Page 56 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

“I’ll never beg you for death.” The woman’s voice was scornful, though the tendril of fear within it had widened.

Charis smiled, and the woman shivered. “I’m going to let you go. And I’m going to spread the rumor that you gave me information about the entire network of Montevallian spies within our kingdom. That you told us exactly how to find them and kill them. Any who are part of that network will worry that their name crossed your lips.”

The woman shook her head, her eyes wide, but Charis wasn’t finished.

“And then I’m going to let Alaric know you gave us his secrets and that the peace treaty offering we recently sent is now off the table.”

Locking eyes with the woman, Charis said, “Who do you think will come for you first? Your king? Or the other spies in my city?”

The woman fell silent.

“You’ll run,” Charis said softly. “Maybe to friends in Calera who are sympathetic to your cause. Maybe to your family in Montevallo. You’ll run, and I’ll be the shadow at your back.”

The dagger dug in, and more blood poured down her neck. “Those friends who shelter you? Dead. The homes you sleep in? Burned to the ground. The family you love? Utterly destroyed. By the time I’m done with you, there will be no one left to welcome you. No one left to care what happens to you. There will only be your king and your fellow traitors coming for your head, and I promise you, when that happens, you will beg for death.”

Charis held the woman’s gaze and watched in grim satisfaction as the truth of her words hit home. The assassin’s bravado crumbled before sheer terror as the princess sheathed her dagger and reached for the shackles.

“No, wait. Wait!” The woman’s voice was desperate.

“Why should I?”

“Please. Don’t let me go. Don’t start rumors. My family . . . they can’t be punished for this.”

“Give me one good reason why I should stay my hand.”

The woman’s gaze darted to Tal and then back to Charis. “Because I’ll tell you who paid me to kill you.”

“Who?” Behind her, Tal stirred against the wall, but Charis kept her focus on the assassin.

The woman hesitated. People always did right before they turned traitor on their own. A last, desperate attempt to convince themselves they had no choice. Charis waited, holding herself as still as a predator stalking its prey. Finally, the woman whispered, “My orders don’t come directly from my king. They go through a man called Bartho. He stays near the docks. That’s all I know.”

Charis smiled. “For your sake, I hope Bartho exists and is easy enough to find. He’s your one chance of staying safely in this cell.”

Twenty-Two

CHARIS SPENT THE rest of the morning meeting with Mother, then attending a shortened tutoring session, and finally hosting a luncheon for members of Arborlay’s performing arts committee. She then forced Tal to rest for the afternoon with the promise that she would meet with Darold in her own parlor rather than her office in the main wing so that she wouldn’t have to keep Reuben as her bodyguard while Tal slept.

When he slept through tea as well, she decided to have a maid bring him a late dinner and let Mrs. Sykes begin preparing her for the ball to welcome the trade delegates. Two hours later, after firmly refusing the woman’s suggestions that a high, tight bun was always the best hairstyle for a formal event only to realize that was truly the only updo Mrs. Sykes knew how to arrange, Charis graciously thanked her handmaiden and sent her home to her family.

The dress was stunning. Merryl had outdone herself. With its plunging neckline, dramatic sweep of a skirt, and silver embroidery that resembled tiny knives stitched into the blue silk, it gave the impression that Calera’s princess wasn’t one to be trifled with.

But unlike the dress, Charis’s hair was an utter disaster. She stared morosely at the lopsided updo that was slowly sliding down the side of her head. If she rang for another maid to help, Mother would hear of it, and then Mrs. Sykes would lose the job she desperately needed to get her family through the winter. But if Charis showed up at the ball looking anything less than perfect, it would ruin what she and Mother needed to achieve with the delegates.

Maybe she could shore it up on the side that was drooping and then wear a crown to cover most of it. She scooped a handful of hairpins from the vanity and planned her attack.

“Starting a new trend, are we?” Tal’s voice startled Charis, and she dropped the hairpins. They scattered across the floor at her feet.

She bent down to retrieve them. “Yes. It’s called the Price a Princess Pays for Refusing a Simple Bun. I’m thinking it will be all the rage by the weekend.”

The hairpins retrieved, she stood and found herself face-to-face with Tal. His gaze swept her from head to toe, and when it returned to her face, the bright intensity she’d seen in his eyes that morning was back. A hum of pleasure swirled through her, and heat rose to her cheeks as he stood staring at her in silence.

“Do you like my dress?”

“Yes.” He answered so fast, he almost cut off the end of her question.

The heat in her cheeks rushed into her veins. “I wanted bold, elegant, and dangerous.”

“Just like you.” He said the words like a prayer, and something kindled to life in her chest. Something sweet and wild and tender to the touch.

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