The Princess in the Opal Mask

CHAPTER 21

WILHA

I hold up my candle and look at my masks inside the glass cases. Each of them stares back at me. A silent, expectant audience. I press my thumb on the embedded opal, and the wall next to the cases slides away, revealing the passageway beyond. I swallow my fear, and step hesitantly inside.

The Guardians have decreed that Elara and I are to be kept separate while she is trained to be my decoy. Elara will be housed in the old servants’ quarters near the armory until we leave for Kyrenica. And though I know I should follow their orders, tonight I cannot. Not when I know my very own twin is so near.

With a soft moan, the wall to the servants’ quarters slides back. The room is windowless and smells musty and rank from disuse. Bunk beds line the far wall. Outside the door, I hear guards laughing. The only light from the room comes from several candles on a nightstand.

Elara sleeps in the lower bunk beside the nightstand. Her tangled hair spills over a grimy pillow. Her lip is swollen. Her hands are calloused, and her fingernails are rimmed with dirt. I watch as she scratches at a cluster of bites on her arm.

“Elara?”

Her eyes flutter open. She bolts upright, a dagger clasped in her raised hand.

I jump backward. “It is only me,” I whisper. “Wilha.”

She lowers the dagger and blinks. “Wilha?” she says thickly.

I nod, staring at the dagger. “That is what everyone calls me.”

She rubs her eyes, which are red and puffy, and then looks to the door.

“The guards don’t know I am here,” I say.

“How did you get in?” she says, blinking again.

“Through a secret passageway. The palace is full of them.”

We stare at each other. I am sure the curiosity in her eyes is reflected in my own. After a moment’s thought, I decide to remove my mask so she can see my face.

“May I sit down?” I ask, gesturing to her bed.

She hesitates. “You’re a princess, aren’t you?” she answers finally. “I don’t suppose you need permission.”

I sit and she scoots backward, putting some distance between us. She leans against the wall and tucks her knees underneath the plain cotton shift she wears.

I look away from her. There is a pitcher of water and a clay pot of sweet-smelling salve on the nightstand.

“It’s for the bites,” she says, following my gaze.

“So they are treating you well here?”

She shrugs. “They kept me in a cell until last night. Today Lord Quinlan has brought me my meals. He says tomorrow I am to begin training to be . . . you.”

Her face is inscrutable as she speaks. For so many years I studied other people’s faces; I was trying to understand what about my own appearance was so different that it required the mask. Now, after so much careful observation, it has become easy to read others’ expressions. But this girl, my very own sister, is unreadable.

“Why have you come?” she asks.

“I needed to know if it is true.”

“If what’s true?”

“The Guardians say you might have been involved in the . . .” I cannot finish. The idea that she could have been part of the assassination attempt leaves me nauseous.

She shakes her head. “It’s not true. I had no idea who I was until you walked into that room.”

Her face is still impassive, but her voice betrays more than a hint of bitterness. She crosses her arms over her knees, as though she is holding herself together, and I find I believe her. I do not see another Aislinn Andewyn, a younger twin determined to wear a crown. I see a shell-shocked girl, one who looks just like me. And one who, judging by the look of her, has not been well taken care of these last sixteen years.

“I never knew about you,” I say suddenly. “If I had, I assure you I would have done something. I would have . . .” I stop myself. It is a meaningless promise. For all the deference the Guardians pay me it has never amounted to anything remotely resembling power.

It occurs to me that if Elara had not been born, I would not have been removed from the line of succession. I would have been raised to rule Galandria, as Andrei is now. The next statue to grace the Queen’s Garden would have been my own.

But none of that seems to matter right now.

“I always wanted a sister,” I whisper. “Have you?”

“I always wanted to find my family . . . ,” she answers, and it looks like the admission costs her some effort. She glances around the room.

She doesn’t finish her thought, but her meaning is clear. Whatever she expected to find, being accused of treason and locked inside this sour-smelling room is not it.

Her gaze travels from my silken night dress, to the plain cotton shift she wears. “Please don’t come here again,” she says.

She lies down and turns toward the wall, as though she has forgotten me already.

CHAPTER 22

ELARA

“Hold still!” Arianne, the king’s impossible secretary, and the only person the three Guardians have told of my existence, attempts to drag a comb through my wet hair. She grunts and tugs as pain shoots up my scalp.

Early this morning Lord Quinlan introduced me to Arianne and said she would be assisting me with my training. So far that has meant the humiliation of bathing in front of her and hours of being plucked, pulled, buffed, and scrubbed until my skin is raw and red.

“Lord Quinlan must think I am a miracle worker,” she grumbles. “Now pay attention. You will need to know about the Kyrenican royal family,” she says, and launches into a vitriolic description of the Strassburgs.

Arianne is interrupted when a knock sounds at the door and Lord Quinlan enters the room. “Ah, Madame Arianne, I was just coming to check on your progress.”

“Well, I don’t know what you expect,” Arianne snaps. “She has spent most of the morning complaining and has the manners of a pig.”

“Oink, oink,” I snort.

Lord Quinlan seems to suppress a grin and says, “Would you mind terribly if I had a word alone with the girl?”

“Gladly.” Arianne sniffs and heads for the door.

After she is gone Lord Quinlan says, “The council has decided to move up the date of the princess’s departure, which means we only have a week to get you ready. You will need to listen carefully to Arianne. She will instruct you on a number of topics that you will find useful.”

I very much doubt that, but I nod politely. “Is this why you came to see me?”

“No.” He flicks his eyes over to the door, and lowers his voice. “I am here to suggest that there is yet another way you can prove your loyalty to the king.” He moves further into the room, and the thick jeweled necklaces he wears sway back and forth.

“What are you talking about?” I ask as he circles the room, running his fingers over the furniture as though checking for dust.

“Your sister carries a reputation for being obedient and . . . not altogether competent.” He turns back to me. “But you on the other hand, could prove quite useful. For a short time you will be living in the Kyrenican Castle, and have unprecedented access to the Strassburgs. And I would find it exceedingly . . . helpful if you could report back to me any information you may hear.”

“What sort of information?” After my “chat” with Lord Murcendor, I am smart enough to know this isn’t actually a request.

“Anything that strikes you as noteworthy. King Ezebo has sworn publicly he has no intention of attacking Galandria. But I should like to know what he says privately. Lord Royce has convinced the Guardian Council that there was simply not enough evidence to conclude that the Strassburgs were behind the assassination attempt. And though it pains me to admit it, he has a point. But,” he smiles, “if you could obtain information proving that Ezebo does not plan to uphold the treaty, I would be most grateful.”

“So you want me to spy?” I ask, sickened by the greedy look in his eyes. Doe he actually want Galandria and Kyrenica to go to war?

“I want you to be observant,” he corrects. “If you happen upon any information that you find useful, I will expect you to pass it along. And in doing so, you will convince me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you can be trusted.” He cocks his head. “Agreed?”

I suppress a shiver of revulsion and look him straight in the eye. “Agreed.”

It’s difficult to contain my awe. Arianne helped me change into a lavender gown—the finest I’ve ever seen—and led me through a passageway from the old servants’ quarters to Wilha’s closet. It is the same one, I assume, Wilha used to visit me a week ago.

I finger the lace of my sleeve as I look around. I knew Wilha had beautiful clothes, but being trapped for the last week in the old servants’ quarters, which seemed only slightly better than some of the rooms in Ogden Manor, I couldn’t have imagined this.

The room is bursting with gowns and jeweled dresses in fabrics so bright it makes my eyes hurt to stare at them. One whole wall is covered with glass cases containing hundreds of her masks. Dark cherry wood dressers line the other walls, which probably contain more jewels and shoes and other fine things. Strewn around the room are half-packed trunks swollen with even more dresses.

“Stop gawking and get a move on,” Arianne says as the passageway slides shut behind us. She leads us out of the closet and into what I assume is Wilha’s bedroom, where silky, gossamer fabric canopies a bed covered with thick velvet blankets. We walk into an adjoining sitting room full of finely crafted furniture where Wilha, Lord Murcendor, Lord Quinlan, and Lord Royce sit in gilded chairs. They rise when they see us.

“Stand side by side so we can get a look at the two of you,” Lord Quinlan says. Wilha obeys and moves next to me. She is wearing a brown cloak, and in her hands she holds a gold-threaded mask.

While Arianne and the three Guardians squint at us, I continue looking around the room. It appears that this sitting room leads to several other rooms besides Wilha’s bedroom.

“Are all these rooms just for you?” I whisper to Wilha.

Her cheeks flush. “Yes.”

“Wilha doesn’t have as many freckles on her nose,” Lord Quinlan says, still squinting.

“That will hardly matter,” Lord Royce points out. “Elara will be wearing the mask. I should think the nobles in attendance tonight will be quite fooled.”

Tonight I am to attend a farewell dinner in the Opal Palace, where the noblemen and women will make several toasts in “my” honor. Arianne has made it clear I am not to speak to anyone, nor will anyone be given the opportunity to speak to me. Meanwhile, in just a few minutes, Wilha will leave with a convoy of guards to begin her journey to Kyrenica. They will travel through back roads in humble carriages disguised as peasants, with Wilha posing as a Maskren. It’s an ingenious plan, really. For how can the princess be on the road when she is present at her farewell dinner?

And tonight if an assassin gets past the palace guards and into the feast? No matter. I’ll be there to take the arrows for the beloved Princess Wilhamina.

Tomorrow I will leave, also posing as a Maskren, with another set of guards disguised as peasants. We will travel over the more well-worn roads leading from Allegria to Kyrenica. Then, just before we enter Korynth, our two processions will converge, and we’ll make the final journey to the Kyrenican Castle together, with me posing as the Masked Princess.

Lord Quinlan tilts his head. “We need to see what she looks like with the mask. Wilha, will you please escort Elara back to your closet to fetch a mask?”

Wilha looks at me uneasily. We haven’t seen each other since the night she appeared in my room. More than once, as I tossed and turned on my bed in the servants’ quarters, I’ve wondered where Wilha spends her nights. I guess now I know.

“Bring out the mask with the lavender colored opals,” Arianne commands. “It will match the dress.”

Wilha nods, turns, and starts walking over to the closet. With a sigh, I follow her.

The masks inside the glass cases glisten with gilt and opals and other jewels. The smallest looks as though it was made for an infant, and I recognize the jeweled one at the very end as the mask Wilha wore in Eleanor Square.

“So many masks,” I murmur.

“New ones are given to me every year for my birthday.” She turns to me, and adds, “Our birthday, I mean. Happy belated birthday by the way.”

“What?” I say, startled.

“Happy belated birthday,” she repeats. “We turned sixteen last month.” She looks at me and frowns. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, I just . . . you’re the only person who has ever said that to me. The Ogdens didn’t know the date of my birth, so we never celebrated it.” Not that they would have celebrated it anyway.

“Oh.” Wilha stares at me, perhaps seeing more than she expected to.

“How do you open the glass cases?” I ask, changing the subject.

Wilha removes her necklace of keys. “The key is here, see? The twentieth one, clockwise from the clasp. The one with the emeralds. If you look closely, you can see it is a bit more worn than the others.” She opens the case, removes a mask, and hands it to me. She opens her mouth to say something, but Lord Murcendor coughs just then. Wilha takes it as a command and she turns and hastily exits the closet.

I run my fingers over the precious stones. Instead of seeing beautiful jewels, I can’t help but see all the food this mask could purchase. It could have fed me well all those nights I went hungry at the Ogdens. Actually, the sale of this one mask alone could probably feed an entire village for several months.

Everyone is waiting for me, but I pause as I look again at Wilha’s opulent chambers. Maybe it’s a good thing no one has offered to let me visit King Fennrick, sick though he is. Because if I saw him, near death or not, I couldn’t trust myself not to spit in his face.

CHAPTER 23

ELARA

The mask is hot, heavy, and stifling. It limits my vision, and I can’t help tugging on it as Arianne ties it on. Behind me, the Guardians stand silent as I stare at my new reflection in the hand mirror Wilha holds up. The mask is painted white with lavender colored opals feathering above the eyebrows and cheekbones, forming a swirling, flowering pattern. With the dress, the mask, and the necklace of keys hanging around my neck, I look exactly like Wilha.

“Stop fidgeting.” Arianne grabs at my arm. “If you insist on acting like a dim-witted peasant, you’ll be found out immediately.”

“How can you put up with wearing this?” I say to Wilha, slapping Arianne’s hand away.

She casts a fleeting look at the Guardians before answering. “I have never known anything else.”

“Yes, but doesn’t it bother you at all?”

“No,” she says, “I suppose it does not.”

She’s a terrible liar, but I let it go and turn back to my own reflection.

“I think that’s the best it’s going to get,” Arianne says with a defeated sigh. She wipes her hands as though washing me from them. “There is only so much I can do, particularly since you insisted on dismissing Vena.”

“Vena wasn’t discreet,” Lord Murcendor answers.

“You have done an admirable job, Madame Arianne,” Lord Royce says.

“Indeed,” Lord Quinlan says grandly. “You have done us all a great kindness, and you shall be rewarded.”

I glance at Lord Royce and catch him studying me with his ice blue eyes. He has accompanied Lord Quinlan on visits to my room, but said nothing. Of the three Guardians, Lord Royce is the most enigmatic. He lacks Lord Quinlan’s pompousness and Lord Murcendor’s zeal. Oftentimes, he seems to just blend into the background, like a piece of old furniture.

