The Princess in the Opal Mask (23 page)

I jump at the sound of the door opening. But it’s only a servant, carrying a silver tray with a pot, cups, and saucers.

“Thank you,” I say, once he has settled the tray on the table and handed me a cup of warm scarlet tea. He nods, and bows himself from the room.

The cup and saucer rattle in my hands. After a few more sips I put the tea aside, and stand up and move to the fire, hoping to warm myself. I try to remember what Arianne said about the crown prince. . . .
Insolent and as common as dirt if you ask me. Served first with Kyrenica’s navy, until Ezebo commanded him to return and attend to his royal duties. It’s a shame he was never killed at sea. . . .

The door opens and Ezebo enters. “Princess Wilhamina Andewyn,” he says, grinning, “May I present to you my son, His Royal Highness Crown Prince Stefan Strassburg.” He steps back and a tall, grim-looking boy enters the room. For once, I am thankful for the mask and that it covers my face, hiding my shock.

Because Crown Prince Stefan is the squire.

“
You?
You’re the prince?”

“I am,” he says, sounding slightly annoyed. He looks different today. Much different than the carefree squire I laughed with in the kitchen. His appearance, though washed and cleaned from the last time I saw him, is much altered. There is no twinkle in his eye, no sense that he is in any way enjoying meeting his bride-to-be. Instead he stares at me, examining me the way I imagine a cattle owner might examine a newly acquired goat. One he regrets purchasing.

“And you only just arrived in Korynth today?” My voice is accusatory.

Stefan frowns. “I returned briefly a few days ago, but had to leave again to see to business in the countryside, so I felt it would be best to delay our meeting. At any rate . . . Princess Wilhamina, it is a pleasure to meet you.” He dips his head slightly and stops. He seems to be waiting for something.

“Oh, um, it is nice to meet you, too.” For a second, a strange look crosses his face and I wonder if he recognizes me, or if I’ve failed at some sort of royal formality. But then the look is gone, replaced by grim resignation.

“Well, then, I shall leave you two to get to know each other,” Ezebo says, still grinning. “Tonight the two of you will participate in an engagement ceremony. And tomorrow, you will begin taking breakfast together privately. You will have plenty of time to get to know each other.” With that, he strides away and exits the room.

Stefan and I sit down. His long legs bump up against the small table in front of us. He looks squashed in the small armchair. He pours himself a cup of scarlet tea and stares impatiently out the window, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

I can’t help feeling slighted by his behavior. I may be wearing the mask, but does he really not recognize me?

He sighs and crosses his legs, as though the very act of being in the same room with me is torture.

“Are you unhappy to be here?” I ask.

He looks away from the window. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you look like you just swallowed a rotten fig,” I snap, then remind myself I’m supposed to be Wilha. “I mean . . . are you not a fan of the tea?” I continue in a softer voice. “Or is the company not to your liking?”

“The tea is fine,” he counters. “And you are quite observant. Yet I am at a serious disadvantage, am I not? You can see every emotion that plays on my face, but I can tell nothing of you.” He leans forward. “Take off your mask.”

I hesitate, considering this. What harm would there be in revealing my face to him, really? I could just say I was in search of a little adventure a few days ago and we could have a good laugh over it. If Wilha is to marry him, he’ll have to see her face one day anyway . . . won’t he?

But I can’t abide the way he speaks to me, as though he already owns me—I mean, already owns Wilha.

“I am rather sure,” I say coolly, “that your father would like for the mask to remain on.”

“And
I
am rather sure that in a year’s time you shall be my wife. Take off your mask. If we are to be married, I expect to know what I am getting.”

“Really?” I say, my voice rising. “Well, it appears
I’m
getting a prince who possesses the manners of a child.”

“Our marriage was arranged solely for the benefit of others. Manners have nothing to do with it. I say again, take off your mask.”

“No.”

“And why not?”

“Because we have met not five minutes ago, and you are already ordering me about. I will remind you that with this treaty between our kingdoms you secured a wife,
a person
, not a piece of property.”

