Page 25 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

Eleven

AN HOUR LATER, the palace was bustling, guard shift change had happened, and Charis was bathed, dressed, and staring in dismay at the severe updo her new handmaiden, Mrs. Sykes, had insisted was proper for a princess.

Really, Mother had some explaining to do. This handmaiden appointment was an unmitigated disaster. Perhaps allowances could be made since Mother was still bedridden and barely had enough energy for more than a few conversations a day, but still.

Charis ought to dismiss the older woman on the spot, but along with terrible taste in fashion and hairdos, Mrs. Sykes was a talker. Charis had learned the names of each of the woman’s five children and seven grandchildren. The fact that her husband was too ill to work anymore, and that getting a promotion from chambermaid to handmaiden had given them enough income both to get his medicine and heat their cottage through the winter, rather than having to choose between the two.

Charis couldn’t possibly send her back to chambermaid status now.

“There, now.” Mrs. Sykes patted Charis’s hair, which strained against the hairpins that held it but dared not spring free under the woman’s watchful eyes. “And with that lovely brown dress, you look most suitable.” She lifted a basket and went into the bath chamber to gather up the day’s laundry.

Tal, who’d bathed in the chamber after Charis had finished, yelped and hurried out, shirtless, his blond hair dripping, a towel clutched in his hands.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, dearie,” Mrs. Sykes said comfortably as she snatched the towel out of his hand and added it to her basket. “I’ll be back in your chambers this afternoon if you should need to refresh your hair, Your Highness. It does like to do its own thing.” She gave Charis’s head a pitying look and left.

“That woman needs to learn how to knock,” Tal said, glaring at the door that had shut behind the handmaiden. “I barely got my pants on before she— Oh, seers preserve us, what has she done to you?” He was staring at Charis.

“That bad?” She lifted a self-conscious hand to pat the painfully tight bun that rested high on the back of her head.

“No! I mean, it’s not . . . you look . . .” He glanced around wildly as if the appropriate word was simply waiting in midair for him to find. “You look nice?”

“It always inspires confidence when a compliment has a question mark at the end of it.”

He winced. “My apologies, Your Highness. I just . . . your new look took me by surprise.”

“That makes two of us.” Charis sighed as she stared at the high-collared dress the color of dirt. “I didn’t even know I owned something like this.”

“I suggest burning it immediately.”

He stood behind her in her mirror, water running in small rivulets down his bare skin, and Charis was suddenly aware of the rise and fall of his chest. The way his muscles rippled as he moved. And then, to her horror, the way he was watching her stare at him. Wrenching her gaze back to her own face in the mirror, she said, “You are awfully free with your suggestions today.”

“You must admit that this one is my best.”

She grinned before she thought better of it. Immediately she wiped her expression clean and said stiffly, “You were so quiet for the past two weeks that I’d become used to it. You must take care not to become overly familiar, especially in front of others.”

A frown marred his forehead. “I apologize for overstepping, Your Highness.”

She ought to leave it at that. A simple rebuke to put him back in his place. No harm to either of them, and she could safely move through her life without allowing him to leave a mark on it.

But there was something in his eyes that reminded her of the nights when she’d creep out of the palace to her favorite bluff because she was sick of being surrounded by nothing but those who wanted her to fail and those who wanted her to succeed only so she could use her power for their own benefit. Nights when it was hard to convince herself she could trust anyone.

When the loneliness of her position became unbearable.

What would it feel like to be so far from home—a home that was now occupied by the enemy—and to spend every waking moment with a princess who refused to even be friendly with you?

She could at least let him feel comfortable with her. She didn’t have to truly be friends with him.

She sighed as he turned toward his room. “Tal.”

“Your Highness?”

“Do you think you could do a better job of finding a suitable dress for my day while I try to rescue my hair from this unfortunate bun?” Meeting his eyes, she let some warmth enter her face. “And you aren’t overstepping in my chambers with just me here. But if you were to speak that way in front of Reuben or the queen, we would have a problem.”

He gave her a small smile, though there was still a shadow of sadness in his eyes. “Thank you, Your Highness. Give me a moment to finish getting myself ready, and we’ll see what we can do about”—he gestured from her head to her feet—“that.”

Twenty minutes later, Charis was wearing a dress in bold green with intricately embroidered brambles at the hem and a sash in lighter green that looked like snake scales. Tal had helped her button it, a process slowed significantly by the fact that he refused to look at her naked back and kept fumbling for the next button.

“Better.” Charis looked in the mirror and patted her hair, which was now back to its usual curls. She’d swept it over one shoulder and pinned the opposite down to give it a sense of style. It was the best she could do. She was already late for tutoring.

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