Page 58 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

He drew in an unsteady breath and tugged once more on her hair, lifting it away from her scalp until her curls were an untamed mass. “I’m just going to concentrate on your hair, and you are going to make sure your thoughts don’t show up on your face.” He met her eyes briefly. “Please.”

Charis played along. Looking in the mirror, she said, “This is going to make it harder to force my hair into an updo.”

“Everyone will be wearing an updo.”

“Because it’s a ball.”

“But you aren’t everyone.” Tal spun away from Charis and headed to the closet, calling over his shoulder, “You’re Charis Willowthorn, destroyer of assassins, ruiner of enemies, and future ruler of Calera, and everyone in that room should feel that in their bones the instant they see you.”

Charis blinked and turned to look in the mirror. Her hair rose in a wild halo around her head and fell, free and untamed, to the center of her back. She looked fierce, beautiful, and dangerous.

A tiny smile played at the edge of her mouth as Tal returned, a bit of metal filigree in his hands. “This is certainly going to get everyone’s attention.”

Lifting a thick strand of hair from either temple, Tal pulled them to the back of Charis’s head, where he secured them with the strands of metal he held. Charis watched, fascinated, as Tal bent the metal, unspooled it from its original design, and then wrapped it around the curls he’d pulled into place.

“What are you doing?” Charis asked.

“Making sure you make the right impression.” Tal’s jaw set in a rigid line as he concentrated on his work. Charis made herself ignore the feel of his hands in her hair and the way his chest brushed against her back. Finally, he looked up and said, “There.”

Charis turned in her chair so that her back faced the larger mirror, and then lifted the hand mirror to study the end result. Tal had woven the silver wire into the shape of a dagger and used that to secure the strands he’d pulled back. It looked as though the hilt of a weapon was resting atop the knot of curls while the blade pierced it and came out the other side.

It was perfect.

“Tal,” Charis breathed. “You’re going to need to add ‘hair accessory design’ to the list of things you’re good at. This is spectacular.”

Tal grinned and gave her an extravagant bow. “At your service. Shall we go down to the ballroom now?”

Rising, she shook out her skirts and turned toward the door. “Yes.”

Charis paused a moment at the top of the grand staircase, a stunning piece of art that began at the third floor of the palace and plunged toward the ballroom floor in an ever-widening swath of gleaming marble bracketed by spun glass banisters in the pale blue of a winter’s sky. The ballroom itself was a decadent picture of Calera’s bounty—banquet tables heaped with delicacies, nobility dressed in their colorful finery filling the air with the sound of merriment, and the glorious sea showcased by the wall of windows.

Tal stood beside her, already scanning the room, hunting for threats. Vellis and Gaylle would also enter the room with her, but would stay at the edges, moving where she did so they could reach her quickly if necessary. Only Tal would shadow her every move.

It was ridiculous that the thought of Tal as her escort to the ball made something in her stomach flutter as though she was about to win a game she hadn’t realized she’d been playing. She packed that thought away in a corner of her heart and focused on the task in front of her.

The antiwar faction needed to see that Calera still had strong allies and plenty of options. The trade delegates needed to feel confidence in renewing trade agreements so that they’d be open to a more aggressive role in helping Calera beat Montevallo if Alaric didn’t take the bait. And everyone who’d heard about the assassination attempt needed to believe that the princess wasn’t afraid of anything.

“You’re on display,” Tal whispered as a member of the nobility noticed the princess standing at the top of the stairs and began whispering with his neighbor. Soon the crowd of people closest to the doorway were all staring up at her.

Lifting her chin, she let her mouth curve into a beckoning smile with just a hint of cruelty. Descending the steps, one hand trailing on the banister, she assessed the room with a single glance.

A few maids continued to bring platters of food to the buffet table set up against the far wall. The musicians, all dressed in dark blue, were seated on a small stage in the nearest corner, instruments raised as they watched their conductor. Nalani, Holland, and several other guests Charis’s age were drifting toward the buffet table, though Charis knew they’d never fill a plate until the queen had officially started the festivities. And the guests closest to the door had already separated to form a path for the princess, their heads bowed.

Pausing ten steps from the bottom, Charis looked around the room again, this time slower.

No trade delegates yet. And no queen.

Keeping her smile firmly in place, though her mind was racing, she finished descending the stairs and moved toward her friends, acknowledging the murmur of “Your Highness” that spilled from everyone she passed.

Mother was always early to everything. Always. And this was her first social event since her injury, so her presence was even more important.

Perhaps she’d decided to greet the honored guests in her private parlor before escorting them to the ball, but why wouldn’t she invite Charis to attend? It was crucial that the delegates feel full confidence in Calera’s leadership. They needed to believe Charis would be every bit the queen her mother was if they were going to commit to aiding the war effort.

Even if Alaric accepted the terms Letha had sent, Calera would still need strong allies elsewhere. One never knew when one would need powerful friends outside her kingdom.

Powerful friends within the kingdom were just as important to cultivate.

Charis’s thoughts slid easily into the cold calculation that fit her like a second skin and never failed to remind her of her mother. There were gossips to impress, worried title holders to reassure, and politicians to keep in line. She could stay busy until Mother brought the delegates to the ball.

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