bland foods before noon, and fish makes me horribly ill.
There was no spoon designated for catapulting food across the table, much to Leisa’s dismay, though the soup spoon had given the most satisfaction in surreptitious tests. Somehow she doubted Prince Vaniell would appreciate learning the results of her experiments, any more than she had appreciated learning that Princess Everaine didn’t like chocolate. That part had been almost as bad as finding out about her vastly expanded wardrobe.
Wool for winter. Silk for evenings. Muslin for mornings. Black for parties. Green for visits. Blue for receptions. Gray for traveling. Lace for daytime. Embroidery for night. Purple for me. White for His Highness, Prince Vaniell. And red. Red for King Melger. Red for Garimore.
Red was also for how Leisa felt whenever she thought about King Soren. About Farhall. About what would happen if her deception were to be discovered. About what she was going to do to someone if she couldn’t get out of this corset sometime in the next few seconds.
It was like wearing a cage made of someone else’s bones, or being caught in a net of daggers that drove themselves deeper between her ribs with every bump of the carriage. Why did anyone submit to such torture?
In the midst of her continued exploration of the injustices committed against her, the carriage came to a rather abrupt halt. Which meant…
Leisa leaned forward, intending to peek out, but the scandalized looks from her ladies halted her hand. Princesses did not display curiosity. They waited. And waited. Until someone else decided the outcome of their lives for them.
Until someone else betrothed them to a man like Prince Vaniell.
Princess Evaraine was lucky, in some respects—her father at least cared enough to endanger the life of another in his quest to determine whether his daughter’s potential consort was a decent person. Even if the one he endangered had once imagined that same father cared for her as something more than a useful tool…
The thought stabbed at Leisa’s heart until she forcefully discarded it as useless. Dangerous, even—it distracted her from the moment and made her long for the return of something she’d probably never had in the first place.
The carriage door opened. Outside, she caught a glimpse of steps lined with soldiers in perfect uniforms. Behind them loomed the imposing bulk of the Garimoran Royal Palace, a gloriously sprawling edifice of golden stone that towered over its surroundings and required a veritable army of servants to maintain its pristine glow of wealth and opulence.
Leisa’s home for the next few weeks. Or perhaps more accurately, Princess Evaraine’s prison. Her duty. Eventually even her tomb. It was too early to tell.
But for now, Leisa firmed her spine and stomped ruthlessly on her fears. There was no more room for bitterness or regret. There was only survival and success. She would do as King Soren required, and when she returned to Farhall, her debt to him would be paid.
And then? Well, there were always her own dreams to consider. If she chose, she could leave the palace behind and make a new life somewhere, free of duty or expectation. Free of everything, except those gnawing questions of why her parents had disappeared, and whether they had ever intended to come back. Would it even be possible to discover where they had gone, or whether she still had any other family somewhere?
The dagger they left behind was her only link to them, and she treasured it almost as much as she feared it. What if she used it to track them down and discovered that her suspicions were correct—that they’d abandoned her on purpose? What if she hadn’t imagined their horror at her magic? What if looking for her family only revealed how alone she truly was?
For the past eighteen years, Leisa had buried those questions by pretending she’d found a true home and a true family. And she’d believed King Soren thought of her the same way, but he’d proven her hopes to be mere fabrications. So what did she have to lose?
She would do this thing. She would do it, and she would survive, and then, when her debts were paid, she would walk away without a backward glance. In the end, alone was better than finding out everything she believed in was a lie.
But she would accomplish her task first, because Evaraine didn’t deserve to be used any more than Leisa did. The princess was more than just a tool to be traded for her kingdom’s