Page 70 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

Charis had filled her time with fittings for her winter wardrobe, tutoring sessions, meetings, and an extremely pared-down social calendar now that they were keeping her schedule as unpredictable as possible. She’d kept pressure on the search for Bartho, the man the assassin claimed had hired her. She stayed vigilant in meetings, playing politics with lethal precision.

And she cried herself to sleep each night after yet another day of silence, or worse, stilted exchanges with Tal, who’d become so distant she felt she hardly knew him anymore.

It shouldn’t have felt like her knees had been cut from beneath her. Shouldn’t have blindsided her with aching misery that blended into her grief and loneliness until she no longer knew the difference between the hurts.

It was pain, and it was hers only at night. During the day, she drew on rage and called it courage. Kept her expression smooth as glass and made sure not a hint of what ravaged her escaped.

A hundred times she thought of asking Tal if they could go back to being friends, and a hundred times she found the courage to keep her mouth shut.

Exhaustion fogged her mind and slowed her body. The grief she’d kept at bay for so long refused to let her sleep now. Refused to let her eat. She pushed food around on her plate to satisfy Tal, but even that didn’t matter because he hardly looked at her when they were in her chambers.

Monday dawned cold and crisp. Autumn was slowly giving way to winter. Charis dragged herself out of bed, let Mrs. Sykes pull her curls away from her face with a jeweled headband, and barely looked at the blue dress the older woman pulled out of the closet.

She cut her roasted fowl into tiny pieces, only eating a bite when Tal walked from his room to the bath chamber. The food tasted like dust. She left the tray on the table and stepped out onto her balcony just so she wouldn’t have to bear him ignoring her as he returned to his room.

Wind shook the thesserin trees, tearing away the few remaining leaves and chasing them over the grounds. Charis envied them their freedom. They danced and spun, at the mercy of the wind but still at least they were going somewhere new.

There was a soft knock on the doorframe, and then Gaylle stepped onto the balcony and bowed.

“Night shift guard is leaving, Your Highness. Vellis is giving our report to Reuben now. Do you need anything before I go?”

She smiled politely. “Thank you, Gaylle. You are dismissed.”

The man stepped back into her room, and there was a murmur of voices and then silence. She watched the leaves scrape over the stone courtyard, tangle with the dying grass, and then race south. Lifting her eyes, she looked past the stables and the copse of oak trees. Beyond that, at the southernmost point on the grounds, was her favorite bluff. The place she would sneak out to visit so she could think without the pressure of being the princess on display. She hadn’t visited since Tal took over as bodyguard. It had seemed unnecessary when she hadn’t had to put on a display in front of him. When sharing her thoughts and getting his help working through them had become as easy as breathing.

But she didn’t have that now, and her thoughts were a tangle. A mess of grief, anger, and duty with the ax of the proposed peace treaty hanging over her head, just waiting for a response from Alaric.

There was another knock, and then Tal said, “Time to go to your office, Your Highness.”

She didn’t even try to look him in the eye. He would either be looking past her, or he’d make eye contact, but there would be nothing but cold duty on his face. Instead, she walked past him and out her bedroom door in silence.

Her office was a smaller version of the queen’s and housed in the same wing. Charis immediately went to her desk to check her revised schedule for the day. After glancing at it, she handed it to Tal, who memorized it as well and then went to stand by the door to monitor anyone who entered.

Charis was halfway through the correspondence waiting for her signature when angry voices rose in the hall just outside her door. Charis heard the unmistakable tones of Lord Thorsby and set down her quill.

“Please see what’s happening,” she said.

Tal opened the door to reveal Lord Thorsby and Reuben.

“—and you should watch where you’re putting your hands. Careful! That’s Solvanish embroidery.” Lord Thorsby snatched his pink handkerchief out of Reuben’s hands as the guard circled the man, running his hands down Thorsby’s back and legs in slow, fluid sweeps.

“Your Highness!” Thorsby dabbed at his forehead, his brown eyes wide. “This is outrageous.”

“This is security protocol for visiting the princess,” Reuben said in a steely voice. “Unless you have something to hide, I suggest you let me finish my job.”

“Well, I’ve never . . . the very thought that I . . . your tone, my good man, is inexcusable. Watch those hands!” Thorsby jumped as Reuben encircled his waist, tugged at something beneath the lord’s coat, and came out with a small bejeweled dagger.

“No weapons allowed near the princess.” Reuben made the words sound like an accusation.

Thorsby bristled. “That was my mother’s dagger. I carry it for sentimental reasons.” He dabbed at his upper lip. “And also one cannot be too careful these days. Montevallian spies under every rock, it seems.”

“He is cleared for entry,” Reuben said to Charis, his hard brown eyes searching her face as if looking for the answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked.

Charis gave him the barest hint of a nod and turned to Lord Thorsby. “Please come in. I can send for tea or chocolate if you prefer.”

“Tea would be just the thing.” Thorsby shot Reuben a resentful look and then entered the office.

“You may sit.” Charis waved to her seating area. She chose a chair covered in ivory silk and rang the bell for tea.

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