He leans back in his seat, looking at me. “My father’s advisor said you were a difficult, fearful princess. That you hid under that mask, scared of your own shadow—”

“I am scared of nothing.”
Careful,
I remind myself.
He’s talking about Wilha. Not you.

“Scared of nothing?” he sneers. “Prove it, then. Take off your mask. Surely you do not like being hidden?”

In that moment, I want nothing more. Where is the kindhearted squire who seemed genuinely interested in my stories? He’s vanished, leaving a churlish prince in his place.

When I don’t answer, he says, “I did not choose you, you know. My father and his advisors made it clear you were my only option for marriage. They said that to secure peace, an alliance must be made with Galandria.”

“Does your father intend to keep the alliance?” I ask carefully, thinking of the locked door. I clearly heard Ezebo’s advisors discussing plans of some sort. And ever since, my stomach has twisted with one thought: What if the room behind that locked door contains exactly what Lord Quinlan suspects: evidence that King Ezebo still plans to attack Galandria?

Stefan’s eyes narrow. “I am sure he intends to keep the alliance just as much as
your
father intends to.” He sighs. “But you must know how it is. A king makes a decree and lives rise or fall accordingly, with little thought to the individual hopes and futures that are altered or extinguished in its wake. Surely you can understand that.”

I do understand, in so many ways. But I don’t know what to say to him. “I’m . . . tired,” I manage. “I would like to finish my tea in peace. And I won’t remove the mask.”

He stares at me a moment longer—almost as though he’s disappointed—before nodding and saying, “We shall have many more teas together,” and he stands and heads for the door. “A lifetime’s worth, unfortunately.”

When I’m sure he’s gone, I walk as fast as I can back to my chambers without attracting curious stares from the servants. Once my door is firmly shut behind me, I remove Wilha’s mask and take a few deep breaths.

It’s time I started facing up to my situation. I am not a princess and never will be. And neither am I certain that Wilha will ever return to the castle. If I stay here much longer my neck is likely to end up in a Kyrenican noose. I’ll wait until tonight after everyone has retired, and then I’m leaving. I’ve done the best I can for the Andewyns—so much better than they have ever done for me. Let the Strassburgs—and the world—make of the Masked Princess’s disappearance what they will.

I refuse to sacrifice my life for a sister I’ve never known.

A
ll my life, I have considered the Opal Palace my home. Yet as I watch the people in the Sleeping Dragon dance and clap while a few men near the fireplace play lutes, I wonder if I have been mistaken all these years.

James approaches the table where Kyra and I sit. “Would you care to dance?”

I start to protest but Kyra says, “She’d love to,” and nudges me with her elbow until I stand up.

“I am not a very good dancer.” This is only a half truth. I’m a decent dancer, when I dance a waltz or another formal dance. But the random spinning and whirling the Kyrenican townspeople seem to favor is foreign to me.

“That’s all right,” he says, grinning, “neither am I.”

He leads me out onto the floor. He spins me one way, then another, and I struggle to keep up with him. He’s a much better dancer than he let on. Another song starts up, and we keep going. Sweat springs to my temples and my heart beats in time to the music. We spin, we clap, we whirl; faster and faster, until I am dizzy with laughter.

And as I look at James’s smiling face I realize this is what I longed for, all those dark nights when I gazed into the mirror, wondering what was so wrong with me. This is the one thing men value more than jewels and gold.

This is freedom.

I am alone in a foreign city. No royal secretaries to command my every move. No kings to decide my fate. For the first time ever, I am the master of my own destiny.

“Are you free to take a walk with me later?” James says, panting, as the song comes to an end.

“Yes, I am free,” I answer

They are the truest, most beautiful words I have ever spoken.

“I have a few more orders to fill,” James says as we walk back to the bar, “but then I’m sure Victor would let me slip outside for a moment to get some fresh air. Would you like that?” I nod, and he offers me his hand. “Come on. Why don’t you help me, the work will go quicker that way.”

He fills several goblets of ale and places them on a tray. “Can you take this upstairs to the room at the end of the hall? There are a company of merchants staying there tonight.”

