“Thank you,” the king’s voice said coolly, “for so zealously protecting the well-being of our guest, but I believe the danger is past. Her Highness is to be a part of this court in the future, so perhaps it would be best if we allow her to become accustomed to enduring your presence without fainting.”
Again, not quite a command, but the Raven was not eager to continue touching her. He didn’t want to feel or smell her fear, or grapple with the unsettling realization that he’d been right about the lie in her appearance.
So he dropped her.
Straightened his arms and let her fall to the marble floor as quickly as he’d caught her. He heard her teeth slam together as her head snapped back and smacked the floor with bruising force.
Heard her involuntary moan of pain, which was greeted by a quick sound of distress from the queen and an unmistakable sigh from King Melger.
But within the mask, the Raven smiled, because according to the king’s words, he’d done nothing wrong.
Defiance. Small and petty, but nonetheless, it was the only thing left to him.
And in the name of that defiance, he determined that the princess called Evaraine would be worth watching. She was harboring a mystery—a strange defiance of her own that lurked at the back of those bright green eyes. Whatever was behind it, that defiance promised to be a headache for Melger, and possibly for Vaniell, which could only be of benefit to the Raven.
So he would wait, and he would watch, and he would learn what he could of her secrets.
At least until the king ordered him to kill her.
It was really only a matter of time.
Chapter 4
Leisa let herself lay on the floor for a few moments, gathering her thoughts along with her courage as she waited for the pain to fade.
“Oh my dear, please do get up,” the queen murmured, without making a single effort to be of help. “It isn’t at all dignified to be lying about on the floor.”
Leisa was almost surprised when Prince Vaniell deigned to extend a single be-ringed hand to assist her in rising from the floor.
“I do apologize,” he said smoothly. “I’m afraid Father’s pet isn’t exactly house trained, though he’s useful enough when it comes to killing or smashing things. After ten years, you’d think he would have learned some decorum to go along with his other, ah… talents.”
Father’s pet? House trained?
“The fault”—Leisa managed to get out between clenched teeth—“was mine. I’m afraid I’m terribly clumsy, and not very fond of surprises.”
“I shall have to remember that,” her future fiancé returned, smirking, before he turned to his father. “We wouldn’t wish Her Highness to come to any harm while she is with us. Perhaps whenever her honor guard is unable to accompany her, she ought to be assigned a temporary detail. Someone who is completely above reproach. After all”—his tone grew pointed and more than little smug—“it would end all hope of alliance if my princess were to be damaged or disrespected during her sojourn here.”
The king appeared unsurprised by this request. Perhaps he’d even planned for it.
“What a marvelous idea,” the queen interjected. “I’m sure King Soren would approve.” She sounded as though she were reciting lines.
King Melger glanced in Leisa’s direction, and she felt the burn of his assessing gaze. “I assure you, no harm will befall you while you are within these walls, but if you wish, a guard will be assigned to you. And now, I’m afraid I have more pressing matters to attend to.”
Without bothering to beg anyone’s leave (Leisa doubted he ever stooped to such pedestrian gestures), he strode away towards the cluster of his officials, leaving Queen Portiana to sigh, Prince Vaniell to wink, and the King’s Raven to…
The man in armor had disappeared. Almost as if he’d never been there at all.
Leisa had been in Garimore all of ten minutes, and she had already determined to her satisfaction that this alliance was a terrible idea. The prince was both arrogant and dangerously intelligent, the king was paranoid, and the queen utterly oblivious. And Leisa hadn’t even met the heir to the throne yet.
In their communication with King Soren, the Garimorans had indicated that they welcomed this alliance. But now they were all too quick to treat the princess of Farhall with what bordered on rudeness. Leisa acknowledged silently that she could be wrong about that, but it wasn’t like she was in a position to understand the nuances of her welcome.
And yet, if her assessment was correct, what might it mean? Were they offering her less than royal courtesy only because Farhall was too small to do anything about it? Or were they gauging Farhall’s strength by King Soren’s response to what seemed like obvious slights?
In either case, whether they dismissed Farhall for her size or King Soren for his perceived weakness, what could have been their reason to seek this marriage in the first place? Why did they want this alliance badly enough to go through the motions, and what would they be willing to do to ensure that it went forward?
And afterward? How much danger would Princess Everaine be in as soon as the Garimorans had what they wanted?
At least Leisa now had a plan to go along with her headache. These questions needed answers, and it seemed it was entirely up to her to obtain them. And while she was at it, she would have to keep an eye out for that wretched King’s Raven. Whoever and whatever he was, he gave her a strange, shivery feeling that—despite her familiarity with danger—she would prefer never to experience again.
As she made her way through the opulent halls of the palace in the Queen’s wake, Leisa imagined the first entry in the mental journal of her visit to Garimore: “Made the acquaintance of future husband. Would rather marry a troll. Fully expect elder brother to be worse. Future mother-in-law approximately as tactful as the average street vendor and twice as badly dressed. Can’t wait to make a fool of myself at the ball tonight.”
It was going to be a very long two weeks.
It didn’t take long for the queen to make good on her promise of providing a gown for the evening’s reception. And whatever Leisa might have imagined the queen’s idea of appropriate fashion to entail, it certainly hadn’t included her being presented to the Garimoran court while disguised as a wedding cake.
But as the hastily provided maids eased her into the garish confection of enough ruffles, petticoats, and gems to bedeck an entire fleet of princesses, Leisa thought grimly that this was probably one of the “benefits” Queen Portiana had referred to.
And maybe there were girls who would have been impressed. But the dress weighed more than a sack of flour and had so many layers it would be impossible to walk in, let alone run. If there was trouble, she would be trapped. Easy prey.
But then, that was what was expected of a princess. To wait, to trust, to allow others to fight for her. Except, in this case, Leisa wasn’t sure whether anyone else in this entire palace actually cared enough to do so. Would her honor guard even be allowed to attend her? Or would they, in time, be stripped away as well, leaving her entirely alone?
It was a sobering thought. Almost as sobering as the glance at her reflection once four maids had finished lacing her into the dress.