Page 1 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

One

AFTER TONIGHT, THE new hairstyle of Charis Willowthorn would be the only acceptable updo for a debutante to wear to a ball. The dress of shimmering red silk that hugged her hips and then floated away from her legs as if she were a bird taking flight would be copied in a slew of rainbow hues. It would be hung from dressmakers’ mannequins and priced so that only the wealthiest of Calera’s nobility could possibly hope to emulate their fashionable princess. Once again, she’d be the topic of conversation at every decadent brunch and afternoon tea.

Half the members of noble society, envious of her position, would be quietly scheming for ways to ingratiate themselves with her. Half, furious with the way the war was being managed, would be whispering ideas for how to get the royal family to either agree with their plans or get out of the way. And all of them would be so busy talking about how Charis looked, how she held herself, and what she said that none of them would notice she’d spent the entire ambassadors’ ball playing a deadly political game with the fate of her entire kingdom as the prize.

A game she couldn’t afford to lose. Not if she was going to keep Mother happy, shore up Calera’s alliances with kingdoms whose trade they desperately needed, and find a path toward peace with Montevallo, the kingdom at their back who’d been wreaking havoc with the northern territories for years.

“If you could hold still just another moment, Your Highness.” Milla bit her lip as she concentrated on maneuvering Charis’s thick brown curls through the glittering wire frame that was anchored to Charis’s head with hairpins. The princess’s handmaiden, a delicate girl of nearly fourteen with pale red hair and freckles dotting her nose, stood on her tiptoes to secure the final curl in the elaborate jewel-flecked tower of hair rising from Charis’s scalp.

“Sorry, Milla.” Charis forced herself to sit quietly while her handmaiden tugged at the mesh, pushing jewels into place and humming under her breath as she worked.

Milla’s wide grin peeked out from behind the tower of hair. “It’s not dignified for a princess to apologize to a handmaiden.”

Charis rolled her eyes. “Duly noted.”

Satisfied with Charis’s hair, Milla stepped back, her critical eye sweeping over the lines of Charis’s dress as she stood. “Will you be wearing any of the gifts from the noble families at tonight’s festivities?”

Charis didn’t even glance at the small collection of items that had been left at her guards’ station during the day. To wear one would show favor to that family, and on a night that was supposed to be about honoring the newest ambassadors from Verace and Rullenvor, that would be a discourtesy Charis could ill afford. “Not tonight.”

Milla circled her once, as though inspecting to be sure she hadn’t missed a single flaw. “Every eye in the ballroom will be on you, Your Highness.”

Charis’s stomach clenched, but she made herself smile as if the weight of the kingdom weren’t resting on her shoulders. “You’ve done a brilliant job as always. Now, be sure to get some dinner before heading to the ladies’ parlor. I won’t need a touch-up until at least the second hour. After that, you can go to bed.”

Milla’s eyes widened. “You won’t want to sleep on that hair, Your Highness. I’ll be waiting up.”

“You can be very stubborn.”

“My mama has told me the very same, only she doesn’t make it sound like a compliment.”

Charis laughed, her stomach easing for a moment. And then she lifted her chin and faced the door. Once she stepped outside her private chambers, the game would begin, and Charis had to play her role to perfection.

A pair of guards were waiting for her as she exited her chambers. Elsbet, a guard Charis was moderately fond of, immediately bowed and then stepped to the opposite side of the corridor to flank the princess’s left side. Reuben, Charis’s head guard and the one she was sure reported directly to her mother, took up his position on her right. He was built like a starving alley dog, his hard brown eyes following her every move as if challenging her to show any hint of weakness he could reveal to the queen.

They moved through the corridor toward the grand staircase that would take Charis down three flights of stairs and into the main hall, just shy of the palace ballroom. Her heels tapped delicately against the gleaming wood floors, and she shivered a little as the sea breeze crept in through the windows that lined the hallway.

Summer was losing its grip on Calera, and a chill was seeping into the air as the sun dipped below the horizon. Another season was passing with the war no closer to ending. Every week brought reports of new casualties, new ground gained by the fierce soldiers from the mountains at Calera’s back, and her kingdom was struggling to replenish its armies and retake the territories that were now occupied by the enemy.

There had to be a path toward peace with King Alaric Penbyrn of Montevallo, and Charis was determined to find it.

But those thoughts could be saved for a time when she wasn’t fifteen minutes late to the ball being held in honor of two new ambassadors. Mother was hardly going to forgive her tardiness, and Charis had no intention of letting the queen know she was late because Milla had struggled with the new hairstyle the handmaiden had designed.

“Your Highness!” Darold bowed as Charis descended the staircase and approached the side entrance to the ballroom. Her secretary’s voice was its usual calm near-monotone, but there was a slight edge to it that sounded like relief. His blond hair looked somewhat rumpled, and he’d buttoned his considerable girth into a dress coat that strained to hold him. “Her Majesty the Queen will be glad to know you’ve arrived.”

Ah, that explained the relief, then. Mother would have held Darold personally responsible for her daughter’s tardiness.

“I apologize for distressing you, Darold.”

The shadow of relief in Darold’s voice was slipping toward worry. “The ambassadors have already arrived. The queen . . .”

The queen would be furious that the crown princess hadn’t been in the ballroom to greet the newest diplomatic officials. A single misstep could sever the ties that Calera desperately needed if they were to turn the tide of the war and reclaim their northern territories.

“Fill me in on what I need to know.” Charis began moving toward the ballroom door.

Darold shuffled the small stack of papers he held and hurried to keep up. “First, you are to join your mother on the dais and greet the ambassadors. The Veracian diplomat receives the first greeting as they have been our ally longer than Rullenvor. You will then officially open the ball with this speech.” He handed her a thin piece of paper with his neat handwriting filling half the page.

“Any particular areas of concern I should address with each ambassador individually?”

“Verace is having trouble with packs of wild giants coming down from their mountains.”

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