The Princess in the Opal Mask (26 page)

James reaches for my hand, and I think, What if I didn’t return at all? What if I stayed here, forever?

As if in answer, the peaceful silence is broken by the excited shouts of townspeople, who are crying out that the Strassburgs’ carriage has been sighted.

The Masked Princess is inside, taking a tour of the city.

G
enevieve’s response is immediate. I, along with Leandra and Ruby, am to visit the city this very afternoon.

When we emerge from the castle, a large gilded carriage bearing red Kyrenican flags and the Strassburg family crest waits for us. Several soldiers are lounging nearby, and when they catch sight of the three of us they quickly form a line and stand at attention.

“Are all these guards really necessary?” I ask Leandra. “Couldn’t we dismiss just a few of them?”

Leandra frowns. “Wilha be serious. No one in the royal family ever visits the city without guards.”

“Well, can’t we be just a
bit
less conspicuous? It would be nice to travel anonymously.”

“That would defeat the purpose,” Stefan says, suddenly appearing beside me and opening the door to the carriage. “After you, my lady.” He holds out his hand and grins at a giggling Ruby.

“What exactly are you talking about?” I ask.

“The queen has decided that the people should get a better glimpse of their future queen. And”—he grimaces—“as I have only recently been reminded that it is my duty to protect you—till death do us part—I cannot abide anything less than overseeing double the amount of guards.”

“So just to be clear . . . this means you’re coming with us?” I ask. “Because you really,
really
don’t have to.”

“This is your own doing,” he says tightly. “I have just spent the better part of the morning being thoroughly scolded by my mother. Did you really have to compare me to a neglectful jailor?”

His face is flushed with indignation and I almost succeed at holding back the laughter building in my throat.

“Stop being so stuffy, Stefan.” Ruby sticks her head out the window. “You’re ruining a perfectly good adventure.”

After he has helped Leandra into the carriage, Stefan sighs and lowers his voice, “My sisters have both grown quite fond of you. Whatever you think of me, please, do not hurt them. Can we put aside our differences, just for today?”

I nod, and Stefan offers me his hand and we step into the carriage. When we are all settled inside, the driver urges the horses onward. The guards fan out and walk silently on either side of the carriage.

“How was your breakfast this morning?” Leandra asks me.

“It was eye-opening,” I say, shooting Stefan a dark look and wishing I had also thought to mention our breakfast arrangements to Genevieve.

“I live to make you happy,” he says, flashing a grin.

The carriage rattles over the cobblestone streets. The sky is overcast and smoke curls from several chimneys. When we pass a group of boys playing in the streets, they catch sight of us and one of them shouts. “Look, there she is! It’s the Masked Princess!”

“So many new buildings,” I murmur after we pass several construction sites.

“Yes,” Stefan answers. “It is part of a building push. Each day more travelers enter Korynth, and many of them find the sea air agrees with them. We are working to accommodate.”

I nod. “It’s a remarkable city.”

Stefan smiles, but quickly stiffens. “I suppose you prefer ancient cities with opal-flecked streets and gray stone buildings, with statues and plaques dedicated to the heroes who came before you?”

I should search my mind for something demure and Wilha-like to say. But in Stefan’s liquid brown eyes, there’s a spark of interest I haven’t seen since our night in the kitchen. “Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “What if I prefer a newer city, where I might one day have a plaque dedicated to me?”

“Really?” A smile plays about Stefan’s lips. “And what might that plaque say?”

“Look!” Ruby points to a crowd that has begun lining the streets. Several men and women call out their greetings. A few throw herbs and wildflowers and beg for a glimpse of the Masked Princess.

The carriage slows and comes to a stop. A guard’s face appears at the window and says, “Your Highness?”

“Yes, Bogdon?” Stefan answers.

“We’ve been given a gift.” He holds up a loaf of bread. “It came from a bakery nearby.”

“It smells wonderful,” Ruby says, reaching her hands out. “Can I have it?”

“You know what Grandmother says,” Leandra admonishes. “You never eat anything that has not been tasted first.”

“Shall we visit the bakery?” I ask Stefan.

