Page 15 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

“Mother . . .” Charis’s voice shook at the edges, and she struggled to draw a breath past the weight that was settling into her.

“Harming a member of the royal family, being complicit in that harm, or knowingly spreading information that could harm the family is treason.”

“But we need to figure out which of them committed treason,” Charis said, pushing as much strength into her voice as she could, though the shield she wore was cracking, the emotion leaking through. “We should imprison them. Question them until—”

“What do you think I had Reuben doing while you were in meetings this morning?”

Charis stared at her mother in silence.

“I was unsatisfied with everyone’s proclamations of innocence,” the queen said faintly. “A message had to be sent.”

Charis’s knees threatened to buckle. “What did you do?”

Mother held her gaze, and the flicker of compassion Charis thought she could see in the queen’s eyes died beneath a veneer of unreachable calm. “As you said yourself, a bold crime deserves an even bolder punishment. Every member of our personal security teams who wasn’t within our sight the entire night and every maid within the parlor have each received a traitor’s reward. The bodies will be buried in a prisoners’ lot to make sure our message is received by all who need to hear it.”

A sharp bolt of pain struck Charis, weakening her knees and twisting her stomach into a knot.

The queen’s gaze landed on her, full of implacable expectation, as the pain sank into Charis’s blood like acid, a searing ache that wanted to swallow her whole.

She couldn’t grieve. Not here. Not where emotion was a weakness and hesitation a failure.

Charis imagined a coat of ice covering her heart. Rising up, slick and untouchable, to mute the pain until it was a faint echo she could ignore. She was hard. Cold. Forged in duty and sacrifice and nothing more. Raising her chin, she met her mother’s gaze and held it, all emotion wiped from her expression.

Mother inclined her head in approval and said, “You are dismissed.”

Charis left the room, dry-eyed and silent, Reuben and Tal at her heels.

Seven

ELSBET AND BAUST, the palace physician, were waiting in the queen’s study. Charis focused on putting one foot in front of the other. On breathing past the impossible pressure in her chest.

“Your Highness.”

Had Milla known what was coming? Had it been quick? Or had Reuben drawn out the torture, hunting for information to redeem himself in the queen’s eyes?

“Your Highness?”

And how many members of Charis’s own security team had also died? Luther and Fada had been on duty. Had they been deemed traitors because their patrols through her wing hadn’t revealed the spy?

“Your Highness, I really must speak with you.”

Charis pulled up short, halfway to the exit, as Baust stepped in front of her and bowed.

“The queen is stable, but I fear her recovery may be an arduous process. The blade entered here”—he tapped a place on his own stomach—“and did damage to her liver and intestines. There is the worry of infection, of course, and the blood loss she suffered was significant. At my best estimate, she will be bedridden for several weeks.”

“Thank you for your report.” Charis’s voice was remote, the words disconnected from the pain that spread through her veins with every heartbeat.

“I . . . The queen is displeased with this diagnosis.” Baust’s forehead gleamed as sweat appeared. “It’s possible she may try to rush the healing process or disregard it altogether if she feels she needs to be seen publicly doing her royal duties.”

The pressure in Charis’s chest was a stone crushing her from the inside out. There was no room for grief. For taking a moment to just breathe until the pain settled. There was only Calera’s need for a capable ruler and the implacable expectations that had been etched into Charis from birth.

Lifting her chin, she said quietly, “Rest assured that I have her royal duties well in hand. Spread the news that the queen’s illness from last night lingers, but that you expect a full recovery soon. That will be all, Baust.”

Without waiting for him to finish bowing, she left the study, Tal at her side, Reuben and Elsbet at her back. She was due for tutoring in the fifth-floor library with Holland and Nalani, but the thought of facing her friends, who would surely see something was amiss and ask questions, was more than she could bear. Besides, Mother’s prognosis meant Charis needed to be seen managing the affairs of the kingdom in the queen’s name. She could start with sending a notice of the queen’s illness to the council members and then speak with Mother’s secretary to see which engagements over the coming weeks needed to be moved to Charis’s calendar and which could be postponed until the queen recovered. As a bonus, staying busy would help keep her grief over Milla locked safely behind the shield of icy composure she was desperately clinging to.

She was halfway down the corridor that led from the queen’s private wing to the main palace when a page approached and sketched a quick bow.

“Your Highness, Lady Channing is here for her meeting with the queen. The butler put her in the north parlor and sent me to fetch you as the queen is ill.”

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