The Princess in the Opal Mask (15 page)

“What was the family like—the ones who raised you, I mean?”

Elara tears her gaze from the curtains. “Is this an inquisition?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Then I don’t feel we need to talk. Let’s just get to the castle.”

“Okay . . . but I shall spend my life here in Kyrenica. I don’t imagine I will return to Galandria that often, maybe ever. And you will only be in Korynth until the masquerade.”

She stares back at me, not comprehending. “And?”

“Well, we only have a short amount of time together and . . . I mean, don’t you want to get to know each other?”

Her eyes are hooded. “What I want has never mattered.”

“I understand that, Elara. I really do. However differently we have been raised, I do understand that, at least. You cannot know what it was like, being forced to wear the mask.”

“Forced?” A sardonic smile twists at her lips. “So they held you down and strapped the mask to your face every day, is that it?”

“Well, no,” I say, frowning, “But—”

“Did they starve you? Threaten to throw you in the dungeon? Lock you in your chambers?”

“No, of course not. But there were so many rumors. Of my ugliness. Of a curse. Even some people in the palace believed them.”

“Some people are idiots,” she snaps. “So what? You’re not blind, and you own a mirror. Obviously you must have known there was nothing wrong with your face.”

I am speechless. Her life may have been harsher, yet for all her smugness she cannot know what it was like, to endure the constant rumors.

“You are the daughter of the king,” Elara continues, her eyes now intent on mine. “And the sister of the crown prince. You could have refused to wear the mask.”

“It is not that simple,” I insist. “Our family—”

“I don’t have a family,” she snaps. “Or a name,” she adds softly.

“What?” I lean forward. Then a thought occurs to me. “Who named you Elara? Did our parents—”

“I’m tired,” she interrupts. “I want to be alone. Tell the driver to stop so you can find another carriage.”

“But Lord Quinlan said we were to travel together until we reached the castle. The guards were given orders.”

“Lord Quinlan is a pompous fool,” Elara says. She turns away and shouts, “Driver, stop the carriage!”

The carriage slows, but doesn’t stop.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” comes the driver’s voice. “But Lord Quinlan said—”

“I don’t care what Lord Quinlan said,” she interrupts. “I am Princess Wilhamina Andewyn, Daughter of King Fenn-rick the Handsome. And for your sake you had better stop this carriage, before I take off my mask and look upon the one who dares to defy me!”

The carriage stops so fast I am thrown backward, and I stare in wonder at Elara.

“That was amazing,” I say. “I have never spoken like that to anyone in my life.”

She gives me a withering look “Maybe if you had, your father wouldn’t have tossed you out of the kingdom.”

My hands tremble as I hastily tie on my mask. When I step outside, a guard appears to assist me. “Please take me to another carriage. We should like to travel separately.”

Confusion marks the guard’s face and I can guess what he is thinking. Is the girl he’s looking at the decoy, or the princess?

“Find another place for her,” Elara calls. The guard mumbles his assent, and when he turns back to me, the confusion is gone.

It is clear he has decided I am the decoy, while the voice inside the carriage can only belong to royalty.

I
am being unkind to Wilha. Cruel, even. But I can’t look at her, at the girl who was given everything. I know the best I can do, before I say something truly unforgiveable, is to get away from her.

After she’s gone and the carriage has started up again, I settle back into the plush cushions. My nerves are brittle and need only a spark to light them. For the last two weeks as we’ve traveled, the guards halted every time they heard so much as the snap of a twig and seemed to ready themselves, as if preparing for an attack.

But did they grip their swords just a little more carelessly? Did they ask themselves that, since I am not the Masked Princess, but merely a decoy, if I was worth risking their lives for? And if so, during those moments when they kept watch in the forest, did it occur to them that they could just run away?

Aislinn Andewyn will forever be known as the Great Betrayer. For the first time, I find myself sympathizing with her. What would it be like to grow up in the shadow of your older twin? To be treated all your life as a second copy, when one was all that was ever wanted or needed?