Lord Murcendor rises. “It is time to see the princess off.” He eyes Lord Quinlan. “I trust you have selected only the best men to escort Wilha?”

“As Guardian of Defense,” Lord Quinlan replies icily, “I have managed just fine.” He turns to address Wilha and me, “Your guards are never to see your face, and you are to avoid contact with the villagers as much as possible.”

Wilha glances at me before addressing Lord Quinlan, “And my father?”

At this, Lord Quinlan shifts uncomfortably. “He has given his approval of the plan. He sends you both his farewells and bids you a good journey. His health is improving, and when he feels stronger, he promises to write.”

He promises to write? I can’t help but feel a little sorry for Wilha. So King Fennrick the Handsome is now conscious enough to confer with his advisors, but has chosen not to say good-bye to either of his daughters? Not even the daughter he’s known all these years?

“Thank you,” she says stoically to Lord Quinlan. “Tell him I hope he recovers soon.” She turns to me and nods. “See you in Korynth, Elara.” She exits the room, followed by Lord Murcendor and Lord Quinlan. Arianne enters Wilha’s closet, grumbling about needing to pack more gowns.

“I bid you a safe and good journey, Elara.” Lord Royce’s voice startles me. I had forgotten he was still there.

“Thank you, Lord Royce.”

He turns to leave but stops and turns back. “Suppose Lord Finley’s man had contacted you in time and told you of his plans? What would you have done?” His voice is casual and his blue eyes are impassive as he stares at me. But it’s a dangerous question, and one Lord Murcendor and Lord Quinlan haven’t thought to ask.

“I would have laughed and told him to cut back on the ale,” I answer, which is true enough.

“Would you?” he asks. “If the opal crown was being offered to you?”

“I would have refused him,” I say. “Galandria has done nothing for me. Let someone else rule this wretched kingdom.”

Lord Royce nods and silently leaves. I blow out a breath, thankful to finally be alone. Thankful to soon be leaving the Opal Palace, and the Guardians’ watchful eyes.

CHAPTER 24

WILHA

Our procession bumps over the Kyrenican terrain and rattles to a stop at a patch of trees just outside of Korynth. I step out of my carriage and take a deep breath of air that bites and smells of salt—so different from the warmer, still air of Galandria. My hands are shaking. My heart flaps in my chest like a bird trying to escape its cage.

Miles behind me lies the kingdom I have known all my life. And here before me lies the kingdom I will one day rule as queen of Kyrenica. Upon my shoulders, I carry the expectations of two kingdoms.

I know little about Stefan Strassburg. But sitting in my father’s court, I often glimpsed many a lord treat his wife as nothing more than a finely adorned possession. Is the crown prince such a man? Will he care to know me, or will he care only that with this treaty his kingdom has acquired the famous Masked Princess?

I pull a white handkerchief from my cloak pocket. Every night after dinner I have sat in my tent embroidering. On the left side of the handkerchief in gold thread is a curling, ornate A with the Andewyn coat of arms next to it. On the right side is an S with the Strassburg coat of arms. I suppose I intend it to be a present of sorts to the crown prince.

Yet at night when I sleep, I still dream of him locking me away in a crypt.

Behind me I hear the clomping of horses and the voice of Garwyn, the leader of my guards calling. “Your Highness? They’re here.”

I refold the handkerchief and tuck it back into my cloak. “Thank you, Garwyn.”

The guards have been kind to me, but aloof. At night, after bringing dinner to my tent, they usually retreat to the campfire to whisper among themselves. They have not seemed all that eager to speak to me. Odd behavior, it seems, given that Lord Quinlan said they volunteered to accompany me to Korynth.

The arriving procession comes to a halt, and then Elara exits her carriage. As planned, she is dressed identically to me: a brown traveling cloak, black boots, and a gold-threaded mask. The only difference is that Elara carries a brown leather satchel.

“Did you have a good trip?” I ask.

She does not reply, but instead brushes past me with only the briefest of glances, before entering my carriage. I turn and follow her.

Our procession, which has grown significantly now that we have the carriages that traveled with Elara, starts up again. After I draw the curtains Elara unties her mask and tosses it aside. “I hate this thing. I don’t know how you wore one all these years.”

I nod, and after a moment’s hesitation, untie mine as well. “How was your journey?” I ask.

“Bumpy,” she answers curtly.

“And the farewell dinner, did they believe that you were . . . that you were me?”

“Why shouldn’t they? I’m an excellent liar,” she says. From the tone of her voice, I cannot tell if she is boasting—or bitter. “Besides,” she adds, “Arianne wouldn’t let me speak to anyone.”

“Yes,” I answer quietly, “she is often like that.”

Elara turns and stares at the drawn curtains, and I cast about for something else to say. All these weeks on the road, staring out the window of my carriage, I have wondered so much about her. She grew up in a small village, not in Allegria, that much I have understood. I can’t help but wonder what it was like, walking about with no guards before or behind her, no citizens screaming her name in either adoration or hatred.

“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.

CHAPTER 25

ELARA

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.

CHAPTER 26

WILHA

When 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?

Elara appears in the doorway. “Did you find a key?”

When I do not answer she rolls her eyes and rifles through the drawers of the writing desk. After she finishes she goes to the maid’s room to continue her search.

I cannot help but think of my great-great-grandmother, Queen Rowan. She was once a prisoner in this castle as well. When she learned the Kyrenicans had decided to execute her, was she in this very same room?

My eyes fix on a tiny smudge on the wall across from the bed. The smudge seems to shine when it catches the light, and I remember that the same family who built the Opal Palace—my family—also built this castle. So many underground tunnels connect the Opal Palace to different locations in Allegria. Would my ancestors have insisted on a similar construction for what was once their seaside estate?

Because Queen Rowan the Brave didn’t die in this castle. When the executioner came for her in the morning, she was gone.

I stand up and walk toward the wall with the smudge. I feel a wave of relief when I realize it is not a smudge at all, but a small opal embedded in the stone wall.

I press on the stone for several seconds and with a groan the wall slides back, revealing a dark tunnel. This must be how Queen Rowan escaped, or if not down this exact tunnel, then one just like it. I grab a candle on the writing desk with unsteady hands. I see Elara’s satchel and pick it up. How exactly did she plan to use my jewelry to support herself? Hesitantly, I step into the open corridor. Cobwebs brush my face, like wispy, welcoming hands beckoning me down the hall my ancestors once traveled. I hold up my candle, and find the opal embedded on the other side of the tunnel.

“Wilha, did you find—” Elara strides into the room and stops short when she sees me in the tunnel. Her eyes widen. “What are you doing?”

“Please,” I say. “I just need a little time. I will come back, I promise.”

The door in the sitting room opens and a man calls out, asking to speak to the Masked Princess.

“Get your mask on and get out of there,” Elara hisses and glances quickly over her shoulder. “Stop being a coward.” She waits, expecting me to obey. The word “coward” hangs be-tween us like a royal pronouncement.

My gaze slides from Elara to the masks lying on the bed. If she is so much braver than I am, let her face the guards. I press on the embedded opal, and just before the wall slides back into place, I hear the guard calling again for the Masked Princess. For the first time ever, I do not answer the summons.

If Elara thinks my life is such a fairy tale, then she is welcome to it.

CHAPTER 27

ELARA

“Wait!” I cross the room and pound on the stone wall. How did Wilha manage to find a passageway? Frantically, my hands push and prod at the wall, but it won’t yield to my touch.

“Come away from there,” orders a voice. A guard seizes my arm and spins me around. He stares at my dirty boots and traveling dress and his eyes narrow. “Where is she? What have you done with the Masked Princess?”

A second Kyrenican guard enters the room. “Don’t touch her you fool! Do you wish to hang? She’s the princess’s maid.”

“Once we find the Masked Princess, she can get another maid.” He tightens his grip on my arm. “Tell us where she is.”

I’m not sure where Wilha went or if she is coming back, but it doesn’t require a tremendous amount of intelligence to understand that a missing servant is less troublesome than a missing princess.

“She is right here,” I say.

“Where? We’ve searched the chambers. You are the only one here.”

“Exactly.” I yank my arm away. “I sent my maid to fetch something from my carriage almost an hour ago. I am the Masked Princess, and you have interrupted me while I was changing. If you would kindly hand me my mask, you will find it is on the bed.”

“You’re cracked. Fine princess, you are,” he says, eyeing my traveling clothes. But the color drains from his face when the second guard picks up the gold-threaded mask and hands it to me.

“You don’t look like a princess, anyway,” the first guard says.

“And what do you suppose she should look like?” I inquire in a cold voice, tying on the mask. “You think because you haven’t dropped dead yet that I cannot be the Masked Princess?” His hand tenses and flexes, and I wonder if he wants to cover his eyes. Or strike me. “What do you suppose,” I continue, rubbing my arm where he grabbed me, “is the penalty for injuring a member of the royal family? In Gal-andria we execute those who would hurt us. In any event, you have come at the right moment. My maid never re-turned. She seems to be missing, as well as a satchel filled with my jewels”—I tell the first lie I can think of—“I suggest that instead of manhandling me, you search the castle. If you find my maid, then maybe I won’t tell the king of your incompetence.”

The guards glance uneasily at each other. “Yes, Your Highness.” They bow and quickly leave the room.

And I smile at how easy that was.

CHAPTER 28

WILHA

The candle I hold seems small and insufficient compared to the deep darkness of the tunnel. I grip the strap of Elara’s satchel and fight a wave of panic. I close my eyes and imagine the passageway is lit with a golden glow, and every female ancestor of mine who has ever traveled this tunnel stands at either side urging me forward, away from the Strassburgs and toward whatever lies at the end of this path.

I stretch my hand out, walk several steps, and stop when my fingers close over something long and thin. I let out half a scream before I realize it is just a torch and not some-one’s arm. Of course, the passageway is probably lined with torches.

But if the passageway is known to the Kyrenicans, then lighting the torches will surely give me away, so I let the faint glow of my candle light the way. At the sound of something small skittering near my feet, I jump and drop the satchel. It opens and several opals spill out. Hastily, I pick everything up and continue on. I pass several doors at either side of the tunnel. I don’t open any of them, as they probably lead to other rooms in the castle. I decide I will follow the tunnel until I reach whatever final destination my ancestors planned.

The candle burns low. Hot wax drips down my hand, and I stifle a cry of pain. Lower and lower the candle burns as I fumble forward, until the wick drowns in its own wax, extinguishing what little light there is.

Hours seem to pass, though I know it can only be minutes, and I begin to think I will never escape the darkness— until I walk straight into a stone wall. I set down the candle and put out my hands, searching for the opal that will open the door. After several more minutes, I finally feel a point in the wall that feels smoother than the others and press on it.

The door gives way with much creaking and moaning, and I trip and tumble into a pile of sand. Coughing and spitting, I stand and brush myself off. I am in a shallow cave, and I hear the sound of rushing water. The air is sharp and cold, and besides the sand, I taste salt on my tongue. To my right, late afternoon sunlight beckons. I find the embedded opal on the other side of the wall and press down, and the door groans shut.

I cautiously step out of the cave, but come to a halt. I am perched on a small ledge on a mossy cliff side. Spread out before me is the ocean. A single large rock rises up in the water, moss covering it like an emerald gown. Down below, the shore is strewn with tall, jagged rocks, and whitened wood. Several hundred yards up appears to be Korynth’s seaport.

I look down, searching for a path to get to the beach below. Hidden under a layer of slippery moss is a steep stone staircase, which cuts through the cliff and leads down between two tall boulders to the beach. Cautiously, I make my way downward, trying not to focus on the jagged rocks below.

When my feet touch the sand, I walk up the shore—almost as if in a trance—toward the docks, both amazed and horrified by my actions. I expect to hear the heavy footsteps of soldiers rushing behind to capture me. Yet no soldiers come and the sailors at the docks pay no attention to me.

A salty wind whips my hair. I tilt my head toward the sun and feel my cheeks, hidden all my life behind masks, beginning to burn.

For the first time ever, I am outside and alone, free of palace walls.

But as the sun sinks beyond the horizon and shadows creep across the docks, I ask myself:

Can I exist in a world without walls?

CHAPTER 29

ELARA

If I don’t find Wilha soon, I may well be executed. The lie I told about the missing maid has bought me time, but how much? How long before someone suspects it’s not the maid who has gone missing, but the princess herself?

I’ve been stuck in Wilha’s chambers the entire night, but she hasn’t returned. The only person I’ve seen at all is a timid maid who visited to tell me that the search of the castle had ended, and my missing servant hadn’t been found.

“King Ezebo has returned, and I have been asked to tell you that you need to remain in your chambers this evening. He’s entertaining a large party of nobles who have come to stay a few nights at the castle, and doesn’t yet wish to an-nounce your presence in the city. Tomorrow he promises to receive you properly,” she finished, before quickly leaving.

As the evening has given way to night I’ve passed the hours sitting in front of the fire or clawing at the wall in Wilha’s room, trying to gain entrance to the passageway, and wishing I’d paid more attention to how Arianne opened the tunnel in the Opal Palace.

Wilha may not have gone far. For all I know, she’s been stuck on the other side this whole time trying to get back in. I put my ear to the wall and knock softly. I don’t hear anything, but then again, the wall seems thick.

