Page 13 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

Six

CHARIS SWEPT THROUGH the grand hall of the main palace wing, her secretary hurrying to keep pace while Reuben and Elsbet stalked on either side of her, hands on their sword hilts. The metallic hem of her dress struck the white stone floor with the rattle and scrape of a hundred tiny swords. Charis felt ready to chew through metal herself.

Her meeting with the palace steward had revealed that several noble families—Lord Pellinsworth’s included—had failed to pay their taxes to the crown this past quarter. Taxes that were due a week ago. Apparently, Lord Pellinsworth and his ilk thought it acceptable to protest the war by refusing to pay the crown its due but didn’t have a problem with attending a ball paid for by the taxes of loyal Calerans and partaking in the food, drink, and merriment there.

Charis would like to personally shove the irony of it right down Lord Pellinsworth’s throat.

The royal coffers were stretched dangerously thin. They could hardly afford to miss out on tax money that by law should be theirs. Especially with ambassadors from their allies watching every move. If even a whiff of insolvency, of an inability to manage both the war and Calera’s booming trade market, were to reach the wrong ears, the perception of Calera could turn in a heartbeat from favorable equal to wounded prize pig ripe for the taking.

Her teeth set as heat flushed her body. Every single one of the families who’d withheld their taxes should be called before the queen and immediately stripped of their titles unless they paid every cent owed, plus a hefty fine for the trouble. If they were allowed to get away with this, the rest of that faction would follow their example.

“Your Highness, there is the matter of the ceremonial launching of our newest naval vessel.” Darold puffed as he hurried to keep up with her. “I’ve put that on your schedule for Sunday afternoon. And the Society for the Advancement of Orphans has requested that you make a speech at the groundbreaking of their new property just outside Arborlay. They wanted next Tuesday, but you’re already scheduled to visit the refugee center, so I’ve suggested that Thursday instead.”

“That’s fine.” Charis struggled to keep her tone even. It wasn’t Darold’s fault she was in a terrible mood. Still, if he persisted in droning on about her various engagements, she wasn’t sure she could hold her tongue. What did it matter which day she attended a groundbreaking when so many things were going wrong?

“We’ve also received a request from Lady Ollen for a brief speech at her next formal dinner, and another from—”

“Yes, very well, Darold. Please put a list of requests on my desk and add the approved engagements to my calendar. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Darold bowed and turned toward the stairs that led to the princess’s study.

Anger knotted in her chest, a dagger of heat that burned as she moved. First Montevallian spies in the palace last night, and now noble families, grown bold on antiwar sentiment, refusing to pay their taxes. She needed a new strategy for dealing with Montevallo and an effective way to bring the antiwar faction in line, and she needed it fast.

Turning from the main hall, Charis moved into a long corridor that hugged the eastern edge of the palace. The floor of golden, sun-warmed wood glowed comfortably in the wash of light pouring through a wall of windows.

The palace sat on a hill at the southern edge of Arborlay, surrounded by fields and orchards that stretched out to an eastern bluff’s edge overlooking the sea. To the west, just past the palace borders, cottages and farms dotted the landscape. To the north, neighborhoods full of mansions and manicured lawns lay in neat rows until they reached the main road that led down into the city proper, where cobblestone streets lined with small houses, shops, and businesses slowly wound their way down to the busy port.

Today, the sea was the bright blue of sapphires and summer skies. Several merchant frigates slowly approached the port. Sea hawks swooped through the air and came to rest on the stone ramparts that lined the shore at regular intervals. White foam-capped waves crashed against the water and then spent themselves on the golden sand.

Charis turned from the windows and continued toward Mother’s wing.

Arborlay was the picture of security, sharply at odds with the wreckage that littered the northern territories, where Montevallo had captured town after town, killing those who were strong enough to resist them and enslaving the rest. The antiwar faction would have the royal family abandon those people to their fates and let Montevallo have unfettered access to the northern seaport in exchange for their own safety.

But then what? Setting aside the horror of consigning their own people to a life of captivity, Montevallo would know they could bully Calera into giving them anything they wanted. What would they ask for next? And how could Calera, cut in half, continue to defend itself?

Charis slowed to a stop outside the wide, iron-hinged door that led to the north wing and took a deep breath.

Anger wouldn’t help her here. Neither would frantic thoughts that skipped from one problem to the next. She needed icy composure and ruthless calm.

“The queen is waiting,” Reuben said as if chiding an errant child.

Charis locked gazes with him and let her mouth curl into the cruel smile that never failed to remind her of Mother. Reuben’s eyes hardened, but he stepped back and said quietly, “Your Highness.”

Turning on her heel, she nodded to the footman and walked into the room as he opened the doors.

Mother’s study was the picture of elegance. A pair of large arched windows graced the far wall, bathing the dark blue rug and semicircle of ivory upholstered chairs with golden sunshine. A graceful writing desk carved with summer vines and sculpted wooden flowers rested against the northern wall, surrounded by bookcases. Framed portraits from famous Caleran artists were mounted on the walls.

A maid was bent over the hearth, scrubbing the stones until they shone, and a pair of guards stood at attention beside the door that led to Mother’s bedroom.

“Stay here,” Charis said to Reuben and Elsbet as she left the study behind and entered the queen’s private chambers.

The room was done in shades of ivory and pale blue. A settee and a pair of armchairs were arranged before the hearth, where a cozy fire burned. Beyond the sitting area, the queen’s massive four-poster bed rested on a plush Solvanish rug. Charis half expected Mother to be sitting up, dressed and ready to command the kingdom from her bed.

Instead, she found her lying against her pillows, still in her nightdress, with gray circles under her eyes.

Charis bowed her head toward Mother and said, “Your Majesty. I have several things we need to discuss if you feel up to it.”

“I have something to discuss as well, but please, continue.” Mother’s voice was a shadow of its usual strength, but the fury in it sent a prickle of alarm down Charis’s spine.

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