Page 6 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

As Reuben hurried to obey her orders from the doorway where he could keep an eye on her the entire time, Milla crept back into the room and knelt beside Charis.

“I’m sorry.” The handmaiden’s voice caught on a tiny sob.

“How did this happen?”

Milla leaned forward and pressed her hands against the cushion, taking over the duty of treating the queen without Charis having to ask.

“That man—” Milla jerked her chin toward the dead Montevallian. “He was in the closet. The queen came in and was finishing up with her maid when the closet door opened, and he rushed out with a knife.” A tremor shook her body. “He stabbed the queen so fast, we didn’t realize what had happened until she went down. Then he ran for the open window, but maids and tables of toiletries were in the way, so it was a mess. I tried to stop the bleeding, Your Highness, I tried, but—”

“Hush now, Milla,” Charis said gently. “You did nothing wrong. I’m grateful you tried to help. There’s Baust.”

Charis rose and stepped back as the palace physician hurried in. He was a short, round man with a face as smooth as a sea-worn pebble and tawny skin. Several maids accompanied him, each carrying linens or bags of medical supplies.

“I leave the queen in your capable hands,” Charis said, meeting Mother’s eyes once more and satisfying herself that, though the queen looked shaky and weak, she was still alert. King Alaric of Montevallo should know it would take more than a single knife to bring down the indomitable Queen Letha Willowthorn.

Milla walked with her into the corridor, and Charis said quietly, “Wash the blood from your hands and the tears from your face, and then visit the kitchens once more and order a drink sent to my chambers. Be sure to mention that the queen has become ill from eating something that disagreed with her.”

Rumors spread through the palace staff and to the servants of other noble houses with remarkable speed. Hopefully this one would be no different.

Satisfied that she’d managed the crisis as well as she could, she checked herself for blood in the mirror mounted above the room’s fireplace. There. A trio of droplets beneath her blue eyes, like crimson freckles. And another fleck on the white hollow of her throat. She dabbed at them with a clean cloth and then, once she was sure she’d removed every trace, returned to the ball, Reuben at her side. A few well-placed comments to the always-indiscreet Lady Vera Shawling was all it took to have half the ballroom buzzing with the news that the queen had taken ill. Suspicious glances were thrown at the sumptuous buffet table. Charis sent a silent apology to the head cook, smiled graciously at Ambassador Shyrn, and accepted another dance.

As the final dance was drawing to a close, Charis whirled away from the firm grasp of Ferris Everly, her fourth cousin and the boy many in the antiwar faction were hoping would one day be her husband. Charis would rather swim naked in the freezing waters of the Draiel Sea than spend the rest of her life with Ferris, but she could hardly risk offending the son of a council member when unrest among the nobility was on the rise.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me tonight, Charis.” He tugged her hand, and she spun back toward him, stopping just shy of his chest.

“Hmm, let’s see.” She kept time to the music, her aching feet protesting every step. “I gave you my opening dance, I talked with you for at least two minutes during the first intermission, and here you are at my last dance. If you ask me, I may have erred on the side of giving you too much, Ferris.”

“People ought to see us spending more time together, Charis.” He sounded like he was chiding a schoolgirl. Her chin lifted.

“And why is that?” Her tone was sugared ice, and he blinked, his blue eyes narrowing as he met her gaze.

“Because Father has excellent relationships with many in the antiwar faction and has assured them we are close to the Willowthorns and can help bring their grievances to the throne.” He bent forward, dipping her toward the floor as other couples whirled past, feet tapping out a rhythm to the lively tune spilling out of the orchestra pit.

“They can bring their own grievances to the throne,” Charis said, her jaw setting as his gaze dropped from her face to linger on her bodice.

“But can they be sure that the queen will listen?” He lifted her slowly, his eyes once more finding hers. “Besides, you and I are an obvious match. We should be working together. I saw you talking to Lord Pellinsworth earlier. What did he say?”

Under no circumstances was Charis going to divulge the outcome of her political maneuvering with Ferris, but she also couldn’t risk offending him. He was telling the truth about his father’s connections, and while Charis wasn’t convinced that Lord Everly was all that stood between the Willowthorns and outright rebellion from the nobles who were sick of the cost of war and wanted to let Montevallo annex the northern quarter of the kingdom, she didn’t want to lose the scraps of goodwill the Everlys brought to the table.

She marshaled a response that was both firm and conciliatory but found his eyes once more on her bodice. Heat flushed beneath her skin, and her voice sharpened to a dagger’s point.

“See something you like?”

He lifted his gaze, slow and insolent, and a smirk played around his wide mouth. “I would have followed Father’s direction to pursue a potential marriage with you no matter what, but it doesn’t hurt that I find you attractive.”

“Maybe you should be far more worried about whether I find you attractive than about what I look like in this dress.” She took a step back as the dance ended. “Good evening, Ferris.”

He froze for a millisecond, absorbing both her words and her dismissal, and then, his gaze burning into hers, he bowed. “Good evening, Your Highness.”

The look in his eyes said he believed she had no choice but to marry him, but if he thought his words had increased his chances of being king consort one day, he could think again.

She wanted more than a political match. She could wear a shield of icy composure and manage a contentious nobility in public, but in private, she wanted safety, true companionship. Love.

It was impossible to imagine Ferris offering any of that.

Keeping her expression cold and remote, she moved through the ballroom, Elsbet and another palace guard by her side. Reuben had left the ballroom shortly after the third hour began. Charis assumed he was still busy following her orders to contain the truth and hunt for additional spies. She would go back to her chambers, get a report on Mother’s condition and the search conducted throughout the palace, and make notes about both the assassination attempt and her interactions with various nobles while Milla removed the wire cage from her head.

She nodded regally to Ambassador Shyrn and several matrons who were near the western entrance and exited the ballroom to see Reuben standing near the main staircase in discussion with another guard.

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