Wilha opened the passageway seemingly without too much difficulty. There has to be a way in, something I’m not seeing. . . .

She pressed something to make the wall slide back, I remember suddenly. Something lower to the ground. I crouch down on my hands and knees, pressing my fingers to the wall. After several minutes, I spot a small smooth stone—is it an opal?

I press it and the wall slides back, revealing the passageway. Once my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see a row of mounted torches. Quickly, I stride back to the sitting room. I stick a piece of kindling into the fire until it ignites, then carry it back to Wilha’s bedroom and light the first few torches.

I’m about to step into the passageway when I pause. I don’t know where the tunnel leads. I only know I need to find Wilha, or get out of this castle—preferably both. But if I’m caught, it will attract no small amount of attention if I’m dressed as the Masked Princess. Quickly, I untie my gold-threaded mask and throw on my cloak, thankful that I still haven’t changed out of my traveling clothes.

I remove the first torch from its mount and decide to leave the passageway open. The tunnel is so dark; I want the candlelight from Wilha’s room—dim though it is—to guide me.

I flip up the hood of my cloak and move deeper into the tunnel. It’s not long before I come to a door, but I pass it quickly. Wilha had been in such a hurry, I don’t think she would have taken the first exit offered to her. After a few more minutes of walking, the torchlight glints off of something small on the ground. I crouch down and see it’s a small opal earring, one that I had stuffed into my satchel. The earring is lying next to a door. Did Wilha exit the passageway here?

I search around and find another opal in the wall and press on it. The wall slides back. I’m greeted with more darkness and see that I’m staring at the back of a floor-length tapestry. I extinguish my torch, leave it in the passageway, and step out from around the tapestry. It appears as though I’m in a small receiving room of sorts. I cross the room quickly and cautiously open the first door I see, but draw back immediately.

A boy who looks to be a few years older than me is exiting another room just across the corridor. As noiselessly as possible, I hurry back to the tapestry. After several minutes, I decide he didn’t see me, and venture out again.

The corridor is deserted. The only light comes from several flickering sconces lining the walls. If Wilha came this way, where would she go? I look over to the door the boy exited, thinking that maybe she wouldn’t have wanted to be so exposed in the hallway. I cross the corridor and grasp the door handle, which is shaped like a gargoyle, and I’m about to push it open when—

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I jump and turn around. At the end of the hall is the boy. His hand is on the hilt of his sword, which hangs at his waist.

“I said, what are you doing?” He walks a few steps closer, passing into the glow of sconced candlelight. He is tall and tanned with golden blond hair and a strong jaw. But despite his good looks, his hair is disheveled and his clothes are dusty and dirty. All in all, it looks to me like he’s a squire in need of a bath. A really long one. When he gets closer he draws his sword and points it at me.

Don’t panic, I tell myself. I loosen my shoulders.

“You can put that down,” I say, in a breathless but bubbly voice. “I promise not to hurt you.”

A hint of a smile plays on his lips. “Thank you for assuring me,” he says and turns serious again. “I am wondering, though, why you are sneaking around. This corridor is part of the Strassburgs’ private rooms. It is off limits to most of the palace staff.”

“Maybe you could help me then,” I say, thinking fast. “My lady and I only arrived at the castle tonight, and she has sent me to the kitchen—a healthy appetite, she has—and I’ve been wandering around trying to find it.”

“Who is your lady?” he asks, looking suspicious.

“Um, the spoiled one.”

At this, he grins and sheaths his sword. “Most of them are.”

“So do you know where the kitchen is?” I repeat, feeling I have no choice but to embrace my lie.

“I do. I will take you there now.”

“No, that’s quite all right. You don’t have to accompany me. If you point me in the right direction, I’ll be on my way.”

“It is not a bother. And besides,” he adds with a pointed look, “that way I can make sure you get where you need to go.”

He sets off down the corridor, and I have to run to keep up with his long strides.

“Are you a servant here?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he replies. “I have only just arrived.”

When we reach the kitchen, he offers me a seat at a small wooden table next to a fireplace, where embers glow the color of a fiery sunset.

“This is where Cook takes her meals. I will stoke the fire and find some food.”

“Won’t we get in trouble?” I ask, though I’m not worried about a scolding from the kitchen staff. Wandering around the castle with a servant—a servant who’s seen my face—seems like a dangerous game. And I still need to find Wilha.

“No one else is up at this hour,” he answers. “And I am one of her favorites.” He closes a cupboard and brings me a bowl of soup. “There is not much left. This is all I can offer your lady.”

“That’s all right.”

“Are you sure you are not the one who is hungry?” he asks, after my stomach growls.

“I’m, well . . . yes, I’m a little hungry, actually,” I admit. “I found I couldn’t eat much of what was served at dinner.”

“And what was that?”

“Tuna eyes,” I say. The maid brought dinner to me when she informed me the search of the castle had finished. And while I was thankful for the meal, a meal someone else cooked, and served in a portion larger than I ever would have received at Ogden Manor, I couldn’t bring myself to try it. Not with those wiggly black eyes staring up at me. I ended up disposing of the food in the fire after the maid left.

“Ah, tuna eyes. Yes, I think I would be tempted to skip dinner as well.” He laughs a deep, throaty laugh, and I feel myself beginning to relax more. He pushes the bowl of soup toward me. “Eat. There is still enough left for your lady.” He stares at me expectantly. My stomach rumbles again, and I decide there’s no harm in it.

While I sip the soup, which is a rich, fragrant broth tasting of onions and mushrooms, he adds wood to the fire. Then he leaves and returns with a tray for “my lady” as well as a plate of plum tarts. “I also found these. I think Cook was hiding them. Would you like some?” He grins and offers me a tart.

I accept the pastry, and we eat in silence. When I’m full, I settle back into my chair. The fire and the food have me feeling drowsy, and perhaps a little bit reckless. I should return to my chambers, I know. Or pretend to, anyway, and keep searching for Wilha.

But when I look into the squire’s liquid brown eyes, I find myself exhaling deeply, as though I’ve been holding my breath for a long time. Since the day I woke up in the Opal Palace’s dungeon, in fact. I want to pretend I am just a servant, not a princess. Or, it’s the princess role that’s the pretense—isn’t it?—because I’ve been a servant all my life. Though somehow, I guess I am both. A servant princess.

My thoughts are confused and hazy, and I’m slightly startled when the squire says, “You speak with an accent. Where are you from?”

I’m at least alert enough to know that question can only get me into trouble, so I turn it back on him.

“You first. You said you’ve only just arrived. Where did you come from?”

“I was sailing, actually.”

“Really? What was it like, sailing on a ship? One day I’d like to travel across the Lonesome Sea.” Maybe one day very soon, after I find a way out of this castle.

Because it looks as though tonight I won’t be leaving or finding Wilha.

“What, you? You hardly look strong enough to survive a voyage on the sea.”

“I’ll have you know I am capable of surviving a good many unpleasant things,” I say, thinking of my years with the Ogdens. “More than you, probably.”

“Oh really?” He smiles slyly. “Let us have a contest, then. The person who has survived the most grievous thing shall win this last plum tart. You first.”

“All right,” I say, warming to the game. “One time I—” But I find I can’t say what I want to. The fire and the food have gotten me to drop my guard, and I almost begin to tell him of the night I spent shivering in the barn, hoping I wouldn’t freeze to death. But I never even told Cordon about that night. Instead I say, “One time I decided to run away from home. I climbed the tallest tree in my village, but found once night came that I’d changed my mind, yet I was too scared to climb down in the dark. I spent the entire night stuck in the tree, staring at the stars.”

“A night staring at the stars, contemplating the heavens and all their mysteries? That does not seem nearly so grievous.” He grabs the plum tart off the plate. “You will have to do better than that.”

I give a slight laugh and nod, though I purposely didn’t tell him the truly grievous part. The thrashing I received from Mistress Ogden the next morning when I finally roused up enough courage to climb down and return to Ogden Manor the next morning.

“All right. Once I was walking in the forest, on my way to the Dra—to an inn—and I nearly walked right into a grizzly bear,” I say, which is actually true. I just don’t tell him it was a very small cub that must have gotten separated from its mother.

“A grizzly bear! And how did you live to tell the tale?”

“I stared him down, and he went running away.”

“Stared him down?” He opens his eyes wide. “With what? The sheer force of your beauty?”

“Yes. That was it, exactly.” I roll my eyes. “No, you fool—I had a shiny dagger, and I shoved it in his face and roared as loud as I could.”

“You roared at a grizzly bear?” He throws back his head and laughs, and has to catch himself from tipping over in his chair. “But that does not seem so bad either,” he says when he stops laughing. “It sounds to me like the bear was more scared than you were.”

“This is true.” I pause, and think for a moment. “All right, I have it. Once I had to listen to a two-hour lecture from a woman on the appropriate use of cutlery.” I don’t say that woman was Arianne, or that it was part of my training to become the Masked Princess.

“Horror of horrors!” He places his hand on his chest. “Your lady must be truly terrible, to subject you like that. Yet I can do you one better. Once I had to listen to a discussion for three hours on the appropriate way to hook a fish.”

“Three hours? I don’t believe it!”

“Oh yes, you will find the men in Korynth are quite serious about their fish.”

We laugh, and I find myself wanting to say something more. Something real. “I once spent four hours scrubbing out a skirt for a noblegirl. She dirtied it on purpose so I wouldn’t be able to attend the dance being held in our village that night. Her mother was quite harsh, and I knew what would happen if I returned the dress still stained.”

“Harsh?” His smile vanishes. “What do you mean?”

“Oh,” I wave breezily, “aren’t all rich people harsh with their servants?”

“No, not all of them.” He leans forward. “The lady you work for now, is she kind?”

“Oh, um, yes, of course,” I say, caught off guard by the concern in his eyes. “She is very kind.”

“I am glad,” he says and hands me the plum tart. “And now I think you have won.”

Wordlessly, I accept the tart and stuff it into my mouth. An unfamiliar feeling crawls its way into my belly, and it’s a moment before I recognize it for what it is. Shame. As usual I have said too much, so I decide to leave the truth behind. It’s easier and far less painful to slip back into my lies. “I’m so glad my lady sent me.” I lounge back in my seat. “Now tell me, if you could go anywhere or do anything right this minute, what would it be?”

“I would be talking to a beautiful girl in the king of Kyrenica’s kitchen, and wondering what she was really doing out of bed in the middle of the night.” His eyes study me, as though he can’t make up his mind if he should have me questioned, so I rise and quickly make up an excuse about needing to get back to “my lady.”

“She’ll have my head if I’m gone any longer.” I turn to go.

“I think you have forgotten something.” He gestures to the tray sitting on the table, and his eyes narrow. “That is why you were sneaking around the castle, wasn’t it? To get her a snack?”

“Yes, of course.” I grab the tray and turn away.

He stands up. “I will accompany you.”

“No! I mean, she may be kind, but she’s also strict, and it is quite late after all. If she sees me with you, she might get the wrong idea. Please,” I add in my most desperate voice, “I can’t afford to be dismissed from her service.”

“A fair point,” he acknowledges. “But,” he sharpens his gaze, “I shall be patrolling tonight, and I expect no more late night activity from you.”

I nod. “Of course.”

Before he can change his mind, I turn away again and stride from the kitchen. I travel back to the room with the tapestry and enter the passageway. If I’m not mistaken, I hear the faint echo of footsteps from far down the corridor. Quickly, I close the passageway. Once I’ve hurried back up the tunnel, the faint candlelight from Wilha’s bedroom is a welcome beacon. I pour the broth out into the fire, and I place the tray and the empty bowl inside the passageway and close it, certain no one will miss a few of the king’s dishes.

It’s only later, when I’m crawling into bed, that I realize the squire never told me his name.

CHAPTER 30

WILHA

The next morning I awaken groggily, stiff and numb with cold, to the sound of seagulls and pounding surf. At first I wonder why my mattress feels so hard, why my covers are so rough. But I remember the abandoned tarp on the docks I hid under last night and wake up to the full horror of what I have done. I have walked out of the castle as though the life the Kyrenicans presented me with is nothing more than a new dress I do not care to purchase. Not the fulfillment of a treaty preventing war between two kingdoms all too eager to believe the worst of each other.

Cautiously, I peek out from under the tarp that covers me. It looks to be midmorning judging by the bright sun. Several ships have just come into port, their white sails billowing in the breeze, and sailors haggle with shopkeepers over the price of their wares. No one seems to be looking my way, and so I quickly slip out from my hiding place and stumble to a nearby bench. My cheeks are hot, not from sunburn, but from shame.

Last night I could not bring myself to return to the castle, but neither could I work up the courage to journey into the city. Instead I lingered at the docks for hours, frozen in indecision, until it was clear I would need a place to spend the evening. I glimpsed the tarp in a neglected portion of the docks, and hid under it for hours (just like the coward Elara believes I am) until sometime in the middle of the night, I must have fallen asleep.

I look over to the cliffs, and the stone steps that are hidden under the moss. Fleeing the castle and leaving Elara to face my own fate is the most selfish act I have ever committed, and I know I have to come to my senses.

Yet is this really how I want my adventure to end? I imagine my ancestor’s stone faces in the Queen’s Garden, and the disapproval I have always read in their eyes. Do I want to come creeping back to the castle, defeated and dirty, without so much as having walked the streets of the city?

