Page 50 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

“And I’ll question the assassin in a few days to get a lead on Alaric’s spy network.”

“We’ll begin work on the treaty proposal tomorrow. Report directly to me once you’ve interrogated the assassin. And Charis”—Mother stood and held her daughter’s gaze—“don’t fail.”

Once she’d returned to her own chambers, Charis locked the door behind her, leaned against it for a moment, and then slowly made her way to her bath. Climbing into the tub, her dress trailing over its edges, she wrapped her arms around her legs and pressed her face against her knees.

Something dark and aching spread through her veins.

She was going to pledge herself to her enemy. Every moment of her life would be spent watching for his knife to come at her back. She would never be able to fully trust him. Never be able to let down her guard.

There was no way to survive that without being what Mother expected—the most ruthless, dangerous person in the kingdom.

Twenty

THE NEXT MORNING dawned gray and gloomy. Rain pattered against the windows as Mrs. Sykes fussed about which dress the princess should wear. Charis put her foot down when the woman brought out a black dress with a full skirt and gray lace that crept up the throat.

“That’s for funerals,” Charis said firmly. “I have a meeting with the queen, a visit to the refugee soup kitchen, lunch with Lady Whitecross, tutoring, and then tea at Lord Everly’s. I need to look both regal and approachable.”

“Black is always a suitable color, Your Highness.” Mrs. Sykes ran a reverent hand over the stiff satin of the dress.

“Indeed it is. If someone has died.” Charis swallowed against the sudden rush of nausea as she remembered the wet thunk of the arrow striking Tal. “But since I have no funerals to attend today, I need something different.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Mrs. Sykes turned to Charis’s massive closet, a frown puckering her brow as she considered the racks of dresses.

Charis sighed. Might as well choose her own dress or this was going to take all morning, and she had precious little time before Mother expected her. “On second thought, Mrs. Sykes, I will manage my own dress. I need you to fetch warm water, soap, and fresh bandages. Are you skilled at dressing wounds? Tal will need his bandages changed and the wound area cleaned.”

Mrs. Sykes hung the dress back on a rack and turned to face the princess, her eyes glowing. “I’ve a fair bit of nursing skill, Your Highness. It would be a great honor to care for the boy who saved your life. I’m sure he’d be more comfortable with new dressing and perhaps a sponge bath as well. It’s always best to be clean.”

Sending Tal a swift mental apology, Charis said, “Thank you, Mrs. Sykes. I leave him in your capable hands.” The door had hardly closed behind the handmaiden before a voice said weakly, “Who are you leaving in her capable hands?”

“Tal!” Charis turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, his face pale. He still wore the pajamas he’d worn to bed. A small bloodstain marred the tunic near his injured shoulder. “What are you doing out of bed? You’re supposed to rest all day.”

“I thought I’d use the chamber pot. Unless you’d rather I somehow accomplish that from my bed?”

“Very funny. Fine. You can use the chamber pot.”

“How gracious of you, Your Highness.” He grinned and then swayed on his feet.

“Do you need help?”

“From you? I’d rather fall into it face-first. I’ll manage.”

“As you wish.” She turned back to her dresses and dearly hoped he’d forget the question he’d asked when he walked into the room.

“What are you doing? You have a meeting soon, don’t you? Why aren’t you dressed?”

“Mrs. Sykes brought out funeral attire for my day.” She reached for a dress in gorgeous russet velvet, a perfect match for the thesserin leaves outside her window. Creamy lace ruffles peeked out from a diagonal split down the front of the skirt, and golden embroidered birds of prey decorated the bodice. Ivory ribbons laced up the bodice, which took care of needing anyone to button her into the garment. It was regal enough for the meetings she must attend yet approachable enough for the soup kitchen, and the beautiful birds on the bodice would send a subtle message to everyone that their princess was the predator, not the prey.

“Good choice,” Tal agreed when she turned with the dress in her arms. “And so wise of you to distract Mrs. Sykes before she could . . . wait a minute.” His eyes narrowed. “You never answered my question.”

“That seems very unlikely.”

“Your Highness—”

“Tal, I really must get dressed. I believe you said something about using the chamber pot?”

“If you assigned that woman to take care of me, I will never forgive you.”

Charis waved a hand in the air, dismissing his concerns. “She’s just going to clean the wound area and give you a new dressing.”

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