look of patient condescension. “A princess of Farhall cannot marry without her sovereign’s consent. I must be permitted to return home and speak with my father before any marriage can take place.”
“Consent?” Melger waved a hand. “That can be gained in writing. No, I will not permit you to leave while this alliance is still in question. Farhall will be brought to realize that they cannot trample on Garimore’s goodwill and hospitality.”
“Then you will allow me time to send a message?” the princess queried.
“You will send nothing,” Melger all but shouted. “Do you imagine that I believe this man was spying of his own accord? I will send a message, apprising Soren of what has occurred. He will be informed of his options, and until his answer arrives, you will remain here, in your rooms, under constant surveillance.”
His expression grew menacing. “And if at any point you behave or speak in a way that I find threatening or suspicious, I will post my bodyguard in your very chambers until you have married my son and this alliance is settled.”
“Ah, Father…” Vaniell raised one slender hand as if looking for permission to speak, but Melger had seized the reins, and he was not relinquishing them to anyone.
“You will do nothing and say nothing other than what I tell you,” he snarled, and no doubt, everyone in the room could hear the unspoken or else.
Vaniell subsided, but rather than angry, he looked thoughtful.
And the princess? She was looking at the Raven.
To anyone else, perhaps she would appear to be shocked and appalled by the king’s threat. But to him?
He could feel her fear. Not for herself, but for her guard. For her kingdom. And he could feel her resolve. She would not be sitting tamely in her room, waiting for her future to be decided.
The Raven held back what he feared might be a smirk as he considered King Melger’s reaction to the eventual news that he’d married his son to a nameless girl from Farhall.
Was it possible that Soren might have the same thought? Let the marriage go forward, thereby saving his own daughter and invalidating the treaty?
Thereby destroying the lives of everyone he’d sent to act on his behalf?
The thought filled the Raven with rage, but the fake princess was still looking at him, and he… He could not bring himself to terrify her further.
So he said nothing. Did nothing.
“Very well,” the fake princess said at last. “I can see that you have left me no choice. I will return to my chambers and await King Soren’s reply. Until that time, however, I would beg of you the services of a physician to care for my subject. In the event that an accord is reached, I would not wish for the alliance between our kingdoms to begin with his death.”
Having gained her acquiescence, Melger seemed inclined to be reasonable.
“I would not have it said that we are cruel beyond reason,” he allowed. “Someone will tend his wounds, though I would caution you not to expect me to be concerned with his comfort. The man is a traitor and a spy.”
“A spy, perhaps,” the princess countered. “But he is not your subject, therefore it is for me to decide whether he has committed treason.”
But Melger had her under his thumb now, so he merely smiled blandly at her defiance.
“I believe it is time for you to return to your chambers,” he said icily. “My Raven will ensure that you do not go astray.”
It was a true compulsion, and the Raven felt as it took hold.
She must be returned to her rooms.
Hatred and revulsion shook him as he reached for the princess’s arm and pulled her away.
“No!” The hoarse cry of the imprisoned guard followed them. “Your Highness, do not sacrifice yourself for me.”
She continued to walk, never once looking back, but her arm under the Raven’s glove was rigid and unyielding. Whenever he touched her, the link between them grew stronger, and he could feel how it was killing her inside to walk away. To show no fear, no pain. To give Melger no weapon against her.
And yet, their future also loomed closer—the moment when Melger would demand that the Raven take her life—so he dared not offer her comfort.
There was only his steady grip on her wrist. And then somehow, as they left the dungeons and retreated to her rooms, her wrist slipped from his grasp. But she did not run or pull away. Her tiny, shaking fingers wrapped around