“Why would we do that?” He frowns.

I roll my eyes. “So you can thank your subject for the nice gift. Or are you only capable of mustering up gratitude toward rich Kyrenican nobles?”

“That is not at all what I meant,” Stefan replies, looking offended. “I only meant that it is difficult for the guards when—Oh, all right. Have it your way. Bogdon, please tell the guards we wish to visit the bakery.”

The guards form a line that pushes the crowd backward, and several onlookers call out to us. I reach to open the carriage door, but Stefan grabs my hand.

“We do not exit the carriage until the guards signal that it is safe to do so. Surely it is the same in Galandria?” A strange expression crosses his face, and his hand tightens protectively on mine. “If something were to happen to you”—he says and then glances at Ruby and Leandra, who both stare at us with rapt expressions—“then . . . our kingdoms would most probably go to war,” he finishes lamely.

“Of course.” I snatch my hand away from his. “We can’t have that, can we?” I stare out the window, my heart thudding in my chest.

Bogdon signals to Stefan that it’s safe for us to exit. Ruby scampers out of the carriage, followed by Leandra, and then Stefan, who turns and extends his hand.

“My Lady?” he says with exaggerated politeness.

“I don’t need your help,” I say, moving past him. “I doubt our kingdoms will go to war if you don’t assist me.”

From behind I hear him exhale loudly. “You are the strangest princess I have ever met.”

Bogdon directs us to a small bakery. Inside are baskets filled with fresh-baked bread smelling of herbs. Behind a counter, an elderly man kneads a mound of dough over a flour-coated countertop.

“Be with you in a minute,” he calls. A second later he looks up and his eyes widen.

“Your Highnesses.” He comes out from around the counter and sinks to one knee. “I am honored you would come to my humble shop.”

“We have come to thank you for your gift,” Stefan answers. “My bride-to-be declares it the best bread she has ever tasted.”

I glance warily over at Stefan, who shrugs and grins.

“Indeed,” I add, “your loaf of bread is the first sincere gift I’ve received since arriving in Kyrenica.” I make a point of running my hand over the bracelet Stefan gave me.

“Oh, Princess, please don’t joke with an old man.” The baker’s head is lowered, so he doesn’t see Stefan flush.

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to bake bread,” Ruby says to me and Stefan. “But Cook won’t let me near the kitchen.”

The baker hears, and with a delighted smile offers to give us a lesson. He stands and gestures to the back of the shop. Before I can join the others, Bogdon enters and addresses me. “Excuse me, Princess, but we have just received another gift. This one is specifically for you.”

“Really, what is it?”

“An embroidered handkerchief and a book. The girl who gave it to me said it was for the Masked Princess.” He holds up a thick brown leather volume, and my heart begins to pound. “It appears to be an old history book about Eleanor Andewyn,” he says. “She said she was staying at the Sleeping Dragon, the inn next door, if you wished to speak to her.”

T
he inn is mostly deserted except for James who walked back with me. Everyone, including Victor, has gone outside to gawk at the royal family.

“I don’t understand why we had to drop everything just because some barbaric princess has finally decided to come down from her balcony and grace us with her presence,” he says.

Upon seeing the hurt expression in his eyes, I ignore the slur and reach out a hand. “I was having a good time, James, I only—”

The door opens, and two guards stride in. Outside the window, several other guards have formed a line in front of the inn, preventing anyone from entering. Victor is shaking hands with one of the guards, and I remember that he used to be a soldier.

One guard ducks his head into the kitchen, then strides upstairs, while the second one addresses me, “Are you the young lady who gave the princess a book?”

I nod. “I am.”

“The princess appreciated your gift and has decided she would like to meet with you. He turns a dispassionate gaze upon James. “In private.”

James glares at the guard. Without a word, he stalks outside.

I wish I could go after him and explain, but Elara’s visit to the city is not something I can ignore. I insisted we return to the inn, and hoped that an opportunity to contact her—to find out what is really going on inside the castle—would present itself.

And when I heard that their carriage pulled up at the bakery next to the Sleeping Dragon, it did.

