Page 88 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

“That’s a fairy tale for a different life,” the queen snapped. “Charis knows better than to believe in fairy tales. To rule is to be alone. She understands that.”

“But she isn’t alone.” Father’s trembling voice rose. “If she was, she’d already be dead. She has a family who loves her, friends who share her life because they want to, not because she’s their princess, and she has people like Tal who care enough to risk themselves to save her without asking for anything in return.”

Mother pressed her lips into a thin line and said nothing. Charis turned her hand over, palm up, and laced her fingers through Father’s. When he met her gaze, tears shone faintly in his eyes. She leaned against his chest, listening to the thready beat of his heart.

“I won’t lose any of that, Father,” she said, though part of her whispered that it wasn’t enough. “I’ll still have you and Mother, Nalani and Holland, Orayn and Ilsa and Tal. I’m rich with friends.”

Father said nothing for a long moment, and Charis met Tal’s gaze. The boy’s jaw was clenched, and something dark hovered in his eyes.

Another memory from the Everlys’ surfaced, and Charis turned toward Mother. “Lady Channing said she’d heard rumors from her staff about people unhappy about the betrothal. Perhaps unhappy enough to kill me and then go after Holland and Nalani if they support it as well.”

There was a quick knock on the door, and then Reuben entered, Baust right behind him. The guard gave the queen a look and jerked his head toward the door as the physician hurried to Charis’s bedside.

“The taster was found dead in an alley this morning,” Reuben said softly as the queen turned toward him. “Stabbed through the heart. Got Lord Everly in the south parlor with a list of those he hired for extra kitchen staff. Says he used the staffing service all the noble houses use. Nothing unusual.”

“Which means whoever did this knew I’d be at the event and knew Lord Everly always uses that service.” Something cold and heavy unfurled in Charis as she lined up the facts. “Only someone adamantly against either the peace treaty or me as heir would benefit from killing me now. Someone close enough to me to guess my schedule. Someone quite familiar with how the nobility run things.”

“A Caleran.” The queen’s voice sliced through the air like a sword.

“We have a traitor in our midst. And the fact that we were never able to find a single hint of Bartho outside that empty warehouse makes me wonder if he ever really existed. Certainly a traitor close to us would’ve known I was going to be fitted at Merryl’s the morning of the arrow attack. And would know how to sneak an assassin into the palace during a ball.” Charis tried to toss her covers aside, but her muscles felt too weak to allow her to do more than sluggishly push them to her knees.

“Stop moving,” Mother snapped. “I will get to the bottom of this. You stay in bed until morning, and then you may resume your duties only if Baust clears you.”

Charis raised her chin. “I will resume my duties tomorrow morning whether Baust clears me or not. We cannot afford for a single rumor of weakness on my part to shake our kingdom’s faith in me, and we cannot allow Alaric to believe he should put his attention on Holland as the next in line to our throne.”

Not just Alaric’s attention. The traitor’s as well. Charis couldn’t believe Holland would try to kill her to take a throne he absolutely didn’t want, and it was hard to imagine someone working so hard to remove Charis only to crown a young man who refused to be influenced by politics, convention, or power and would therefore be impossible to control. Which meant that Holland was surely next on the traitor’s kill list if Charis fell.

The queen waved Reuben and Baust from the room and then said quietly, “You get your strength up so you can be seen tomorrow, healthy and strong.”

“And then I’ll take my crew north to Portsmith,” Charis said. “Our ship is smaller than a battleship. We should be able to get into the bay—”

“And do what?” Father’s shaky voice rose. “Sail straight into a trap? Into a battalion of war vessels?”

“They won’t attack us,” Charis said firmly, though she wrapped her hand around Father’s again. “We look like smugglers.”

“Why should they care what you look like?” he demanded. “If you find their base of operations, they’ll kill you to keep you quiet.”

He was right, though Charis was loath to admit it. She couldn’t just take a frigate into the bay at Portsmith without endangering herself and her crew.

“So we take a smaller vessel.” Tal stepped to the side of the bed to straighten Charis’s covers. “Leave the frigate in deeper waters and take a rowboat. If it’s dark enough out, no one in the bay will ever see us.”

Charis looked to her mother, carefully watching for any sign of disapproval that Tal had volunteered a plan, but instead, she found a faint light of appreciation in the queen’s icy blue eyes.

“An excellent suggestion, Tal. See that my daughter stays safe while you’re out there. I believe she’s in far less danger on the water than she is in Arborlay.” The queen swept from the room, sending Baust back inside to treat Charis.

Charis remained quiet as Baust checked her pulse, her breathing, and her eyes. When he pronounced himself pleased with how fast her body was ridding itself of the poison and prescribed more rest and plenty of water, she dismissed him and turned to Father, whose face was now lined with exhaustion.

“Tal, send for Ilsa, please.”

“I can stay,” Father said quickly, a forced bravado in his voice that belied the way it shook with weariness.

Charis wrapped her arm around his frail back and leaned her head carefully against his shoulder. “I know, but you heard Baust. I need rest.”

Father laughed. “What a diplomatic way to tell me I need rest too.”

Charis tipped her head back and smiled. “I’m glad you were here.”

“My sweet Charis needed me. Where else would I be?” He laid a papery cheek against her forehead, and a sharp pain stung the back of her throat.

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