I reach under my seat and find my satchel. I open it and pull out some of the items I’ve stolen. Several nights after the guards have fallen asleep I’ve rifled through Wilha’s trunks. I have carefully selected the smallest items I could find that won’t be missed. Opal earrings, a tiny opal ring, several worthings from a bag intended to purchase foodstuffs in case the guards were unable to hunt up enough food.

I have decided I won’t stay in Korynth until Lord Murcendor, Lord Quinlan, and Lord Royce arrive. Despite their promises of a new life in Allegria, I don’t trust them. Once I have done their bidding, what is to prevent them from disposing of me on the road back to Galandria? A quiet death, for someone they suspect is a threat to the monarchy.

Even if their offer is genuine, why would I want to return to Allegria, where I’ll always be under their watchful eyes? And really, will Galandria ever be safe for me? Lord Finley may have been caught, but are there others who know of my existence? Others searching for the lost Andewyn daughter? Men who are eager to place me on the throne, beholden to their cause? What would they do if they found me?

I don’t intend to find out. Once we reach the Kyrenican Castle, Wilha is on her own.

W
hen the carriage comes to a halt before a stone manor that is set into a hill, I call out to the driver. “Why are we stopping?”

“We’re here,” comes his muffled reply.

“Here, where?”

“The Kyrenican Castle.”

A guard wearing a breastplate bearing the Strassburg coat of arms waves us through a wrought-iron gate. I study the manor as our procession crosses a small courtyard. It is made of gray stone and is smaller than the estates of Allegrian nobility.
This
is where the Kyrenican royal family lives?

“Now what?” I hear one guard ask another. “Do we bang on the door until they let us in?”

But it doesn’t take long before a flustered servant emerges from the castle and inquires who we are. His cheeks redden when Garwyn answers.

“We were not expecting you for another three weeks. The king and queen will be so angry to not have been here to receive you. They are attending an engagement in the city. The crown prince is not even in residence.”

“Then perhaps you should send a messenger to tell the king and queen of our arrival,” Garwyn replies. “In the meantime, I am sure they wouldn’t like to hear you have made the Masked Princess wait outside their door.”

Garwyn’s words snap him into action. He hurries over to Elara’s carriage and bows to her. Garwyn extends his hand and she emerges.

“The princess needs to rest from her journey. Could you show her to her chambers while my men see to the horses?”

“Of course,” says the servant. He bows to Elara again, and they both head up the stone steps that lead up to the castle’s main entrance.

“Smell that?” mutters one of the guards standing by my carriage. “Smells like dogs, don’t it?”

“Silence, Moran,” Garwyn says, glancing in my direction. “There will be none of that.” He gives him a meaningful look. Something passes between them, but I don’t understand what. Moran immediately quiets down though, and begins unloading trunks.

Garwyn pokes his head into my carriage and stares for a moment. I think he is trying to figure out if I am me or the decoy. “I believe you should also be journeying with the other girl to the princess’s chambers,” he says tactfully.

Accompanied by Garwyn, I scramble up the steps just as the servant is ushering Elara through a dim foyer lined with scarlet tapestries. He pales when he sees me and stares back and forth between Elara and me, no doubt confused by our identical cloaks and gold-threaded masks.

“I’m sure you can understand the princess’s need to travel with a security escort,” Garwyn says. “If you will show them to their room both the princess and her maid can change into proper attire.”

“Of course.” The servant leads us down several twisting corridors lined with lit sconces. Yet there are few windows, making everything seem dark and dim.

“Here we are,” he says, stopping before a door and opening it.

As we enter, I see that my new chambers are made up of three small rooms. The first is a sitting room with plush red velvet chairs and a large fireplace. The second room is a bedroom for me, and next to it is a smaller bedroom for my maid.

Before long, the Galandrian guards enter carrying trunk after trunk into the sitting room. Garwyn places several velvet boxes containing my masks on my bed. Elara specifically directs one guard to return to the carriage and fetch her satchel. Another servant comes in, lights some candles, and gets a fire going in the sitting room. She stares in awe at Elara and me, almost setting her sleeve on fire.