No doubt Elara was all too happy to tell the Kyrenican guards of my cowardice. At any moment I am sure soldiers will be storming the streets looking for me. In the mean-time, is it selfish to want to continue my charade for just a little longer?

I replace the image of my stone ancestors with another. I imagine myself, years from now as a middle-aged queen, looking into my daughter’s face and saying, “Yes, it is true when I was younger people thought me incompetent and fearful. But once upon a time, I changed their minds. For I did something truly and wonderfully mad. . . .”

I stand up. Yes, that is the story I want to one day tell. After all, the soldiers should be here any moment.

But they never come. For hours I walk through the crowded streets, marveling at how they smell of salt, sweat, and fish. Everywhere I look I see new construction, evidence of a younger, thriving kingdom. The older buildings are made of wood and are tall and narrow. Their roofs bottleneck into chimneys, reminding me of giant wooden wine bottles. Clotheslines are strung up high across the streets, and women lean out of second- and third-story windows, calling out greetings to one another as they hang laundry to dry.

The streets are packed with sailors, traders, and townspeople, and I force myself not to flinch when they brush past me. From an inn called the Sleeping Dragon wafts the warm smell of fresh bread. My mouth waters, and I realize I have not had anything to eat or drink since just before we reached Korynth yesterday.

I follow the smell into the inn, where a fire roars in a large hearth. Most of the wooden tables in the room are empty, and what few customers there are seem bleary and only half-awake. A boy about my age, who is thin with a mop of flyaway brown hair, is polishing the bar with a rag. “Can I help you, miss?” he asks when he sees me.

“That bread smells wonderful.”

“We buy it from the bakery next door,” he says, flashing a crooked smile. “Would you like some?”

“Yes, please.” As I speak, I realize I am swaying.

He frowns. “Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll bring some out?”

Feeling lightheaded, I nod and find a seat near the fire. I stretch my hands out to warm myself, and then lean back into my chair, nearly dozing off to the low hum of nearby conversations. But my ears prick up when I hear someone mention Galandria.

“You’re sure, Anton?”

“Positive. He spoke with a Galandrian accent. Said he just arrived in town yesterday and needed men for a job. Jaromil—I think we should consider it.”

Cautiously, I turn my head and look over. Two men are sitting at a nearby table, holding goblets. The first one, whom I take to be Anton, is young and thin, while the second—Jaromil—is older with a belly so round he looks to be with child. Yet both of them have tanned faces and leathery skin, as though they’ve spent most of their lives outdoors. Are they sailors?

“I’m not working with a barbarian.”

“I told him as much at first—but he said his master would be willing to pay us more money than our scruples could possibly be worth.”

“To do what, exactly?”

“Not sure. Said his master had something planned for the masquerade ball for the Masked Princess.”

At this, I feel my hands growing numb again, despite the warmth from the fire.

“Is his master a Galandrian or a Kyrenican?”

“Didn’t say. Didn’t want to say, it seemed like. He just said King Ezebo—”

Jaromil curses. “King Ezebo is a traitor, to bring an Andewyn into our land. If I caught sight of the Masked Princess, you can bet I’d wring the little freak’s barbaric neck.” He spits onto the ground. “All right, I’ll hear the man out. Where did he say to meet?”

“Tomorrow morning, just after dawn, on the beach.”

“All right,” Jaromil says again. “And don’t worry, Anton. I never had that many scruples to begin with.” They laugh and clink goblets.

I stare into the fire, my heart racing, hoping they won’t realize their voices have carried. Of course I should have understood that, just as many Galandrians hate the Strass-burgs, so too, it must be that many Kyrenicans hate the Andewyns—hate me. I remind myself they could not possibly recognize me. Today, my own uncovered face is a mask.

It sounds like these two men, Anton and Jaromil, are being hired to do something, something that has to do with the masquerade. But what?

The boy returns with several slices of bread and a cup of water. “That’ll be two klarents, please.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” I say, startled. I start to reach into Elara’s satchel, but freeze. I don’t have any klarents, the Kyrenican currency, only worthings and opals. And with Jaromil and Anton sitting so close, that is not something I want anyone discovering.

“I—I do not have any klarents.” I stand up to leave, though it is everything I can do not to snatch up the bread and water. “I will go. I am sorry to have bothered you,” I take care to shorten my vowels, as the Kyrenicans do, all too aware of my accent, and that Anton and Jaromil are staring at me with interest.

“No, no,” the boy says. “You don’t have to leave.” He calls over his shoulder. “Victor, can you come here?”

“What is it, James?” A burly and grizzled old man approaches. The boy James whispers something to Victor, who looks at me.

“I see,” Victor says when James finishes.

Victor takes a seat next to me and crosses his arms over his massive chest. “When was the last time you ate?” he says gruffly.

“Um, yesterday,” I say.

“You’ve only just arrived in Korynth, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” I answer.

He nods, as though he expected this, and says, “I know who you are.”

CHAPTER 31

ELARA

When I wake up the next morning, Wilha is still gone. The bed in the maid’s room is empty, and the covers are undisturbed. I had hoped she would return after I’d fallen asleep and decided to spend the night here.

The stone floor is cold on my bare feet. I’ve used up all my firewood, so I sink down into an armchair, grumbling to myself. Where could Wilha have gone, and more importantly, when will she be back? How dare she leave me here in this castle?

But you were going to leave her. Even though you’d promised to stay with her.

The voice comes from somewhere deep within, and I quickly dismiss it. I rise and pull a blue gown out from one of her trunks and set to work removing the opals stitched into the bodice. Since Wilha stole my satchel, I’m going to steal more of her jewels, and use them to get as far away from this dank place as I can.

I’m not wasting another night on a half-cocked search for Wilha. Tonight I’m leaving, whether or not she comes back.

Although, I smile in spite of myself. Last night wasn’t a complete waste.

When I’ve finished removing the jewels, I stuff the dress down at the bottom of the trunk where it won’t be found. I open another trunk filled with Wilha’s clothes and run my hands over the silken dresses, preparing myself to face the day as the Masked Princess. What does a princess wear when she is going to be received by her future in-laws? Arianne never instructed me on that.

After I’ve changed into a pastel green gown, which takes several minutes longer than it should, I open the velvet boxes and settle on a pale green mask encrusted with diamonds and pale-colored opals.

A soft knock sounds at my door. “Your Highness?” comes a timid female voice. “Is it safe to come in?”

Safe?

“Are you wearing your mask, Your Highness?” she clarifies.

“Oh, just a minute,” I say and quickly tie on the mask. I hate how it restricts my vision and remind myself not to fidget with it in front of anyone. “Okay, I’m decent,” I call out, but stop. You are royalty speaking to a maid, you idiot. Act like it. “I mean . . . you may come in.”

A girl carrying a tray of bread, berries, and cream enters with an apologetic look on her face.

“I am sorry, Your Highness,” she says, curtsying. “I was supposed to visit your chambers early this morning, so that when you woke up you would have food and a fire going in here, but”—she glances up at my mask before looking away quickly, and her cheeks flush—“that is . . . none of the servants were sure . . . I mean, we’ve been told you must wear the mask at all times, and we weren’t sure if you slept in one,” she finishes in a rush, clearly uncomfortable.

“Um . . .” I don’t have the first clue if Wilha wears a mask while she sleeps. “How about this?” I say. “When I have retired to my bedroom, I will shut the door to the sitting room. And you can enter in the morning without worrying.”

She nods, and when she continues to linger, looking uncomfortable, I ask, “Is everything all right?”

“The king will be calling for you later today and, well, I thought you may want to know the buttons on the back of your dress are crooked. If you want, I could fix them?”

“Yes, thank you,” I say, realizing that of course Wilha must have had a maid to help her get dressed.

“King Ezebo is going to appoint another maid for you,” she says after fixing my dress. “And well, if you’ll have me I just wanted to tell you it would be an honor to serve you.” She flushes and looks down.

I’m tempted to tell her I don’t need a maid, that I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, but I doubt that’s something Wilha would have said. Instead I ask, “What is your name?”

“Milly,” she answers, still looking at the floor.

“Well then, Milly, I accept.”

Milly smiles and curtsies, and then brings in more wood to start a fire in the hearth. After she leaves I sit in an armchair to warm myself, but pretty soon I become aware of whispers and giggles in the corridor outside. I cross the room and lean my head against the door, and hear the hushed voice of a young girl.

“You knock.”

“No. You knock.”

“No, Leandra. You.”

“Ruby, you are the one who wanted to come here in the first place.”

The first girl’s voice lowers to barely a whisper. “Do you think she is really ugly?”

I open the door. Two young girls with surprised looks on their faces straighten up quickly and apologize. The older one has pensive, serious-looking green eyes, and the younger one has reddish-blonde hair and freckles. The bottom of her dress is torn.

“Hello,” says the younger one, “I am Princess Ruby.” She smiles, revealing two very large front teeth.

“We are sorry to disturb you,” says the older one. “I am Princess Leandra. I tried to stop Ruby from coming here, but she insisted.”

Ruby closes the door behind her. “We’re supposed to be in lessons,” she says conspiratorially. “But we’re not!”

“Really? Well, why don’t you come in and sit down?” I lead them deeper into the sitting room and motion to the armchairs. What did Arianne say about Leandra and Ruby, the crown prince’s two siblings? Dogs in training, that’s how she described them. At the time, I hadn’t given it much thought. Arianne, puckered prune that she is, didn’t seem to have a kind word for anyone. But staring at Leandra and Ruby now, her words seem particularly cruel. Ruby can’t be more than seven, and it seems unfair to label her or Leandra a dog, just because they are Kyrenican.

“We mustn’t stay long,” Leandra says with a frown, “or we will be in trouble.”

“We heard Father say you were the most glamorous lady in the world, and that if you married our brother, it would bring Kyrenica much glory,” Ruby exclaims as she plops onto a plushy velvet cushion.

“Ruby, hush!” Leandra scolds. “That is not all he said,” she assures me. “He said he was thrilled a peace agreement could be reached, and that your marriage to our brother would save countless lives.” She recites the words formally, as though she has memorized them by heart.

But they stop me cold, nevertheless. They remind me there’s a purpose to this betrothal, to avoid a war that many thought was inevitable. I am reminded, too, that I promised Lord Quinlan I would try to find out if Ezebo was serious about maintaining peace.

Something that just might play in my favor if it’s discovered that I’m not Wilha, and I have to appeal to the Guardians for help.

“Is your father happy with the peace treaty, then?” I ask Leandra carefully.

“Of course, why shouldn’t he be?” Leandra frowns.

Ruby and Leandra move to dismiss themselves, saying that their father should be calling for me soon.

After they leave, I take several deep breaths as I prepare myself to face a king.

CHAPTER 32

WILHA

Victor stares at me. Anton and Jaromil stare at me. Suddenly, I am more aware than ever that I am roaming around Korynth without any guards, without any protection whatsoever. If Kyrenican soldiers entered the inn now, I think I might run to them in relief.

“I know who you are,” Victor repeats.

“Who?” I grab Elara’s satchel, getting ready to run.

“One of them kids from the villages, thinking finding a job in the city will feed your family.”

Relief washes over me and I relax my grip. “Yes,” I answer, well aware that Anton and Jaromil are still listening. “I am from Tyran,” I add, more grateful than I have ever been for Lord Murcendor, and the fact that he insisted I study geography. Tyran is a village just on the Kyrenican side of the border. Like most Kyrenicans, the villagers in Tyran shorten their vowels, yet they speak slightly more formally, making their accent not quite Kyrenican, yet not quite Galandrian either.

“Most families are smart enough to send their sons,” Victor continues. “More jobs for sons.”

“Are there jobs for daughters?” I ask. I do not want to lie outright. Yet the truth obviously will not do.

“For tough ones there are.” He looks me up and down skeptically. “Are you strong enough to haul crates of fish?”

I shake my head.

“Can you bake loaves of bread? Mix potions? Make cheese or brew ale?” he says, as I continue shaking my head. “Well then, what can you do?” he asks in exasperation.

What can I do? After all these years of feeling useless as a princess, capable of nothing more than dazzling crowds, not because of any great wit or beauty I possess, but because of the mystique of the Masked Princess, it seems I am useless as a person, too. Have I learned anything worthwhile in the sixteen years of my life? Any skills others may find helpful besides sitting in a chair and—

“Embroidery,” I say suddenly. “I am really good at embroidery.”

“You mean that fancy kind of sewing all those noblegirls do?” He seems to consider this. “It’s not often we get someone with those talents down here.” He stands up. “Follow me.”

“I—” I almost tell him I am not looking for a job, but after another quick glance at Anton and Jaromil, I decide to play along. I follow him over to the bar, where he grabs a tarnished silver key off a peg board and hands it to me.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“My name is Will—” I stop abruptly, because I can’t very well tell him my real name.

“Will? That’s an odd name for a girl.”

“I think my father wished I was a boy,” I answer quickly. “Though, oftentimes he called me Willie.”

He nods. “Nice to meet you, Willie. I’m Victor.” He starts up a staircase behind the bar, and gestures for me to follow him.

“Where are we going?”

“I’ve got a room for you. Mind, you’ll pay me for it, once you get a job.” He stops at a door. “Before I show you in though, I want you to understand something. The streets are no place for a girl like yourself. But this inn ain’t no palace, either.”

