two years older than the woman whose face she wore.
“And you must be Princess Evaraine,” Prince Vaniell said, in that same completely irritating voice. “Enchanted to meet you at last.” He stepped forward and held out a hand.
So many hands she was expected to take. Leisa had never liked touching others, especially strangers, and even more so those she didn’t trust. She had too many secrets, and some that might be exposed by magic through the mere brush of skin against skin. But this was Garimore, she reminded herself, and she was wearing gloves, so she set the fingers of her left hand carefully in Prince Vaniell’s and began to curtsy almost before she recalled which curtsy she was supposed to use. Number ten. Nearly the same as number eleven, except it was only the right hand that came up to touch the opposite shoulder.
“Your Highness,” she said, as insincerely as possible. “I am so pleased to make your acquaintance.”
A polite lie. Almost as polite as his.
The prince took a moment to scan her from head to toe before pressing a lifeless kiss to her gloved fingers. “You are as lovely as your portrait suggested.”
Hah. Leisa had seen that portrait. Princess Evaraine would never be called beautiful, but the painter hadn’t even tried to flatter her. He’d made her pale, narrow face look sickly and sallow, her auburn hair appear thin and brown, and her gorgeous emerald eyes he’d turned to swampy green.
Perhaps she should be grateful Prince Vaniell wasn’t bothering to lie about the princess’s looks, but he was probably just hoping she was too dim to notice.
Leisa rose from her curtsy, a growing sense of outrage enabling her to do so without a wobble this time. “I believe it unlikely that any mere painting could do you justice, Your Highness,” she responded, keeping her eyes lowered to hide her sarcasm.
His surprise jolted through his clasp on her fingers, so perhaps she hadn’t hidden it very well. “I do hope you’re wrong,” he replied smoothly, drawing her unwilling gaze to his smirking face. “You see, I’ve commissioned a terribly expensive portrait from some itinerant fellow who showed up at our court last week. Perhaps it can commemorate our engagement, eh?”
She forced her gaze to drop again, this time to hide her rage. So he thought she was that easy, did he? He thought Evaraine would simply fall at his feet? She would teach him to…
But no. She wouldn’t. Shouldn’t. However much she might want to. This was about survival. Farhall. Alliances. About what was best for the princess.
Satisfying her urge to teach Prince Vaniell a lesson was not likely to aid any of those causes, least of all her own.
So she nodded silently, not trusting herself to speak, as she couldn’t even seem to prevent her shoulders from remaining rigid with anger and dislike. That wasn’t a skill normally expected of bodyguards, so hopefully, the wretched man was as obtuse as he was vain.
“My dear Evaraine,” the queen interjected politely, “perhaps you would wish to be shown to the suite where you will be staying while you are with us?”
Leisa offered Her Majesty a grateful smile. “I would indeed,” she replied. “I assume that my maids and ladies have already been established there?” She assumed nothing, but she wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to figure out why they’d been separated.
“Ah.” The queen’s smile grew pained and apologetic. “It seems perhaps your father did not tell you. I am sorry, my dear, but in Garimore, we are very strict in matters of security. Perhaps we do go beyond what is usual, but there are many who wish to destroy what we have built here, and we must be on constant guard against their jealousy.”
Forgotten? Jealousy? What had King Soren neglected to tell her? Leisa felt a brief chill—of anger as much as fear—but didn’t allow it to reach her face.
“I do apologize,” she said instead, “but I fear I don’t understand.”
“We do not permit outsiders to bring their own servants or retainers inside the palace walls,” King Melger informed her sternly, as though reading her a lecture. “With all due respect to King Soren, too many spies have wormed their way into our palace disguised as servants or retinue for us to allow unnecessary strangers to travel our halls unquestioned. You are our valued guest, so aside from your honor guard, we will provide you with everything you require while you remain in our care.”
“It is our way,”