Page 4 of Wicked Prince of Mirrors
I felt Rhea’s dark eyes on me, and then she laughed. “You’re right, we’ve barely begun. Come, I want to get more elderberry wine and cinnamon pastries.”
I hooked her arm through mine. “Wine, now that’s reasonable, and then I want to see the snake charmers.”
2
ESMIRA
“Milady, the king would like to speak with you.”
The hesitant tones of Marta, my lady-in-waiting, interrupted my mid-morning walk through the gardens. I paused mid-stride. “He’s returned?”
Usually, I was the first to know when my father and his escort returned from the Boundary. The Night Market—now only a memory of two nights ago—had been a distraction, but the lack of his presence in the palace filled me with an anxiety that was difficult to explain.
Marta kept her gaze on the ground. “He’s waiting in his chambers.”
The fact that she never looked at me when she spoke made me feel uncomfortable. She was only a year or two younger yet treated me as though I were her elder. In contrast, Rhea and her lady-in-waiting were friends who shared each other's deepest secrets.
My hands went to my hair and the loose curls thathad fallen during my walk. The morning dew dampened the hem of my skirt. “I must dress, will you help me?”
“Yes, milady.”
Back in my rooms, Marta dressed me in an elegant purple gown with a deep neckline and a full skirt with splits that ran to my thighs, showing off my muscular legs. It wasn’t common for a princess to be athletic but I preferred my morning walks in the gardens to lying in bed, growing soft and plump like some of the ladies who dwelled in the castle. A golden belt cinched my trim waist and Marta wove golden beads into my hair, letting my curls hang free before securing them with a tiara.
Round gold earrings hung from my ears, and the heavy weight of gold bracelets circled my wrists. Marta’s fingers loosened the bandage, and I almost pulled away, but my father did not appreciate any signs of weakness or imperfection. When my fingers were free of the wrapping, I stretched them, relieved to see no sign of glass. My hand had healed, leaving nothing but an odd tingling and a slight off-color to my fingertips.
“You are ready,” Marta announced.
I slipped my feet into sandals and moved into the washroom to study my reflection. While common folk were not allowed to have mirrors, the palace still had a few nailed to the walls, the backing removed, inspected frequently by the Venators.
I looked beautiful, but my brown eyes held a glimmer of concern, and my mouth frowned back at me. Taking a deep breath, I tugged my lips back, trying tomake myself appear calm and confident. My father responded well to strength and decisiveness, and I had an inkling about the conversation we’d have. Today, I had to be persuasive.
The mirror rippled, and the shape of a shadow appeared on the other side. A pale face appeared, violet eyes blazed.
Princess.
I cried out and stumbled back, my foot catching against the claws of the tub.
“Milady?” Marta called.
My hands shook as I spun away from the mirror and squeezed my eyes shut.What had I just seen?
“It’s nothing,” I called, fighting to keep the tremor out of my tone. “Walk with me.”
Marta did not protest, and together we made our way from the upper halls—the private chambers of those who dwelled in the palace—down to the wide halls where meetings were conducted.
The sprawling palace had stood within the kingdom for well over a hundred years. It was the original seat of power for the Wicked Prince, and when he was cursed, my father and my uncle stormed the city and took over the palace. Knowing this was once the Wicked Prince’s home made me shiver. Did the sorcerer curse him on the front steps? Had he once walked through my own rooms? Sometimes I noticed a haunted aura to the palace, as though the shadows were alive. Watching.
Marta curtsied, then fled as we reached the door to my father’s chambers. Steeling myself for the conversation, I knocked.
“Come,” came my father’s curt voice.
I opened the door into a sunlit room, touched with hues of lavender. Once the sky had been blue with golden sunlight cleansing the land, or at least, that’s what I’d once been told. Until the magicians formed the Boundary, infusing the sky with hints of lavender. Now the light was tinted with the aftereffects of magic, and wild storms claimed the kingdom with whipping winds and often vicious hailstorms.
Rows of weapons covered one wall, swords and shields and spears he’d used in battle. On the other wall were the heads of monsters he’d slain, stuffed and mounted. Terrible, dead eyes stared back at me. I’d been frightened of them as a child, now, they still left me shuddering but I had a new perspective: curiosity. What were their stories?
Father rose, waving his hand. “Esmira. Come.”
Rings covered his fingers, and he wore a rich robe of furs, a crown atop his head. He was tall, still heavily muscled from his years of fighting. The tight coils of his black hair were peppered with gray, although he usually shaved his head. His face was thin, almost sunken, although his eyes were sharp, shrewd with knowledge.