He pauses for me to consider this, and I cannot help thinking that no matter how rough the inn is, I doubt I will be locked inside like a prisoner.

“Lots of questionable characters come in here,” he continues, “and you’re to be cautious. Understand?”

I nod, and he unlocks the door. Inside the room is a bed, a small desk, and an even smaller bedside table. “It’s not much, but it should help you for now.” He looks at me critically. “You look like you could use a good long rest. I’ll have James bring you up some food. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to get a job at Galina’s.”

“Who is Galina?” I ask.

“A seamstress, one of the best in the city.” Before he leaves, he tells me to lock the door behind him. I do, and then lie down on the bed, touched by Victor’s kindness, and sad I will have to disappoint him. Tomorrow morning, if the soldiers do not come for me, I will have to leave. I have a cliff to climb and a life to return to.

CHAPTER 33

ELARA

Words are power. The right words, said in the right tone of voice, can bring a man to his knees. They can make him fall in love with you. “Say the right words,” Mistress Ogden once told me, “and it will get you what you want.”

And right now, as a guard leads me to the great hall to be received by King Ezebo, I want just one thing: to avoid detection, and execution.

I haven’t been able to get Leandra’s words out of my mind. “He said your marriage to our brother would save countless lives. . . .”

For a moment the walls of the castle corridor fade away, and I am back in Eleanor Square. I see King Fennrick just before the attack, addressing the crowd and announcing the peace treaty between Galandria and Kyrenica. I hear the ringing applause—as joyous as wedding bells—and the relieved shouts of the people, thankful that peace had been achieved. It’s incredible how much hangs on this marriage. Not just Wilha’s happiness, but the destiny of two kingdoms.

If I leave the castle before Wilha returns, it will look as though the Masked Princess has simply vanished. I have no doubt King Ezebo and the Guardians in Galandria will each accuse the other of deception. With the likely result being war.

I know little about Wilha. She seemed to follow whatever order was given to her. I have to believe if she gave her word that she would come back, then she means to keep it. In the meantime, I promised to play the role of the Masked Princess until the masquerade. I also promised to find out what I could about King Ezebo, and if he intends to honor the peace treaty. True, these were promises I never had any intention of keeping, but that’s beside the point now.

The guard leads me through an arched hallway and to a set of ornately carved wooden double doors, where a second guard waits.

“The king and queen will see you now, Your Highness.” He bows.

I take a deep, steadying breath. The berries and cream I ate earlier roil in my stomach. It’s with a little loathing that I ask myself what Mistress Ogden would do if she were here in my place. She certainly wouldn’t cower before a challenge like this. She would instead relish the chance to impersonate royalty. My fear begins to melts away, and a new resolve steadies me.

I smooth my skirts and straighten my mask. Chin up, shoulders back, I remind myself. And keep your mouth shut as much as you possibly can.

The large, carved wooden doors open and the guard beckons me inside.

Let the show begin.

The great hall is poorly lit. The silver chandeliers above are void of candles, and the majority of the light in the room comes from a large fireplace along one wall. The room is covered in dark wood paneling, and portraits that I assume are of the Strassburg family line the walls. To my right, a long staircase curves up to a balcony overhead.

At the end of the hall on a dais are two wooden, high-backed thrones. A plump man with graying hair sits on one. Next to him sits an elegant-looking woman clad in a scarlet gown. Standing in front of the dais is a short man with oily hair and a pug nose dressed in scarlet robes, and he bows before me.

“And so you come at last to our humble kingdom, Your Highness! Soon the entire city will know of the Masked Prin-cess’s arrival,” he says. “You look well, just as you did in Allegria. Truly, the very air of Kyrenica seems to agree with you.”

I have a brief moment of panic before I understand this must be the Kyrenican ambassador who met with Wilha. What did Arianne say his name was?

“Thank you . . . Sir Reinhold,” I answer, remembering his name just in time.

Sir Reinhold grins and with a flourish of his hand, says, “King Ezebo, Queen Genevieve, may I present Princess Wilhamina Andewyn of Galandria.”

They both stare at me expectantly. I think back to Arianne’s lessons and wish I had paid more attention. Am I supposed to curtsy or kneel before them? After being attacked by one of their guards and locked inside my room, I don’t particularly feel like doing either. I remind myself of Wilha’s impeccable manners and curtsy, but almost tip over from the weight of her mask and dress. I straighten up quickly and hope they didn’t notice.

I soften my voice. “It is a pleasure to meet you. . . . I am at your service,” I say, for added measure.

Queen Genevieve beams, but King Ezebo wears a disgruntled expression. “This is scandalous,” he says.

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”

“To arrive unannounced,” Ezebo continues, as though I haven’t spoken, “it is unheard of. We had no pigeons, no word of your earlier arrival. Does Galandria expect us to stand for such a disgrace?”

“My father’s advisors judged it to be safer if I left Gal-andria earlier than expected and traveled anonymously,” I say, just as Arianne instructed.

Ezebo is red-faced with his lips pursed in a petulant frown. This is something I didn’t expect. I expected a cunning monarch, not a king having a temper tantrum. I’ve learned well how to handle Mister Ogden when he was in one of his foul moods. I know what to say to a man to calm him down and shut him up. But does Wilha? My guess is not, so I say nothing.

“Had we known you were coming,” he continues, “plans would have been made to receive you properly.”

Properly? Did they require advance notice not to lock me in Wilha’s chambers all night? I doubt shy Wilha would demand to know why she was left to rot in a locked room the moment she entered the castle. But I want to know. Something isn’t right here, and I wonder if Lord Quinlan is right to doubt King Ezebo’s intentions.

“If Your Majesty pleases, I wonder if you could tell me why I was locked in my chambers?” I keep my voice soft and my eyes downcast.

Ezebo sighs. “The door was locked for your own protection. After unloading your trunks, your guards were given orders to report to the head of my palace guard. Yet one of them—Moran, I am told is his name—was found stealing from the jewels your father sent ahead as payment into our treasury.” He pauses, and when I say nothing, continues, “And when he was discovered, instead of submitting to my men and explaining himself, he fought back and has now escaped, along with the jewels that now belong to me. Your chambers were locked and guarded while my men searched the castle attempting to locate him. The same precautions were taken for the princesses Leandra and Ruby. And I have been told that your maid has also stolen jewels from you. Strange, is it not?”

“Not so strange,” I say, telling the first lie I think of. “I saw Moran and my maid giving eyes at each other. I had meant to ask her what her intentions were with him, and now I find that I was remiss in not doing so earlier. Her mother is quite strict, and would not have allowed her to marry a soldier. Perhaps they saw their opportunity to begin a new life together and have taken it.” Under no circumstances do I want King Ezebo dwelling on the missing “maid.”

King Ezebo stares at me indignantly. “Regardless, your procession has arrived unannounced, and your people have stolen from me. This is not how I imagined our first meeting. Sir Reinhold questioned another of your guards. . . .” He pauses and looks at Sir Reinhold.

“Garwyn,” Sir Reinhold supplies.

“Yes—Garwyn—and found his answers unsatisfactory. Therefore, I have dismissed him and the rest of your guards and commanded them to locate Moran, your missing maid, and the jewels, and not to return to the castle until they have done so.”

I pause. “You mean, none of my guards are now here in the castle?”

“Your guards were at my disposal,” Ezebo retorts, “and they will be welcomed back as soon as they locate Moran, the jewels—and your maid.”

I can detect no falsehood in Ezebo’s words. It’s possible that he’s telling the truth. Maybe Wilha’s guard really did get caught stealing and Ezebo has sent the others after him. Then again, perhaps Ezebo is a practiced liar and is merely playing a role, as I am.

Somewhere in all of this lies the truth, hidden though it is. But what I do know is if it is discovered that Wilha herself is missing, I’ll be under suspicion. If Ezebo is willing to lock me in a room just for my “protection” what would he do to me if he believed I’d harmed the Masked Princess?

I don’t know the answer to that. But I think I do know how Wilha would respond to Ezebo’s words. “I apologize on behalf of my guards, as well as my maid,” I say, looking downward. “Their behavior is truly scandalous.”

Ezebo grunts. “If your father’s advisors had bothered to do a better job selecting—”

“Ezebo, that’s enough.” Queen Genevieve stands. “This is no way to treat your future daughter-in-law. She nearly lost her father and she has said good-bye to her homeland, all in the same month. That is a lot to throw at a girl. Remember what a wreck I was the day I arrived in Korynth?”

Ezebo looks away from me and smiles at Genevieve. Something warm passes between them; a spark of affection I never once saw between Mister and Mistress Ogden. Then Genevieve gives him a stern look and Ezebo sighs.

“I must ask for your forgiveness, Princess. Your entourage has caused quite an uproar. We have eagerly looked forward to meeting you for several weeks, and now I fear we have given you a poor first impression.”

“Yes,” Genevieve says, with another look at Ezebo. “And to make up for that I must ask you to join me, the princesses Leandra and Ruby, and Ezebo’s mother, the dowager queen, for tea tomorrow.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Genevieve smiles and then both the king and queen look expectantly at Sir Reinhold, who clears his throat.

“There was one other thing,” he says. “King Ezebo means to start a new Kyrenican tradition. We have heard of the crowds that your sessions on the balcony of the Opal Palace brought to Allegria. King Ezebo would like to see Korynth similarly honored. He requests that you appear on the eastern balcony of the castle each night at sunset before whatever crowd has assembled.” He pauses, waiting for my response.

It’s a spectacularly stupid idea, and I’m sorely tempted to tell him so. I remember the Andewyns standing on the steps of the courthouse, rose petals raining from the rooftops. Right before the arrows flew.

Of course, if it’s true the Kyrenicans had nothing to do with the attack, then making appearances on the balcony shouldn’t be a problem. How did Sir Reinhold describe Wilha to Ezebo and Genevieve? Shy and soft-spoken, with an easily malleable will? I remind myself to be cautious.

I remind myself to be Wilha.

“That is a lovely idea, Your Majesty. I am at your command.”

“Excellent. Sir Reinhold will see you back to your chambers. Later, we will be having dinner with several noble families and we will ask you to join us.” King Ezebo beams and nods, and Sir Reinhold takes my arm. Clearly, I’m being dismissed.

As Sir Reinhold escorts me back to my chambers, I can only hope that Wilha returns soon, before the guards locate her.

That is, if Ezebo actually sent them after her.

CHAPTER 34

WILHA

Dawn comes, but the soldiers still have not. I throw back the thin cotton blanket I slept under and pull Elara’s satchel out from under the mattress. I upend my pillowcase, where I have hidden the opals, Elara’s dagger, and her book about Eleanor the Great, and begin repacking the satchel.

I awoke from my nap yesterday to the loud sounds of music and drunken carousing coming from downstairs. After I ate the dinner James brought up, I spent the rest of the night in my room reading of all the great deeds my ancestor had done. Each word felt like a sentence being pronounced, a judgment of my own cowardice. For I doubt Eleanor the Great would have run away from her own life, as I have done.

Downstairs, the inn is messy, but quiet. James is near the fireplace, sweeping up broken glass. “It’s a bit early to be going to Galina’s, isn’t it?” His eyes are tired and his brown flyaway hair sticks up in all directions.

“I’m . . .” I try to think of something to say, but nothing comes to me.

“Oh, I see.” His eyes flick to Elara’s satchel. “You’re leaving.”

“Yes. I mean, no . . . I am going . . . to take a walk on the beach.” I will, after all, have to walk down the beach before locating the staircase leading up the cliff. I do not relish that climb.

“Right then,” he says, looking as though he does not believe me. “Wait here just a moment.” He exits through the door to the kitchen, and when he returns a moment later he holds up a sack stuffed with a loaf of bread and a roll of cheese.

“Walks make people hungry,” he says simply, pressing the sack into my hands.

Something catches in my throat. I have received many gifts before, oftentimes from the richest men in Galandria. But rarely have I received something that was offered solely because someone saw I had a need for it.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Thank you is always good,” he says and flashes his crooked smile. “It’s too bad, really. You would have been the prettiest tenant Victor’s ever had.”

“Thank you,” I say, swallowing. I tell James good-bye and step outside, before I can change my mind.

The streets smell like wood smoke, and the city is quiet except for the sound of seagulls screeching overhead. It must have rained late in the night, because the streets look like puddled mirrors. When I look down I see my grim, maskless reflection staring back. What will happen when I return to the castle? Will I be received as a missing princess? Or as an escaped prisoner?

While I walk I nibble on the bread and cheese, shivering under my thin cloak. How can it be this cold in the summer?

When I reach the docks, I head toward the beach and see the cliffs rising up in the distance, but quickly stop. Anton and Jaromil suddenly emerge from behind a cluster of large rocks. They seem to be talking to someone else; someone still hidden behind the rocks. I crane my neck, trying to see who it is they are speaking with, and my heart quickens. I remember they were seeing about a job, something to do with the masquerade. What type of job requires so much secrecy?

I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“It’s all right, it’s just me,” Victor says with a concerned look on his face. “Didn’t you hear me, Willie? I was calling your name.”

“Um, no, I did not.” I glance back over my shoulder. Anton and Jaromil are still there. They appear to be listening carefully to whoever is behind the rock. “I had thought to take a walk early this morning.”

“I always fancy a good walk in the morning, myself,” Victor says. “And Rowan’s Rock is as good a place as any.”

