The Faceless Mage - Kenley Davidson Page 0,21

She could not let herself be terrified by her imagination. She needed to concentrate on what was real and what she could prove.

As she wrestled with herself, he continued to stand there, not moving, not speaking, not really even breathing as far as she could tell. Was he going to call her out for listening to conversations not meant for her ears? Threaten to expose her as a fake?

Leisa’s mouth was drier than a desert, but she held her ground, more out of indecision than courage. She couldn’t attack when he was standing that close, and there was no protocol for this that she could recall. Evaraine had forgotten to tell her what to do when confronted by looming mountains of inhuman menace.

Except that she was supposed to be Evaraine. She was supposed to know what to do. She was expected to be regal and reserved due to her innate royal dignity, not because her feet seemed glued to the floor.

The Raven still didn’t speak, only stared down at her with an intensity that somehow pressed, encircled, and surrounded her from head to toe. He had no eyes for her to read, but she felt them searching her, weighing her, compelling her to remain. That compulsion made her want to bare her teeth and go for his throat, but she couldn’t. A princess would never do such a thing, and if she gave in to that impulse, this entire deception would be over—all hope of alliance destroyed.

Evaraine. She was Evaraine.

That was, of course, the moment Vaniell discovered them.

Chapter 5

She’d been eavesdropping.

Oddly, this did not surprise him. It would, however, have surprised Melger, considering the opinions he’d voiced in private about the pale, shy princess of Farhall.

But more surprising to the Raven was the fact that she’d sensed him lurking in the shadows. Turned and sought him out, though he’d made no sound.

As she gazed at him this time, even though he sensed a surge of fear, what he read on her narrow face was anger. Her fingers twisted in her skirts, and her spine seemed to straighten. He could almost see her draw some invisible weapon as she looked into the eyes she couldn’t see and attacked.

Her weapons were only words, but for the first time in ten years, the Raven found himself in the unlikely position of being caught entirely off guard.

She was still afraid, and perhaps that made her choose her words less carefully. She sounded nothing like the reserved, stammering provincial he’d observed earlier. In fact, she was downright insulting, which was when he realized what she was doing.

Using words to attack her own fear. Possibly even provoking him on purpose, hoping to taunt him into doing something that would make him… more human. Less terrifying.

Interesting. Again, it was evident that she was more than she appeared.

Especially when she began asking questions that grew more and more pointed.

As he listened, two things became clear. First, the princess knew perfectly well that Garimore had insulted her—not only her, but Farhall itself. And second, the personal insults seemed to sting worse than the political ones—her face twisted ever so slightly when she repeated Danric’s brutal assessment.

King Melger would be very surprised to learn just how verbal his guest could be. Surprised and displeased, a thought that curled the Raven’s lips into a mocking smile beneath his mask.

The king had tasked the Raven with watching Evaraine, but he had failed to specify the purpose for that surveillance. He had muttered vaguely about ensuring her safety, but it did not seem to have occurred to him that the princess could be a threat. At least, not a real one. Like many powerful men, he perceived only certain types of power in others, and dismissed those he did not understand. Either dismissed, or destroyed.

For now, this princess fell into the former category, but if she was not careful, she would fall into the latter.

Perhaps the Raven should remind her that her fear was justified. That speaking so bluntly in front of him was hardly wise for one in such a precarious position.

He saw when she realized that she’d probably gone too far. That her words could easily be repeated in the wrong ears. Her chin lifted, and her mouth opened, but he didn’t give her a chance to either equivocate or apologize.

On silent, booted feet, he stalked her. Moved ever nearer, keeping his entire focus bent on her frozen form—frozen but for a tiny tilt of her head, as if she were