Her father, King Everet, has died, and King Nelan’s insistence to marry Queen Annalise against her will and keep her captive is the greatest impropriety and sin against the laws of hospitality, as well as a break of the betrothal treaty!” Soren’s voice rose until he was bellowing at such a level that he was sure even the oldest and most hard of hearing in the room could understand the accusations.

With as much of a flourish as he could muster, Soren took a leather glove from his pocket—he’d stolen it from the one guard he’d surprised in the hallway and promptly knocked out—and threw it on the ground in an official challenge.

Nelan remained as arrogant as ever, shrugging one shoulder as if it was no great matter to him. His eyes traveled over Soren’s form, and he laughed. “You think you can win against me in your injured state? It wouldn’t be very honorable of me to fight you now.”

“Would it be less honorable than beating me when I was tied up? Of plotting to kill your wife before you’d even married her, or using her kingdom for your own gains under the pretense of maintaining peace?” With every question, the anger in Soren’s chest burned brighter until his rage felt like a bonfire.

Another smattering of whispers broke out, and King Nelan’s brow darkened. He cast his gaze across the room, taking in the hands lifted over mouths which muffled the discussion engendered by Soren’s accusations. “If you wish to insult me and the honor of this court with your lies, then I suppose you leave me with no choice but to accept your challenge.”

“Captain Kierson cannot fight in his condition,” Annalise said, and Soren turned his full attention to her.

When he’d first entered the room, Soren had allowed himself one glance to ensure she was okay. Now that Nelan had accepted his challenge, he had a moment to take in her appearance as he stalked down the aisle.

She was a vision in white silk and lace, her hands folded demurely within her long sleeves, and the high collar of her dress accentuated the elegant lines of her neck. A hideous white and red mask covered her face, but her eyes were as blue as a glacier’s crevasse and wide enough in concern he could almost fall into them.

If her eyes soothed the worst of his ire, the mask she wore made it burn all the brighter, like a stiff breeze to a bonfire. He tore his gaze away, afraid that if he allowed himself to relax for even a moment, he’d collapse.

“I assure you, I am more than fit to fight,” Soren said, lest King Nelan use her words as an excuse to call off the match.

He stopped at the end of the aisle and stared the king down even as the pattering of soft footsteps echoed across the polished marble floor, and then Annalise was standing in front of him.

“If you truly insist on fighting for my honor, I will not allow my champion to go into battle unprepared.” Her blue eyes brimmed with tears as she took in his state. “I require a washing cloth, a bucket of warm water, and a knife,” she said to no one in particular.

With trembling fingers, she removed the mask from her face and cast it aside, where it shattered into several pieces and forced the front row of nobility to step back.

It took all of Soren’s self-control not to take her in his arms, curse and all.

“Are we to make an entire production of this duel? Captain Kierson said that he was ready to fight; if he was speaking the truth, he doesn’t require a nursemaid,” King Nelan sneered.

Before Soren could open his mouth to respond, Annalise whirled around, her face twisted in a snarl and her eyes blazing. “You told me three days ago that Captain Kierson was dead. You said that he’d attacked you, and that in self-defense you were forced to kill him. If you hadn’t kept him prisoner and tortured him, you wouldn’t have to wait as I ensure my champion is properly prepared. Sitting and thinking of your sins for a few minutes while I tend him is the smallest penance you could perform.” With a huff, she turned back to Soren and probed his shoulder with gentle fingers. She frowned at his sharp inhale. “Does that hurt?”

“Terribly.” He knew he should watch Nelan, or the guards, or their surroundings, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“I need you to lie down. This is going to feel horrible, but it needs to be done before you fight him.”

Soren did as she asked, lying on his side with his left arm cradled against his body. Annalise took his hand and braced her foot against his torso, then raised his arm over his head and rotated it back.

Soren clenched his jaw as hard as he could to prevent any groans or cries from escaping. He trusted Annalise implicitly, but at the moment it felt as though she was about to rip his arm completely out of its socket.

“Almost… there,” Annalise said as she twisted his arm further.

The pain ratcheted up to such a near-debilitating degree that his vision grayed at the edges, before his shoulder slid back into its socket with a hefty clunk, followed by immediate relief.

“I’m so glad that worked. I suppose all those visits to the healer’s guild over the years were certainly worth it,” Annalise said. She gave one near-hysterical laugh as she helped Soren sit back up. “How’s your shoulder now?”

He made a fist and moved his arm gingerly. “Better. Still hurts, but the pain has dulled considerably.”

“It won’t be suitable for any movement or force for quite a while. It would be best if we immobilized it until you can see a real healer. Is that okay?”