“Yes, and—” I break off as his words register. “Rowan’s Rock?”

Victor nods. “It’s the big rock over there, the one rising up in the ocean,” he clarifies. “It was named after Rowan the Brave, the Galandrian queen. She had been condemned to death nearly a century ago, and yet, the night before her execution, she was spotted on this beach near that rock. The next day it was discovered she’d vanished from the castle. Legend says you can still see her sometimes, weeping for the kingdom she lost.” He offers me a burly arm. “Galina gets an early start, and I’m almost through here. Had to purchase fish for tonight’s dinner at the inn. Shall we head over to her shop now?”

I hesitate, trying to think of good excuse to tell him no, and look over at Anton and Jaromil one last time. They have turned to face the docks where Victor and I stand, and seem to be staring at something in the distance. For a brief moment, I am certain they are looking at me.

“That would be lovely,” I say quickly, deciding that I will have to climb the cliff later. As we set off toward the city, I tell myself I’m being ridiculous, that of course they were not looking at me.

I also tell myself that the numbness I feel spreading through my chest is simply from the cold.

CHAPTER 35

WILHA

A small bell jingles when Victor pushes open the door to Galina’s dress shop. Shelves containing bolts of lace and brightly colored fabrics line the room. A mirror sits in the corner. Upon a large claw-footed wooden desk are silver boxes of shiny buttons and glass jars filled with thread. Several girls about my age are seated on light green velvet couches. Each of them are busy stitching.

“Is Galina around?” Victor asks.

A girl with hair the color of spun gold stands. “Hi, Victor!” She glances at me and smiles. “Have another one for us, do you? Galina!” she calls to the back of the shop, “Victor’s here again!” She turns back to me. “I’m Kyra.”

“I am—Willie,” I answer, almost forgetting my new name, and a couple of the other girls laugh quietly.

I glance over at them, and am surprised to read the distaste in their eyes. Some of the girls are openly staring at my stained traveling cloak and dirty boots. It reminds me of the way the ladies at court stared at the peasants who came to the Opal Palace to see me wave from the balcony.

An older woman with white hair tied up in a severe bun emerges from a back room. Her eyes glance from me to Victor. “I don’t need another mouth to feed,” she says flatly.

“Galina, this is Willie,” Victor says. “She says she knows embroidery well.”

“I don’t have a place for her to sleep,” Galina says, unmoved. “I gave the only bed I had to the girl you brought me last week.”

“I’ve already given her a room at the Sleeping Dragon. Will you give her a job?” Victor smiles and raises his eyebrows, and despite his massive size and gruff manner, he looks charming, like an old, grizzled prince.

“Oh honestly, Victor. How many more strays do you intend to take in?” Galina glowers at him, and then sighs and turns to me. “Do you have any samples?”

“Samples?” I ask, confused.

“Of your work,” she says, tight-lipped. “If I am to hire you, I must know you have the appropriate skills.” She casts Victor a furious look, and I read the dismissal in her eyes when she turns back to me. It is a look I saw often from Arianne and Vena.

Suddenly, I am not standing here simply because I did not wish to be left alone on a beach with Anton and Jaromil. I want this job. Once I return to the Kyrenican Castle, any adventure I may have hoped to find will fade and will be replaced by the demands of royal life, and people like Arianne and Vena, who see me as nothing more than useless and fearful.

I left the castle on my own accord. I will return to it when I have found a story to hang on to during the lonely days and years that are sure to follow. I see the image again, of me telling my daughter my story. The one only I know.

“Here.” I hastily pull the handkerchief I had been sew-ing on the journey to Kyrenica from my cloak and hand it to Galina.

Victor and I wait while she examines the stitching. “The technique here is excellent,” she says.

“Thank you,” I answer, and as I stare at the dresses the other girls are working on I realize my skills far surpass theirs. This is unsurprising, I suppose, given all the practice I have had over the years. There was little else to do in the Opal Palace when I was not waving from a balcony or attending a royal engagement.

“These are the Andewyn and Strassburg coat of arms,” Galina says, looking up.

“Yes,” I answer quickly. “I intended it as a wedding present to the Masked Princess. I hear she is due to arrive in the city soon.”

“We really could use more help,” Kyra says. “You were just saying so yesterday.”

Galina nods and it is settled. She motions to the girls and they shift around on the couches, making a place for me. After inviting me to dine with him and James tonight at the Sleeping Dragon, Victor leaves, and Galina hands me a needle and a spool of thread.

“Now then,” she says, “King Ezebo has planned a masquerade in the Masked Princess’s honor, and orders are already pouring in from ladies who are attending. I need someone to assist me with the embroidery on their dresses. Can you do that?”

Galina stares at me expectantly, and something deep in my chest seems to detach and float up and out of my mouth in a laugh.

“Yes,” I gasp amid everyone’s curious stares, “I can stitch dresses for the princess’s masquerade.”

CHAPTER 36

ELARA

Thankfully my head is still attached to my neck. Somehow I’ve managed to survive my first two days in the Kyrenican Castle. The dinner with the Kyrenican nobles went all right—I think. The ladies complimented my mask and dress excessively. Of course, they also seemed positively gleeful when I knocked over a wine glass.

After dinner, Leandra and Ruby escorted me back to my room. It seems I am expected to stay in my chambers when I’m not visiting with the Strassburgs or attending an engagement. I had planned on exploring the passageway after everyone retired for the evening, but after a day of pretending, I was exhausted and fell asleep.

I was still tired when I woke up this morning. Wilha asked for time. How much does she expect me to give her? When I put my mask on today—a pale lemon-colored one with yellow fire opals that matches one of Wilha’s yellow gowns—it felt heavier than ever.

As Milly helps me get ready for tea with Queen Genevieve, my thoughts turn to the squire. I have watched the comings and goings of the servants, but haven’t spot-ted him again. Has he left the castle? Our conversation in the kitchen was the only part of the last two days that I’ve actually enjoyed.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Milly says, fastening a ribbon in my hair. “You received pigeons.”

“Pigeons?” I repeat, snapping out of my reverie. What is she talking about?

“Carrier pigeons?” Milly frowns. “Letters from the Opal Palace?”

“Oh yes, of course,” I say hastily. “I’m sorry Milly. I’m feeling a bit dull today.”

I press my nails into the palm of my hand and command myself to stop thinking about the squire and concentrate. I can’t forget, not even for a moment, where I am. And who I’m supposed to be.

Milly hands me two folded pieces of parchment, and tells me that the princesses Leandra and Ruby will come and fetch me for tea. After she excuses herself, I move to the sitting room and settle myself on an armchair. I take off my mask and blow out a breath.

I open the first letter. It’s carefully worded, and very, very interesting. It’s from a soldier named Patric. I gather he was training Wilha to defend herself, which surprises me. I read his message several times over. I think I read, too, what he is so carefully trying not to say, and I’m surprised again. I wouldn’t have thought Wilha capable of what I suspect I see in this letter.

I open the second letter and it is from Lord Quinlan.

Your Highness,

I hope you reached Kyrenica safely. Lord Royce, Lord Murcendor, and I expect to arrive in Korynth shortly before the masquerade and look forward to meeting with King Ezebo. Please remind your maid of her duty to you and to us.

His words, too, are carefully worded, yet I understand the meaning of the last line:

Guard the princess. Find out what you can about Ezebo, and if he intends to honor the treaty.

A knock sounds at the door. “Come in,” I say absently, still holding the letter. Since I was received by Ezebo and Gen-evieve yesterday I’ve heard nothing to indicate that they are anything less than extremely pleased about the treaty. So what does Lord Quinlan expect me to do? Break into Ezebo’s—

The door opens and a scream echoes.

“Wilha, your mask!” Leandra says with a hand raised to her eyes, looking ready to faint. Behind her, Ruby stares at me wide-eyed.

I quickly snatch up my mask and tie it on, cursing my own idiocy.

“You’re not supposed to take it off!” Leandra cries. “No one is ever supposed to see your face!”

“I know,” I say, rushing over and leading her to an armchair. “I was thoughtless. I’m sorry.”

Ruby tugs at my skirt. “Wilha, are we cursed now?” she asks in a hushed voice. “Will we die?”

Leandra gives a frightened whimper and hides her head in her hands.

I crouch down until I’m level with Ruby. “No,” I reassure her firmly. “You will both be fine, I promise. No one in this room is cursed, not even me. It’s just a rumor, and not a very nice one.”

“I don’t understand,” Ruby says. Her eyes search my mask, but I think she’s seeing beyond it, imagining my face. “You are not very ugly.”

“Does that mean I’m only a little ugly?” I ask, and I see Leandra, color returning to her cheeks, suppress a grin.

“No,” Ruby says, seeming to be thinking hard. “But if you are not cursed, and you are not really ugly, then why do you have to wear the mask?”

I decide to tell Ruby a small truth, one I’m sure Wilha herself would agree with. “Because of all the things my father, King Fennrick the Handsome, has valued in this world, his daughter’s happiness is not one of them.”

“You are different than I expected,” Leandra says as we make our way to Genevieve’s chambers. Now that she has gotten over her fright, she’s resumed her usual formal air.

“Oh? How so?” I keep my voice casual and my eyes fixed on Ruby, who has skipped ahead of us.

“I did not think you would be so bold. In the report Sir Reinhold sent us he said you were proper above all else.”

“Really?” At this, my stomach tightens. “What else did the report say?”

“Only what is expected when considering a betrothal. Was a similar report not given to you of my brother?”

“If such a report exists, I wasn’t allowed to read it,” I say carefully. “But I am curious to know what yours said of me.” Tell me everything, I want to say. Everything you might know about Wilha that I don’t.

Leandra’s lips suppress a grin. “It said you hate potatoes.”

“Yes, I do,” I reply automatically, surprised that Wilha and I actually have something in common. Mistress Ogden made me peel so many, I’ve lost my taste for them.

Leandra looks troubled. “But I was merely poking fun. The report actually said you complimented the potato stew you ate in the ambassador’s presence. He suggested we serve it here in the castle.” She shrugs. “I only thought it was funny he mentioned it.”

I force a laugh. “Of course. I was merely joking as well.”

Leandra nods, yet from the way she stares, I’m not quite sure she believes me.

I rush ahead to break some of the tension and join Ruby, who leads me out on a balcony overlooking the city. “Father says crowds will gather outside the castle gates to see you tomorrow night. Can I go out with you Wilha, please?”

Leandra catches up to us and says we must move along or we’ll be late. As we make another turn, two men wearing scarlet robes are exiting a room halfway down the corridor. With a start, I realize I recognize this hallway, and that door. It’s the one with the gargoyle door handle. The same door the squire caught me trying to open two nights ago.

“The plans are coming along,” the first one says.

“I agree,” says the second man, shutting the door behind him. “I will tell the king—”

Upon seeing us, both men quickly stop talking. “I hardly think the northern wing is fit for foreigners,” the first man says to Leandra, with a pointed glance at me.

“Of course.” Leandra, flushing, grabs my arm and hurries me away. When we have turned the corner I ask, “Those men are your father’s advisors, aren’t they? What were they discussing?” But she just shakes her head and replies that we mustn’t keep her mother waiting.

She moves ahead, but I can’t help look back and wonder what was in that room that Ezebo’s advisors—and the squire—don’t want me to see.

We turn down a few more corridors. Voices carry from the room Leandra marks as Queen Genevieve’s chambers.

“I don’t know why Ezebo thought he needed to fetch a wife for my grandson from the most barbaric kingdom in the world,” comes an unpleasant female voice.

“Eudora, hush. She will arrive any minute,” answers another voice, which I recognize as belonging to Queen Genevieve. She says something else but I don’t hear what. Eudora, Ezebo’s mother, the dowager queen, has pleaded a headache the last two days, so I have yet to meet her. But I heard quite a bit about her from Arianne, who referred to her as the Great Viper.

We arrive at the door and Leandra hesitates before walking in, looking at me with a horrified expression. I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her. I want to hear this. And I want to catch them off guard.

“She cannot help being an Andewyn anymore than we can help being Strassburgs,” Genevieve says.

“You are not a Strassburg by birth, Genevieve,” Eudora snaps.

“Of course,” Genevieve says. “But if we are to truly accept her into the family, we must see past her origins.”

“Humph. Never trust a Galandrian. They will dazzle you with their wealth and then stab you in the back when you’re not looking. As far as I am concerned they are all a bunch of—”

“Good afternoon,” I say as I step inside. Next to me, Leandra’s shoulders slump and Ruby skips ahead of us to give her mother a hug.

Genevieve gives me an apologetic look as she reaches down to Ruby. But Eudora, the dowager queen, looks at me with unkind and appraising blue eyes that see out of a small wrinkled face.

An awkward silence descends as we all look at each other. The only sound in the room comes from the crackling of the fire. The walls of the room are covered in red tapestries. Behind Genevieve and Eudora is a dining table made of dark cherry wood.

Eudora shoos away Ruby, who tries to hug her. “Your dress is stained,” she snaps, and Ruby’s face falls. “Genevieve, how many times do I have to tell you to take a firmer hand with your daughter?” Eudora looks me up and down, staring everywhere but in my eyes. “She has small hips,” she remarks to Genevieve, as though I’m not in the room. “It is a good thing we were able to secure so much from the Galandrian treasury. With hips like those, I doubt my grandson will be able to get any sons from her.”

