Page 31 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

“And what gave you that ridiculous idea?” Holland demanded.

“I hadn’t extended an invitation to anyone in Lord Everly’s household,” Charis said, keeping her voice courteous, though she could already see what game Ferris and his father were playing: Make sure Ferris was seen as part of the inner group tasked with a goodwill mission. Put him in proximity to Charis to reinforce the idea that they would make a good match. Drop a name or two of connections that could serve the crown well. The perfect example of someone who only wanted what he could take from Charis without any thought for Charis herself.

“As the person who has been raised to help you rule Calera, we felt it important for me to be seen caring about the refugees. At your side, of course.” Ferris smiled, and Charis’s hand curled into a fist.

Burying her hand in the blue velvet of her traveling skirt, she matched his smile with an icy one of her own. “How lovely of you to want to appear to care, Ferris.”

“Some of us are going because we actually care,” Nalani muttered.

Ferris gave her an impatient look. “Those of us who are concerned with ruling the entire kingdom can’t afford to care about individual subjects. We have to see the bigger picture.”

Charis’s jaw tightened. She couldn’t afford to alienate Ferris and his father because it meant agitating the antiwar faction. She could, however, make sure Ferris remembered his place.

“You there.” Ferris motioned to Tal. “Go sit with the coachman on top.”

Tal made no move to get up.

Ferris’s cheeks flushed. “How dare you ignore a direct order?”

“He doesn’t take orders from you,” Charis said crisply. “And the bigger picture, Ferris, is that a ruler who can’t care about the plight of her individual subjects doesn’t deserve to hold the throne. Now, I’m sure you’ll have much to think about as we travel—not the least of which is how you might use your considerable wealth to help some of those individual subjects who need it—so I will ask that you return to your family’s carriage for the journey.”

Ferris hesitated as though briefly considering disobeying his princess, but then he gave her a perfunctory bow, turned on his heel, and left the carriage.

“I loathe him.” Nalani glared at the door. “Surely you won’t have to marry him to secure the throne, Charis. He would make a terrible husband and an even worse king.”

“I don’t even want to think about it,” Charis said, slowly uncurling her fist now that there was no Ferris in the vicinity.

“If you do have to marry him, I can make sure he doesn’t survive past the wedding night.” Holland sounded cheerful at the prospect.

The coachman cracked the whip, and the carriage lurched into motion. Charis settled against the seat and tried to keep her leg from brushing against Tal’s.

“You can’t marry him,” Nalani said as if she’d made up her mind. “He’s a leech who scuttles out from his puddle of scum when he thinks there’s a chance he can get a taste of your power. We’ll find you someone you can fall madly in love with and have babies with and be happy with all your life. Holland, who do you know who might be a good fit?”

Holland looked faintly ill.

Charis smiled wistfully. “That’s a nice thought, but it isn’t practical. I’ll have to consider what the kingdom needs, just like Mother did. Whatever match will heal wounds and unite factions is the match I’ll have to make.”

Nalani made a grumpy noise, but then got distracted by the sight of the docks as they took the main road out of town. Charis let her cousin’s lengthy discussion of dock workers’ rights and the opportunity to unionize wash over her. The carriage was warm, the company safe, and they’d hardly left Arborlay behind when her eyelids fluttered shut. She fought sleep for a moment, trying in vain to resist the gentle sway of the carriage and the rhythmic tapping of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestones, but then her eyelids closed again, and she slid into comforting darkness.

Charis woke slowly, her mind filled with the cobwebs of dreams already half forgotten. Voices swirled around her, and her head was resting on something firmer than her pillow. Her body was stiff, and sleep was slow in releasing her from its grip.

“I’ve always preferred a cavalier hilt. I like the grip across the back of my hand as I fight.” Holland’s voice, filled with enthusiasm, prodded Charis further awake.

“That’s a nice one, but I like a simple hilt in case I want to switch hands or need to twirl the weapon at a moment’s notice.” Tal’s voice rumbled against Charis’s cheek.

Her cheek.

Charis’s eyes flew open.

She was slumped against Tal, her head resting on his shoulder. His arm was spread across her stomach as if he’d been acting as the brace that kept her sleeping body from hitting the floor of the carriage.

A hot flush of mortification spread beneath her skin, and she jerked away from him as if she’d been burned.

“She’s awake!” Nalani grinned, a light of mischief in her eyes. “I was going to wake you up ages ago, but Tal said you needed the rest. I think he just enjoyed being your pillow.”

Charis sent Nalani a look designed to shut her cousin’s mouth, and Nalani’s smile grew.

“You snore,” Holland informed her cheerfully.

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