Page 51 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

Tal sighed. “Fine.”

“And maybe give you a sponge bath,” Charis muttered half under her breath.

“What?”

Charis gave him an apologetic look. “She came up with the idea on her own. It all happened so fast. I’m sorry. But it would be good to be clean, and you’re hardly in any shape to do that for yourself today.”

He glared at her for a moment, and then said, “You owe me for this.”

“Is this how you talk to your princess?”

“When she turns her enthusiastic, geriatric, no-respect-for-privacy handmaiden loose on me, yes.” The door to the chambers opened.

“Tal, you brave boy, what are you doing out of bed?” Mrs. Sykes’s voice filled the room.

Tal shot Charis a look that promised retribution and then turned toward the handmaiden. “I’m going to use the chamber pot. No, I do not need help with this.”

Charis hadn’t told him about her plan to offer King Alaric a betrothal in exchange for an end to the war. He’d be proud of her, she was sure of it. Relieved that his people would be free if Alaric accepted.

But talking to Mother about the idea required her to be cold and calculating, and the reality of it was easily held at a distance. Sharing it with a friend was something else entirely. Forming the words would make it real, permanently silencing the quiet longings of her heart, and she couldn’t bear to do that until she had no choice.

Twenty minutes later, with Tal back in bed and being ministered to by Mrs. Sykes, Charis arrived at Mother’s study, a massive room lined with bookshelves and art from centuries of Calera’s best painters. To the right was a receiving area with two long couches in dark blue velvet and several high-back chairs. To the left sat Mother’s heavy desk, carved with ornate roses up the sides and the seal of the Willowthorns in the center. Four high-back chairs with ivory satin cushions faced it.

“Your Majesty.” Charis bowed and then joined Mother at the desk, where she sat looking weak but regal. A parchment lay in front of her.

“Good morning, Charis. Read over this. If you have no changes to make, we’ll send it by palloren bird to King Alaric.”

Charis leaned over the parchment. Her mouth went dry as she read the proposal to marry one of King Alaric’s heirs to the princess of Calera to form a truce between the two kingdoms for as long as both parties were alive. The document ended with an invitation for both sides to negotiate items into the contract, such as port usage and rebuilding fees.

It was one thing to offer the idea to Mother. It was quite another to see it spelled out in stark black ink, a thing that couldn’t be erased, couldn’t be undone once it had left the palace.

Her heart ached for a beat, whispering its longing for a chance to be loved by a boy simply for herself and not for her title, and then Charis called up the shield of ice necessary to be what her mother and her kingdom needed.

“It’s just right. Don’t you think we ought to use an official courier rather than a palloren for this?”

“We’ll use both. And because your idea to drive more than half of his army into the sea went so well, we are now negotiating from a place of equal strength.” The queen rolled the parchment into a tight coil and reached for her purple seal. An additional parchment with identical writing lay beneath the first.

“Good thinking.” Charis looked away as Mother softened the wax and pressed her seal into it. “When do we tell the council what we’re doing?”

“When it’s to our best advantage.”

A knock sounded at the study door, and then a footman entered, bowed, and said quietly, “Your Majesty, Ambassador Shyrn from Rullenvor is here and requests an audience.”

Charis swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat as the queen handed the sealed parchments to the footman and said, “Send one of these to King Alaric by palloren and one by courier. And allow Ambassador Shyrn to enter.”

The footman bowed again and left. Charis pressed her hands against the desk to feel something solid and real as her world spun.

It was done.

The palloren would take no more than three days to reach King Alaric’s castle. Would he send a reply immediately or make them wait? And what would they do if Alaric decided the offer to put one of his sons on the Caleran throne beside the kingdom’s next queen wasn’t enough to restore his people’s honor?

“Your Majesty.” Ambassador Shyrn bowed to the queen, then turned and bowed to Charis as well.

“Ambassador Shyrn, please sit.” The queen stretched out an arm to indicate one of the couches in the receiving area and then chose a high-back chair for herself. Charis chose another chair so that they were both sitting higher than the ambassador as he sank into the cushions. “To what do we owe this visit?”

“Your Majesty, I believe in getting right to the point. No pretty words to dress up the message. I pray you will not take offense.” He paused as though waiting for reassurance.

“How can I know whether I will take offense when you’ve yet to say anything of import?”

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