Eudora’s leering stare feels dirtier than any I’ve ever received from men at the Draughts. Great Viper, indeed. For once, Arianne’s assessment seems to have been right on target.

“Have the barbarians in Galandria taught you nothing?” she snaps, her eyes taking in my dress distastefully. “You don’t wear your finest gown to afternoon tea.”

“This is hardly my finest gown.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. It’s only then that I notice Genevieve and Eudora, as well as Leandra and Ruby, are wearing dresses in muted shades.

Eudora’s cheeks seem to swell. “How dare you—”

“Eudora, I don’t think she meant anything by it—” Genevieve begins.

“Nonsense, Genevieve. I know when I am being insulted, and I won’t have it. Not in my own home. And certainly not by a barbarian.”

I open my mouth, but quickly bite back the tart reply rising to my lips. And though I’m clenching my hands so hard my nails bite into my palms, I force myself to say, “I’m sorry,” in a demure, soft voice. “I wasn’t quite sure what the Kyre-nican expectations were for afternoon tea.”

“Apology accepted,” Genevieve cuts in before Eudora can speak. “Shall we sit down?” she says with forced pleasantness, and everyone makes their way to the table.

I had thought “tea” meant sitting down for, well, a cup of tea and maybe a few slices of bread. That is what passed for tea at the Ogdens. But apparently royalty has a different standard. Platters of fruit, cheeses, olives, and bread are spread out on the table before us. Several forks and knives frame either side of the plate in front of me. Really, why do the wealthy require so many utensils just to eat a single meal?

Probably because they never have to wash their own dishes.

Genevieve and everyone else seem to be staring at me expectantly. I’m not sure what to do, so I say, “What smells so good?”

“Ah,” Genevieve says approvingly, “that is the scarlet tea. It is a Kyrenican specialty. I believe I may have fallen in love with it before I did with the king.” She smiles at me, ignoring a sharp look from Eudora, and signals to a maid hovering in the corner. “Please pour the princess a cup of scarlet tea.”

The maid complies. When I raise the cup to my lips, I smell cinnamon and peppery spices. As I sip, I feel myself growing warm all over. “This is the best tea I’ve ever had in my life,” I say honestly.

As we make small talk and dine, I find that eating while wearing the mask is tricky, just as it was last night. When Genevieve or Eudora asks me a question, I try to think of what Wilha would say and give soft, demure answers. This seems to go well until Genevieve asks me what subject I most enjoyed studying with my tutors.

“History is my favorite,” I answer truthfully, because I have no idea what Wilha’s answer would be.

“Is it?” Eudora says. “You are aware that my late husband was the grandson of King Bronson the Liberator? Oh, but I forget,” she adds with a wicked smile after I nod, “Galand-rians have another name for him, do they not? Tell me, what is it?”

Her eyebrows rise as though daring me. Maybe I should take Arianne’s advice, which suddenly comes back to me in full force. Be pleasant at all times. Smile, even in the face of unkindness, for you are to be above it all. Feign ignorance if you must.

But I can’t do that, no matter how much Arianne’s words nag at me. I won’t declare myself ignorant of my own history, not when there were so many days I had to beg Mistress Ogden to let me attend school.

“Bronson the Butcher,” I proclaim. “So named because of all the Galandrians he slaughtered.”

“Hold your tongue, girl,” Eudora snaps, seemingly shocked that I dared to speak the truth. “In this country, Bronson Strassburg is considered a war hero, not to mention our founding king.”

“Interesting,” I say coolly. “Because in my country he’s considered a murderer.”

Shortly after this the tea ends, and I am escorted back to my room by an unsmiling Leandra.

She is careful, I notice, to avoid the northern wing.

CHAPTER 37

WILHA

Since I received the job yesterday in the dress shop, I have been comforted by the sound of rustling silk and the rhythmic, methodical puncture of needle through fabric. It is the first thing that has seemed familiar since our procession reached Korynth, and slowly, some of the knots in my stomach have begun to untie.

Yet not all of them. As I have stitched in the dress shop, not attempting to return to the castle, I have wondered at the goings on inside the castle. While I hide, what has become of Elara?

Word that the Masked Princess has arrived in Korynth officially reaches the dress shop late afternoon via a noblewoman named Alvirah who needs alterations to the gown she intends to wear to the masquerade. She stands in front of a mirror while Kyra kneels before her, pinning her dress. “We dined with her and the royal family the night before last. Really, you would think that—ouch!” Alvirah looks down at Kyra, “Watch it.”

My hands go still at her words. So instead of telling the soldiers I fled, Elara is still in the castle and pretending to be me.

Kyra stares up at Alvirah in awe, as though she herself were royalty. “You met the Masked Princess? What was she like?”

“Clumsy and dim-witted. She knocked over a wine glass and used the wrong fork at dinner. Really, why the world is so enamored of her I just don’t understand.” She plucks at her dress and frowns. “Anyway, the king has decided she will appear on the balcony every night at sunset. Why anyone would want to see her, when she is probably wretched-looking under that mask, is beyond me.”

“But there are so many rumors,” Kyra says. “Maybe it’s not that she is ugly, maybe it’s that she’s beautiful.”

“Ridiculous,” Alvirah scoffs. “How can she be beautiful? She’s a Galandrian.”

“Did it seem like . . . she was being treated well?” I ask.

“Of course,” Alvirah says. “The Strassburgs threw a feast for her, did they not? And the princesses Leandra and Ruby seem quite taken with her.” She plucks at her dress again. “Galina, this hem is crooked, can you look at this? Your girls are not yet as precise as you are. . . .”

Galina bends down, and while they all examine Alvirah’s dress I turn away, pretending to concentrate on the sapphire-colored gown I have been working on. Listening to them speak of the Masked Princess makes me feel oddly invisible, like I am a ghost haunting the room long after my death. But hearing that Elara is well, that no harm has come to her as a result of my disappearance, revives me. She is the reason why no soldiers have come for me. She must truly be the great pretender she boasted to be.

Or perhaps not, I think, shoving my needle through sapphire satin. Perhaps the Guardians could have stuck a mask on any girl’s face and the Strassburgs would have been fooled. King Ezebo wanted his son to marry the Masked Princess, not necessarily Wilhamina Andewyn.

“Willie,” Kyra says, “we should go tonight and stand outside the castle gates and wait for sunset to see the Masked Princess.”

“Me?” I say, surprised. “You want me to go with you?”

“Of course.” Kyra laughs. “Why not?”

“I—no reason,” I reply. I can’t tell her I’m not used to people enjoying my company.

“It will be cold tonight,” Kyra continues, glancing at my thinner traveling dress. “Didn’t you bring any other clothes with you to the city? Or a heavier cloak?”

I don’t answer right away. I’m thinking of all the trunks that accompanied me to Korynth, but Kyra mistakes my hesitation for something else.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” she says. “Many people arrive in the city with very little.” She turns to Galina. “Please, can we give her some dresses from the castoffs?” she asks, and Galina nods.

“Castoffs?” I ask.

“We have several cast aside dresses here—orders that were never claimed or dresses that were donated so we could practice our stitching.” Kyra leads me to a back room and selects a couple of plain dresses in shades of black and gray. “These should be a fit.” Both of the dresses are made of wool, much warmer than what I am wearing now.

“Thank you,” I say and accept the dresses from Kyra gratefully. Perhaps I, and everyone else in my father’s court, have been wrong about the Kyrenicans.

“Tonight after supper you must meet me at the Broken Statue. We’ll go together to see the Masked Princess.” Kyra smiles. “Okay?”

“Okay,” I say, smiling back. “I will.”

It is not until later, during dinner with Victor and James, that it occurs to me I do not know where the Broken Statue is.

“It’s near the castle,” Victor answers, pushing away his plate of salmon. He stares hard at me and crosses his arms across his chest. “You just arrived in the city. You shouldn’t be wandering around the streets like you were a couple days ago.”

“Victor,” James says lightly. “I don’t think Willie appreciates you ordering her around.”

The inn is busy tonight. Servers dash about the tables, bringing out food and refilling goblets. A man plays a lute while several ladies look on, gazing at him adoringly. Near the fireplace, two men are playing cards. And at the table next to them are Anton and Jaromil, who are surrounded by a group of rough-looking men. All of them are staring intently at Anton, who is talking.

All through dinner, I have wondered what they were discussing, and if it has anything to do with the masquerade. Or, my mouth goes dry, with the Masked Princess. Whatever job someone hired Anton and Jaromil to do, it is clear they have found others to help them.

My father is still recovering from the attack in Eleanor Square. But the men who tried to assassinate him—whoever they are—did they sit around an inn just like this, plotting while everyone around them went about their business?

“I’m just saying,” Victor says, undeterred. “You young people think—”

He is interrupted by shouting. The men playing cards are accusing each other of cheating. One of them stands up and hurls his plate at the wall. It shatters and the pieces land on the ground, very close to Anton and Jaromil.

“They’re going to brawl,” James says, standing quickly.

“Not in my inn, they’re not,” Victor says, also standing.

“I’ll fetch a broom and see to the broken plate,” I say suddenly.

Anton, Jaromil, and their companions are deep in conversation as I come over and sweep near them, but their voices are lowered, making it impossible to hear what they are saying in the noisy inn. I edge closer.

“Why would we do such a thing?” says one man.

“Why not? I’d sell my own soul for the kind of money he says his master is offering.”

“You already have sold your soul, Jaromil,” says a third man, and the table erupts into loud guffaws.

“We’ll need help at the docks that night. We’ll need to recruit more men,” Anton says once they’ve quieted down again. “If there’s enough of us, we can get it done fast, before anyone can stop us. And we’ll also—” He breaks off suddenly.

I hazard a glance over to the table, and see the men are looking at me.

“Taking you an awful long time to sweep up,” Anton drawls. His hand shoots out and grabs my arm. “Hear anything useful?”

“What? No,” I say, conscious that my voice sounds high-pitched.

Anton pulls me closer and whispers, “Want to know what my father said I should do with nosy girls?”

I don’t answer. My breath is coming in ragged gasps; my heart feels ready to escape my chest.

“Take your hands off of her.” James appears at the table with a determined look on his face.

“You going to make me, James?” Anton says and tightens his grip on my arm.

“If I have to.” James stares at him, until finally Anton curses and releases my arm, sending me to the ground. “You and your friends need to leave,” James says after he has helped me to my feet.

Anton scowls. For a moment I think he is going to punch James. But instead he finishes the rest of his ale and spits. “Fine. But tell your girl to mind her own business.”

“Thank you,” I whisper to James after they leave. I take a few deep breaths, and James escorts me back to our table, my heart still hammering; my cheeks warm at being called James’s girl. I glance over at him. Does he have a girl? If so, I have not seen her.

“Nicely handled,” Victor tells James after we sit down. To me, he says, “You need to be careful, Willie. Anton and Jaromil are regulars here, and are rarely up to any good.”

“I overheard them talking,” I say hesitantly. “Something about a job at the docks? On the night of the masquerade—something that a Galandrian needed help with,” I say, careful, as I have been the last two days, to shorten my vowels, and sound more Kyrenican.

Victor considers this. “Could be working with a Galandrian trader.”

“But I thought Kyrenica and Galandria do not trade with each other?” I say, surprised.

“Not officially, no—though that will soon change, with the new treaty. But a lot of illegal trading still occurs. It’s a profitable business, for those willing to risk it.”

I nod, and wonder if Lord Royce—the Guardian of Trade—is aware of this. I relax a little. I suppose it makes sense; perhaps Anton and Jaromil and their companions intend to trade goods on the night of the masquerade, while the city is preoccupied.

Victor gestures about the noisy inn and resumes the earlier conversation. “The Masked Princess has just arrived in the city and already it’s a circus. I’m surprised Galina didn’t talk more sense into you girls. Go meet Kyra, if you must. You can watch the princess wave from the balcony, and then you come immediately back here.”

James laughs. “Victor, Willie is your tenant, not your—” He breaks off, and the color drains from his face. “I mean”—he stammers—“I only meant that—”

“It’s all right,” Victor replies gruffly with a wave of his hand.

I look between the two of them, unsure what is going on. “I appreciate your concern,” I say to Victor.

Victor nods. “James is right, though. I can’t tell you what to do. But”—he looks pointedly at James—“as my employee, I can tell you to do whatever I want. If Willie is determined to see the princess then you will accompany her there and back.”

I expect James to protest, but instead, he smiles at me and says, “I’d like that. Very much.”

Outside the inn, the streets are festive and several groups of people laugh and jest as they head toward the castle. The city smells of fish, and a chilly, briny wind blows up the street.

“What was going on between you and Victor earlier?” I ask James as we walk. “Did you offend him somehow?”

James’s smile fades. “No, but I’m a fool.” He rakes his hand through his messy hair and continues. “Victor was a general for King Ezebo once, and as fierce as they come. Stories are still told about him to this day. But about ten years ago he returned from a border skirmish to find his wife and four girls dead. They’d gotten sick with the fever, see? That kind of loss, it changes a man, to lose his wife and daughters.”

I nod, though I want to tell him that some men are not nearly so attached to their family. Some men choose to lose their daughters.

“And now, whenever he sees a girl by herself he tries to help her. He’s gotten a bit of a reputation in the city for having a soft heart. It drives Galina and some of the other merchants mad.”