I take the tray and walk slowly up the stairs, the goblets wobbling precariously. When I reach the end of the hall I hear a voice from behind the door. “Bit of luck, wasn’t it? Getting chased from the castle. It’s given me more time.”

“How many men have you recruited?”

I freeze, because I recognize that voice.

It belongs to Garwyn.

“More than enough. Don’t you think, Anton?”

I nearly drop the tray when I hear Anton answer, “Yes, we’ll be ready. But Moran here says there’s also a girl you’re supposed to be searching for. Who is it?”

“A Galandrian, and no one for you to be concerned about,” Garwyn snaps.

At that, my breath catches, and I grip the tray tightly to keep it from shaking. Quietly, I press my ear to the door.

“She’s got them opals she stole,” Moran is saying. “Wonder what they’re worth.”

My eyes stray down the hall to my own room, where those exact opals are still hidden in Elara’s satchel, under my bed.

“Forget the jewels,” Garwyn says. “We have our orders.” He lowers his voice then, so I cannot hear what he says, and I lean against the wall for support.

I don’t understand everything I have just heard, but if Moran is the one hiring Kyrenicans, perhaps I have been wrong this whole time. Perhaps Anton and Jaromil are not mixed up with some sort of illegal trading at all. Did Moran hire them to find me?

Either way, if they know about the stolen opals it must only be because Elara told them. Is that what has really been going on inside the castle? While privately the Strassburgs parade Elara out on the balcony, pretending to be me—have King Ezebo and Crown Prince Stefan quietly ordered my guards to hire men, instructing them to search the city and bring me back to the castle in time for the masquerade, like I am a wayward child who does not wish to go to her own party?

And once I am brought back to the castle, will I face a prince happy to see me safely returned? Or a man enraged that his future bride dared to run away from him in the first place?

Quietly, I bend down and place the tray by the door. I walk back toward my own room, torn between grabbing the satchel and declaring myself to Garwyn, or locking my door and hiding the rest of the night.

“Willie?” James appears beside me. He frowns and touches my cheek. “You look pale. Perhaps we should walk another night?”

I lean back against the wall. “I like you, James.” I’m not sure if this is a good-bye. I’m not sure of anything right now.

“I really like you too, Willie.” He takes my hands in his. “I like you quite a bit, in fact.” He leans forward, until mere inches separate us.

At the end of the hall, the door opens and Garwyn, Moran, and Anton exit the room. By the time they pass us, James is kissing me, and I hear Garwyn’s whispered voice: “Who is that girl?”

“The barman’s nosy girlfriend,” Anton replies. “And a Kyrenican, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

They start down the stairs, and as James and I break apart I sag against the door, grateful that all they saw was a Kyrenican couple stealing a quiet moment together.

And whether I let James kiss me because I wanted him to, or because I did not want Garwyn to find me, I don’t ask myself.

A
fter my appearance on the balcony again, I see Stefan briefly. We attend a strange engagement ceremony in front of Ezebo and his advisors where Stefan places a thick bracelet made of pearls and rubies around my wrist.

“That’s very lovely,” I say quietly.

“You think so?” he whispers. “I find it to be quite hideous myself. It belonged to my aunt Rayna. She too was thought to be fearful and odd,” he replies, and I have to fight the urge to rip off the bracelet and hurl it back at him.

Dinner is a small feast with a newly arrived party of nobles. Once I’ve had my share of smiling placidly I tell Stefan and Ezebo I wish to retire early. Ezebo bids me good night and reminds me that Stefan and I are to share a private breakfast the next morning.

“What do you think of my son?” he asks hopefully.

“I don’t believe I have the words to describe just how I feel about him,” I say, in what I hope is a sweet tone.

After I’m in my chambers and I’ve waved off Milly’s offer to help me undress, I put on my servant clothes and begin filling a purse with the gems I ripped from Wilha’s gowns. I leave her mask sitting on an armchair, since it’s too conspicuous to sell. I almost take the bracelet off and leave it behind as well, but decide against it. If Stefan values it so little, I’ll sell it the first chance I get. After I’ve stuffed the purse until it’s bursting at the seams, I take the ribbons out of my hair and then sink into an armchair to warm myself in front of the fire.