The first guard returns and says, “The kitchen and upstairs are all clear, Bogdon.” The two guards leave, and soon I hear Elara’s voice speaking outside.

“I’m growing a bit tired and should like to rest in here while the crown prince and the princesses finish in the bakery. As this girl has shown herself to be a lover of history, I feel I may have found a kindred soul and should like to take tea with her. Could you wait outside with the other guards? I’d like to speak of things not proper for men to hear. . . .”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Elara enters the inn by herself. She wears the painted white mask with lavender opals and a lavender gown. Her hair is tied back in purple ribbons, and a thick jeweled brace-let I don’t recognize is clasped at her wrist.

Standing so close to her, I think I now understand why it seemed so difficult for people to know me. With the painted mask and all the jewels, it is a little like staring at a ghostly doll come to life.

“You look well,” I say, holding out her satchel. “You seem to have adjusted rather quickly to being a princess.”

“I haven’t had a choice, have I?” she snaps, dropping her formal tone and snatching the satchel. She grabs my arm. “Come away from the window. Are you mad, declaring yourself like that? He’s seen my face.”

“I’m sorry. I only meant to—” I stop, as the rest of her words register. “
Who
has seen your face?”

“Stefan. And a couple of Kyrenican guards, though neither of them are here now.”

“So then . . . the crown prince knows who you are?” I pause and swallow. I cannot bring myself to ask my other question.
Just how angry is he?

Elara looks at me, blinking. “Has the ocean air addled your brain? He thinks I’m
you
, obviously.”

“How can that be? Garwyn and the other guards in the city are searching for me.” I pause. “I thought you sent them after me.”

“No, they’re searching for
me
,” she says with a harsh look in her eyes. “Ezebo sent them after he heard how
your maid
escaped into the city. Lord Quinlan arrived a few days ago in Korynth and added a few of his men to the search.” She laughs bitterly. “He said I’m a threat to the monarchy and can’t be allowed to wander the streets.”

“But that can’t be right,” I say. “Garwyn and—”

“Oh, what does it matter?” Elara glances outside. “We haven’t much time. I can’t do this much longer, Wilha. I can’t be you. If you don’t want to be you, that’s your choice. But I can’t go on pretending. Stefan is already suspicious. Sooner or later he is going to catch me in a lie.”

“What is he like?” I can’t help but ask. “Prince Stefan, I mean.”

“He’s fine,” she snaps, sounding annoyed. “But don’t change the subject. This can’t go on, Wilha. You need to decide what you want. Are you ever planning to return to the castle?”

“Do you want me to come back?” I ask. “I’ve seen you, on the balcony, and I’ve wondered if, well . . .” I don’t finish the thought, but I think Elara understands what I mean.

“Why in the world would I ever want to be
you
?” Scorn drips from her words. “I’ll ask you one last time, are you coming back?”

I glance out the window, at the crowd straining behind the line of guards, just waiting to catch a glimpse of Elara. Of me. I shake my head. Neither of us, really. They just want to see a girl in a mask and a beautiful dress. My gaze fixes on Elara’s mask.

“I don’t want to be her,” I whisper. “I don’t want to be the Masked Princess.”

Elara’s voice softens, but only a little. “That’s not who you are.”

“That is all anyone has ever cared about,” I say.

“But that’s not your real name. Do you know what Lord Murcendor told me before we left Allegria? He said the king and queen didn’t bother to name me before they sent me away.” The mask cannot cover the brief flash of pain I read in her eyes. “At least you have a name.”

“I’m sorry.” I swallow. “That is unforgiveable.”

Elara says nothing. She is waiting for me to make a decision.

“What if I say no?”

Her gaze narrows. “Then I’m leaving the first chance I get. But you know what will happen if the Masked Prin-cess disappears.”

I close my eyes and I hear my father’s voice.
Be a good girl, Wilha. Be a good princess. Kingdoms need someone to believe in. Let them believe in you.

“I will,” I say in a hushed voice.

“What did you say?” comes Elara’s irritated voice.

I open my eyes and look straight at her. “I said yes. I will switch back.”