“Perhaps the princess’s ladies don’t have the same talents,” Leisa admitted, “but looks aren’t going to be enough. Besides, no one in Garimore has ever seen Princess Evaraine’s face. If you were to choose someone similar, who would know?”
“No.” Soren’s tone was heavy. Final. “It has to be you. This is too important.”
“And if I’m found out?” Desperation drove her forward a step as she pleaded with him to listen. “I’ve never used my magic that way before, and this isn’t just a game. You know what they do to people like me in Garimore.”
The king’s jaw hardened, and there was no trace of the smile that usually greeted her complete disregard for formality. “Those are unsubstantiated rumors. And you know what will happen to Farhall if we cannot secure this alliance.”
Leisa did know. All too well. Their resources here in the farthest human-ruled corner of Abreia were long-since depleted. They were too small, too surrounded by potential enemies. The tiniest of the five kingdoms that still existed outside Imperial rule, Farhall’s borders were being pressed on several sides, and had been crossed by hostile forces many times in the past months. From the mountains, they’d heard reports of dragon incursions, homes and woodlands burned to the ground, a horror unheard of in over three hundred years. And even the powerful, secretive night elves had begun to raid the forests to the east, seeming to believe that the king of Farhall no longer had the ability to stop them.
They were right.
Farhall had only one thing to trade for its own security—a princess of marriageable age, who was her father’s sole heir.
Conveniently, the wealthiest of the neighboring kingdoms had a younger son, who was apparently pleased to be used by his parents to establish an alliance with a much smaller, much poorer kingdom than his own.
And if Leisa could find anyone willing to buy that much hog swill, she would be making a living as a wealthy merchant instead of a bodyguard.
But none of this meant that she was going to nod meekly and give in. Unlike many in her position, she’d never dreamed of sacrificing herself for king or kingdom, and especially not for something as silly as a wedding. If she was going to die for Farhall, she would prefer it to be for something a bit more heroic. And for a cause that wasn’t doomed long before her involvement was in question.
“The marriage contract reeks, and you know it,” she said finally, choosing to approach the issue from another angle. “King Melger seems too eager, considering what little Garimore will be gaining.”
Leisa was forced to backtrack when she realized how that sounded. “I meant that we bring little to the alliance in terms of material benefits, not that Princess Evaraine is of little value.”
She wouldn’t have said that they were friends—the princess was too reserved for that—but she liked her, and thought the princess liked her in return. They’d shared many an eye roll during long evenings at court, and Leisa had trusted Evaraine with the secret of her magic. Though the princess was frequently ill and prone to long silences, she compensated for her frail constitution with wry intelligence, and—though few were in a position to realize it—a great deal of courage.
“Which is why it must be you.” Soren’s grave expression did not change. “My daughter’s value to me is beyond price, and I must know whether I can trust Garimore with her life. I am aware that King Melger personally shuns magic, but whether mages are truly being persecuted has been, up until now, a matter of conjecture. I must know whether Garimore will uphold their end of this bargain, terrible though it is. If I can purchase safety for my people without sacrificing my child’s happiness, it will be worth it.”
“Then send a politician,” Leisa snapped, growing exasperated in the midst of her fear. It was all very well for him to claim conjecture, but it wasn’t his life on the line if he were wrong. “If this is so important, you need someone with experience in negotiating and backstabbing. I’m a glorified food-taster with a sword, not a courtier or a spy.”
“But you know my daughter,” Soren replied, not giving an inch. “And you care what becomes of her. You are resourceful. Stubborn. Resilient. Everything needed to survive Garimore and learn what I wish to know.”
“Hah.” Crossing her arms to still her trembling hands, Leisa walked up to stand beside him and gaze out the same window. “I’m a smart-mouthed troublemaker who hates being bullied. Those aren’t the same thing.”
“And I trust you,” Soren said, and that was when she knew she’d lost.
“You’ve been saving that one, haven’t you?” she accused bitterly. “You knew I would have to say yes after that.”
Leisa looked up at the wily, weary old man she’d thought of as a father since she was five, and wondered whether she’d merely been fooling herself into believing that he cared for her. “You know perfectly well that I don’t have a diplomatic bone in my body,” she reminded him. “I’m a terrible dancer, and I can’t curtsy to save my life. They’re going to find out we’re deceiving them, and when they do…”
“On the surface, this is no more than a social visit,” he said impatiently, “so diplomacy should not be required. And as for the rest, no one questions a princess. If they do, her Highness’s indispositions are well-known. It will be simple enough to sit by and permit weakness to excuse you from anything you feel ill-prepared to attempt.”
“But you’re going to make me prepare anyway.” She shook her head and tried to swallow misgivings that couldn’t help her now. “You’re going to make me do this, even though it’s hopeless.”
“We have three weeks before you depart.”
“Three weeks isn’t enough to learn how to hold my forks, let alone learn how to curtsy.”
But for once, King Soren didn’t respond to her unfortunate attempt at humor with a smile, nor did his eyes twinkle at her as they usually did. Instead, his face grew bleaker than ever as his hands worried at the belt of his robe.
“Neither of us have a choice, Leisa.” He looked down at her, his gaze turned remote and almost cold. “And while I have always treated you as more than simply one of my subjects, I will also use you if I must. Sacrifice you in a moment if it means my kingdom—and my daughter—will be safe.”
A chill gripped her, and she swallowed as his meaning both confirmed her fears and stabbed at the heart of all her hopes.
He was not a father figure now. Not the unexpectedly kind man who had given her a home when her parents disappeared and left her desperate and alone.
He was the King of Farhall. And she was simply another tool for him to use.
So she stiffened, took three steps back, and bowed, her back straight and the feeling that he’d buried a blade between her shoulders carefully disguised beneath a mask of icy neutrality.
“As Your Majesty commands,” she said, and remained bent, awaiting her orders.
“Report to Her Highness’s suite in one hour. Training will begin immediately, and fittings have been scheduled.”
“Those won’t be necessary,” Leisa said, her words clipped and cool, before adding a belated, “Your Majesty.”