Page 2 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

“Again?”

“Apparently once giants know there’s a readily available food source for the taking, it’s impossible to keep them at bay unless you destroy the entire pack.”

“They have giants. We have bloodthirsty Montevallians. It seems nothing good ever comes down off a mountain.” They moved closer to the ballroom’s entrance.

“Indeed.” Darold pulled another paper from his stack. “Rullenvor is engaged in a trade dispute with Solvang, though all reports indicate the two kingdoms are solving the issues through diplomatic channels. Also, there are rumors of unrest in the northern seas, though it’s unclear if that’s related to a sea kingdom or to the basilisk cave or some other threat in the uncharted waters up north. At any rate, if the rumors are true, that may be of concern to both ambassadors.”

“I hardly think the basilisks will have left their cave to travel the seas.” Charis patted her tower of hair, pressing an errant ruby back into place.

“There is the matter of the trade ship from Rullenvor that went down at sea before it could reach us. Several physicians have expressed concern over shortages in medical supplies as a result, so perhaps the ambassador could be encouraged to support the hasty launching of a new shipment.”

“Without letting him know how very badly we need the supplies.” Charis nodded. It was a delicate balance, walking the line between stating what her kingdom needed and keeping Calera from appearing weak and ripe for a trade renegotiation that would put them at a serious disadvantage.

Darold examined the paper he held as they came to a stop before the gilt-edged doors. “You are to give your first dance to Lord Ferris Everly.”

Charis barely controlled her grimace.

“The queen was very clear that even though you confer the honor of first dance to him, you may not discuss possible marriage with your fourth cousin at this juncture.”

“I’ll try to restrain myself.”

“Very well, Your Highness. There are several council members who will be in attendance. The queen wishes you to divide your dances equally between the faction that supports the war and the faction that supports annexing the north to Montevallo.”

“And may I have any dances with partners of my choice?” Her tone gave nothing away, but still Darold cleared his throat, whether in sympathy or in censure Charis wasn’t sure. She kept her expression as smooth as the marble floor beneath her feet. She’d rather face her angry mother than have her secretary see the longing that sometimes ached during quiet moments when she allowed herself to imagine being an ordinary seventeen-year-old girl exchanging laughing glances and soft touches with a boy who wanted nothing from her but what she wanted to give.

Not that such a boy existed. Yet. Still, if all of Charis’s dances were filled with political maneuvering and carefully controlled conversations designed to open pocketbooks or silence dissent, she would never have the chance to see what it was like to just be a girl dancing with a boy because they both wanted to.

Darold cleared his throat again, and Charis’s attention snapped back to him. “There will be a ten-minute intermission from dancing at the top of every hour, and the queen has given you permission to spend that with whomever you choose as long as . . .”

“As long as I don’t linger too long with members of one faction or the other,” Charis finished for him.

“Just so.” Darold nodded to the footman who stood ready at the door. The man pulled the doors open, and a cacophony of laughter and conversation spilled out, brushing against Charis’s skin like an unwanted caress.

“Is my father in attendance?” She kept the hope out of her voice, though it dug painfully into her chest all the same.

“His Royal Highness wasn’t well enough to leave his chambers tonight.”

The hope withered beneath a sharp pang of grief.

Father hadn’t been well enough to leave his chambers more days than not for months now. Before that thought could burrow in, Charis shoved it into the corner of her heart and imagined she wore a skin of ice. A thick, impenetrable shield that nothing could breach. When she was sure every trace of herself had been buried beneath a sheen of cold composure, she let her mouth curve into a perfect smile and stepped forward.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Charis Willowthorn,” the footman announced as Charis swept into the ballroom.

Two

IVORY WALLS GLEAMED beneath the glow of silver chandeliers whose candles matched the blue of the sea on a clear summer’s day. A long table against the back wall was draped in matching blue linens and held an assortment of light snacks and beverages, and a cadre of servants in blue and silver circled the room carrying trays of refreshments as well. The windows on the eastern wall that faced the sea were open, and the faint chill of an early autumn breeze tangled with the sheer ivory drapes and ruffled sheets of music belonging to the orchestra that surrounded the bottom of the dais.

Guests in satin and silk were scattered throughout the room, but Charis barely looked at them as they bowed and murmured, “Your Highness.” She only had eyes for her mother.

Queen Letha stood on the dais, resplendent in silk the color of purple twilit skies. Gloves covered her hands and arms past her elbows, and jewels sparkled at her wrists, throat, and earlobes. Candlelight glittered against the silvery strands in the queen’s dark hair and gleamed in her cold blue eyes. She locked gazes with Charis, and though her expression remained unchanged, Charis’s heart thudded.

Keeping her chin high, Charis reached the dais and gracefully climbed the steps, ignoring the footman who offered a supporting hand. There must be no sign of weakness. No chink in her armor. Not just in front of the queen, but in front of the crowd of assembled nobles and dignitaries.

“Your Majesty,” Charis said, her voice crisp and clear though the pounding of her heart was a hammer against her temple. She bowed her head briefly, a sign of respect for the one person in the kingdom who outranked her.

“Charis, how lovely you look.” Mother’s voice was as crisp as her daughter’s, and she extended her hands for Charis to take. Pulling Charis close, she leaned in as though to kiss her daughter’s cheeks. When her mouth was beside the princess’s ear, she whispered, “We will discuss this breach in courtesy tomorrow.”

Mother moved to her other cheek. “There are wolves in the room, daughter. Remember what you must be.”

---