The trunks begin to pile up and spill out from each room, forming a haphazard maze.

“I don’t know where you expect us to put all your things,” Elara says once the guards and servants have left and we are alone.

I nod. “I didn’t expect the castle to be so small.”

Elara looks at me wide-eyed. “You think this is small? A person could easily get lost in this place.”

“Yes, of course,” I say immediately, reading her incre-dulity and remembering that we have grown up in very different places.

Elara disappears into my bedroom and closes the door behind her. I assume she has gone to change into the Masked Princess’s costume, so I untie my gold-threaded mask and sink into an armchair next to the fire.

These three small rooms may be where I spend the rest of my life. One day I may very well die in these chambers, an aged queen. And as death draws near, will I be able to say I enjoyed anything of my life here?

I try to find comfort with the thought that Elara will at least be the Masked Princess for a few weeks, and I will have time to watch the Strassburgs unnoticed.

But all the voices of my childhood come rushing back. My father declaring that the Strassburgs are not to be trusted. Lord Murcendor railing against the Kyrenicans. All the fear and loathing I have been taught to feel for the Strassburgs rises up, making my heart pound harder.

Before I let my worrying get the better of me, I rise from the armchair and open the door to my new bedroom. Elara has removed her mask, but she has not changed out of her traveling clothes and into the Masked Princess’s finery. Next to the velvet boxes, a pile of my things are laid out on the bed along with several worthings and a brown leather book I don’t recognize.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m leaving.” Her voice is curt, and she begins stuffing the items into her satchel.

“Leaving? But you are not supposed to leave until it is safe.”

“We’ve arrived in Kyrenica. You’re safe and alive.” She spreads her hands wide. “Congratulations. Welcome to your new fairy tale.”

“But—”

She holds up a pair of opal earrings. “I’m taking these, all right? I doubt they mean all that much to you, but they’ll fetch me a nice price.” She stops and scrutinizes me. Her eyes stray to the velvet boxes lying on the bed, and she seems to soften slightly. “You don’t have to wear the mask just because they say you do. Tell the crown prince you refuse to be treated like a puppet.”

Puppet? At this, a spark kindles in my chest. I force myself to find the right words, to let her know she cannot join the long line of people who have presumed to tell me how to carry the weight of being the Masked Princess. Not when it turns out she is the reason I have been sent away.

“I can’t stay here,” she says before I can speak. “I know I said I would. But I can’t. All I’ll ever be to the Guardians is a threat. I have to leave now before—”

She breaks off at a sudden commotion in the castle corridor. There are muffled sounds of shouting and rushing foot-steps, followed by a loud
click
in the sitting room.

We glance uneasily at each other. “What was that?” Elara says and leaves the satchel on the bed. I follow her into the sitting room, but nothing seems to be amiss.

Elara turns about the room. “I know I heard something.”

I nod. I heard it too. But it did not sound like someone entering the room, it sounded more as though . . .

The strength leaves my legs, and I fall into an armchair. “They have locked us in.”

“Locked us in?” She hurries to the door, and finding that it is indeed locked, calls out, “What is the meaning of this? Why is the door locked?’

“The commander of the Kyrenican guard has ordered your room to remain locked for the time being,” says an unfamiliar voice though the door.

“That makes no sense,” Elara calls out. “I demand an explanation. You can’t lock me in here without my consent.” She turns to me and lowers her voice. “Can they?”

“King Ezebo can do whatever he pleases,” I say, staring into the fire. “He could execute me if he wished it, and no one could stop him.”

“He doesn’t want you dead,” she says dispassionately. “He wants to put you on display for all the world to see.”

“What a comforting thought,” I whisper. Yet is this not my nightmare, come to life? That the crown prince would decide it was better if he locked me away?

Elara turns back to me. “Check your room. See if you can find a key to the door.”

I return to the bedroom and search the drawers of a small writing desk. When I don’t find a key, I sit on the bed and look around the room. The walls of my new life seem to be closing in around me already. When they unlock the door, what will become of me?