The streets become more packed as we make our way toward the castle. When we push through a particularly crowded section, James places his hand on the small of my back and I flinch.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, removing his hand. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” I answer just as quickly. “I only—”

I stop, because how can I explain? Except for the few times Patric and I held hands, few people have ever willingly touched me.

I am searching for something to say to ease the awkwardness that has sprung up between us, when James says, “Look, the broken statue is up there.”

I follow his gaze and gasp. I had assumed “the Broken Statue” was an inn or a tavern. But now I see Kyra had been speaking literally.

Standing in the middle of the street rising up over the passersby is a white stone statue of my great-great-grandmother Rowan, much like the one that stands in the Queen’s Garden in the Opal Palace. Except this statue is indeed broken. Queen Rowan’s head lies on the ground before the rest of the statue’s body, as though someone beheaded her.

“Willie? Are you okay?” James says.

I nod. I suppose to everyone else, the broken statue is just a monument, or a meeting place. But to me, it’s a reminder of the bad blood between the Strassburgs and the Andewyns.

“Hi, Willie!” Kyra appears. Her eyes stray to James. “Have you bought candles yet?”

“Not yet,” James answers. He turns to me. “I’ll go and get ours.” He points to a nearby vendor and leaves.

“Candles? For what?” I ask Kyra.

“To light at the castle gates, of course.” She grins slyly. “So, you and James?”

I blink. “Me and James . . . what?”

Kyra rolls her eyes. “He walked you here and he’s buying you candles? He likes you, Willie.”

“No, you misunderstand,” I say, although I can feel my cheeks coloring. “Victor told him to accompany me. He said he didn’t want me walking alone.”

“Yeah,” Kyra says, a smile pulling at her lips. “I’m sure Victor had to twist his arm.”

James returns and we set off. A large crowd has already gathered in front of the castle. James lights our candles from a woman standing nearby and soon the street glows with light.

Everywhere people are crying out, appealing to King Ezebo to let them see the Masked Princess.

“Look!” Kyra cries. “The doors to the balcony are opening.”

Several guards bearing torches step out onto the balcony. After a moment—where it seems the whole world is holding its breath, the door opens again, and the Masked Princess—Elara—emerges.

I gasp. It’s like looking at an image of the girl I once was. Can that really be only a few days ago? She wears a golden gown and one of my newer masks, the gilded one with the fire opals, which glows with streaks of red, orange, and yellow. With the torchlight glinting off her jewels and the sun setting behind the castle, dusting the sky in bright shades of orange and pink, she truly does seem unearthly.

So this is what it’s like, I think, listening to the excited shouts of the people around me. This is what it’s like to be on the other side of the balcony.

My eyes stray to the front of the gates, and that’s when I see him:

Garwyn.

He is not watching Elara like everyone else; his eyes are sweeping over the crowd. Now that I look, so are two of the other guards I traveled with, though I have forgotten their names. Garwyn and his men are wearing street clothes, which seems odd. I distinctly remember hearing Lord Quinlan say they were to remain at the castle serving King Ezebo for as long as he saw fit, and then return immediately to Galandria.

Just then, a younger girl joins Elara on the balcony.

“Look, it’s Princess Ruby,” Kyra says.

The smaller girl steps in front of Elara and begins blowing kisses, and the crowd laughs and applauds.

“The Masked Princess seems to be getting on well with the royal family,” Kyra remarks.

“Very well,” I answer. Whatever Elara has said or done these last few days seems to have endeared her to the Strassburgs. She certainly doesn’t look as though she is merely enduring pretending to be me.

A chill slides down my back and I shudder. What if she is doing more than just pretending and waiting for me to return? I know she wanted to find a new life. What if, in fleeing the castle, I handed her the opportunity she was looking for?

I glance at Garwyn. If I went to him proclaiming myself as the true Masked Princess, would he believe me? Or would Elara tell him she was the Masked Princess, and I was the decoy?

No, I cannot return to the castle yet. Not when I don’t know Elara’s plans. I will have to find a way to meet her face to face.

And the meeting will occur when I am ready. Not one moment before.

Elara and Princess Ruby wave one last time before turning away and disappearing inside the castle. The torchbearers follow behind them, and the crowd begins to dissipate. Garwyn turns away from the castle and heads up the street.

When I glance up at James, he is staring at me. “What did you think of the Masked Princess?” I ask.

“Why should I care about some Galandrian princess,” he says, “when you are right here?”

Kyra, overhearing him, promptly says, “See you tomorrow, Willie,” and gives me a meaningful look before she leaves.

It hits me then that James wants to be here—wants to be with me. Not the Masked Princess, but me. Is there anyone in my life who has ever preferred me over her? An image of Patric’s face comes to mind, but I quickly push it away.

On the walk back to the Sleeping Dragon, James reaches for my hand.

And this time, I don’t flinch.

CHAPTER 38

ELARA

The afternoon following my appearance on the balcony, I’m seated in Ezebo’s study alone, wearing the mask and dress Ruby and Leandra picked out for me, and my hair is tied back in ribbons. Flames spark and crackle in the fireplace, but I still feel chilled. I tug at the mask on my face. It’s sticky from the cold sweat pooling at my temples.

Word has come that the crown prince has returned, and is eager to meet his bride-to-be.

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.

CHAPTER 39

WILHA

All 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.

CHAPTER 40

ELARA

After 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.

And I wait.

Much later, long after the fire has died out, I grab a candle from my desk and press my finger to the hidden opal. The wall slides open, revealing the passageway, and I step into the dark tunnel. Tonight I’ll travel it the entire way and hope that it takes me far away from the castle. But I hesitate. When I reach the spot I went through my first night here, the door with the gargoyle handle beckons.

What could it hurt, just to try opening the door? If there is valuable information inside, maybe I can use it to my advantage somehow. I hear Cordon’s voice in my head, urging me to be cautious and not to go looking for trouble. To get out of the castle as fast as I can and run. But whatever is behind that locked door is something the Strassburgs obviously don’t want me to see. So much so they haven’t allowed me back down that corridor since the day I first had tea with Genevieve.

And that, more than anything else, convinces me I have to try to open it.

The castle corridor is empty, and I have my hand on the gargoyle door handle when I hear muffled footsteps behind me, and a voice I know all too well. “Looking for something?”

You’ve got to be kidding me. I paste a pleasant smile on my face and turn around. Stefan is looking at me with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. A nice change, I think, from the way he glowered at me earlier.

“Just on my way to the kitchen for a snack,” I say, affecting my breezy, whispering voice and hoping he won’t recognize me. I’m careful not to curtsy, not to let on that I know he is actually the crown prince. “The cook served seafood again tonight and I couldn’t eat it.”

“And that requires you to be in this corridor, how exactly?” He steps forward. “Curious that I again find you standing beside this room. A room you know you are forbidden to enter.”

“Curious, exactly! I can’t stand it for anything. I hate it when other people keep secrets. I so wish I could see inside”—I clasp my hand to my chest in feigned enthusiasm—“and I thought I could bring back a juicy bit of gossip to my lady.”

Immediately, I realize my mistake. As my hand rests against my chest the pearl and ruby bracelet clinks into view, glinting in the flickering candlelight.

Stefan’s eyes stray to the bracelet, widening as shock, and then anger, twists his features. “It was you all along,” he says.

“I’m—I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Really?” His voice drips venom. “Or are you now about to tell me that you stole that bracelet from the princess?”

“I didn’t steal anything,” I say, realizing my last chance to flee the castle is fading. “I saw the bracelet lying on the floor, and I picked it up. I intended to give it back, I did.”

“Every word out of your mouth is a lie.” He practically spits the words.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I am sure you do not. Shall we go to the Masked Princess’s room, then, and you can tell her yourself. . . . You do not look so eager to go. Why is that? Perhaps because we both know we shall find the room empty?”

“Stefan, I can explain,” I say, dropping my bubbly voice. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“You’re sorry? For what? For being a liar and a traitor? Your lost servant girl act was quite convincing the other night. So much so I actually found myself wondering . . . that is to say, I fell for it completely.”

“Stefan, I’m sorry. In all honesty I—”

“Honesty?” He scoffs. “Do you even know the word? You stand here, before a forbidden door, dressed in traveling clothes.” He grabs my arm, and in the dim light I see the fury in his eyes. “Who were you going to meet?”

“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about—”

“After you got whatever information you think is inside that room, what were you going to do? Pay someone to take it back to your father the king? Or were you going to flee back to Galandria entirely? Did the Andewyns ever have any intention of honoring the treaty, or are you only just now deciding that I do not suit you?”

“Please Stefan I—”

“Here, I’ll show you.” He removes a key, and unlocks the door. Then he wrenches it open and gestures me inside.

The room is strangely empty, save for a long wooden table in the middle. Stefan yanks me forward. “If you are so curious, look for yourself.”

Strewn across the table are large parchments. I stare at them, trying to make sense of all the sketches I see. They seem to be plans for a building of some sort.

I look up. “I don’t understand.”

Stefan won’t return my gaze. He stares at the table; the fight seems to have left him. “My father and I have been secretly meeting with our masons. Ground was just broken on a new castle—a new palace. It will be several years before it’s completed, of course. But one day”—he grimaces—“one day you and I will live there together as husband and wife. My father has long wanted to build a palace in the countryside to show Kyrenica’s emerging strength.” He drops his voice, until it’s no more than a whisper. “And we knew, after living so long in the Opal Palace, you would find our castle sandy and impoverished in comparison.” He runs a hand through his hair and his eyes seem tired. “We had hoped to surprise you with the plans at the masquerade. That is why we tried to keep you from the northern wing.”

He stares dejectedly at the plans, and I’m tempted to drop the pretense completely and tell him that this “sandy and impoverished” castle is the grandest place I’ve ever been. And that it’s certainly better than the Opal Palace, where I was treated as little more than a piece of Andewyn property.

Before I can speak, he seizes my arm. “There, you have seen it.” He ushers me toward the door.

“Stefan I—”

“Enough! Or I shall call the guards and tell them I suspect you of treason.” He pulls me along after him down the corridor and swears when he discovers the guards outside my door are sleeping. “Up!” He yells at them. “My family does not pay you to sleep.” They awaken and jump to their feet, their apologies fading as Stefan shoves me inside and closes the door behind us.

He stalks into the room, and blanches when he sees the mask sitting on an armchair. He picks it up and stares, as if enchanted.

“And to think,” he murmurs softly, “I believed the rumors. I thought the mask was because you were not beautiful to look at . . . but why, then?” He stares at the mask a moment longer before shoving it into my hands. “Wear it at all times. For I do not wish to see your face ever again.”

CHAPTER 41

ELARA

The next morning, after Milly escorts me to a small dining room near the kitchen, Cook pushes a covered plate in front of me. “The crown prince sends his regards, and wishes me to tell you he will be unable to join you this morning. Though he does hope you will enjoy your breakfast.”

She lifts the lid, revealing a plate piled high with tuna eyes.

“His Highness told us this is your favorite Kyrenican dish and that you would quite like to have them for breakfast. We made sure to make extra.”

I look at her hopeful face. “Thank you,” I say. “Please be sure to convey my utmost gratitude to the crown prince and tell him that his, um, kindness won’t be easily forgotten.”

I pick up my fork and cut into the tuna eye, although I imagine it’s Stefan’s eye I’m gouging. I take a quick bite and force it down. “It’s delicious,” I say, ignoring my stom-ach’s protests.

A servant enters the room. “Your Highness, His Majesty the king asks me to inform you that your father’s advisors have arrived and are eager to see you. King Ezebo waits with them in the great hall.”

He bows himself from the room, and I apologize to Cook that I won’t be able to continue the meal.

“Of course, Princess. Don’t you worry, you shall have another plate of the delicacy tomorrow morning,” she promises.

On the way to the great hall, my mind races. I had forgotten that the Guardians were due to arrive in Korynth today. By now they will have heard of the missing maid. If I’m supposed to be “proving my loyalty” by posing as Wilha, what will they say if I confess in private I’m not Wilha, but Elara? Will they really believe that shy Wilha, who seemed to be scared of her own shadow, actually plucked up the courage to escape the castle on her own? Or will they believe I’m the threat they have always suspected me to be? Another Aislinn Andewyn, willing to harm her sister to gain her own ends?

Inside the great hall, Ezebo and Genevieve are seated on their thrones. Stefan stands next to his mother. Lord Quinlan and Lord Royce are poised before them and they bow when I enter.

Lord Quinlan steps forward. He is wearing more rings and necklaces than all the Strassburgs combined. “Ah, Princess Wilhamina, what a pleasure it is to see you again. I was just telling King Ezebo here what a fine little room this is.” He gestures vaguely about the great hall.

Next to Lord Quinlan, Lord Royce’s weathered face is strained, as though he’s trying not to roll his eyes. Ezebo is red-faced, and Stefan stares at Lord Quinlan with open hostility. Yet Lord Quinlan, who doesn’t seem bothered by the effect his words are having on his hosts, continues, “I have always thought that Galandrians, used to so much grandeur, are a little too ornate when it comes to palace design.”

“Ornate would be one way to describe it,” Lord Royce speaks up. “Gallingly tacky would be another.” Lord Royce’s face is as impassive as ever when he turns to look at me. And yet I can’t help but think he is giving me a message: Fix this.

“I am inclined to agree with Lord Royce,” I say quickly. “I find this hall to be one of the most elegant I have ever seen, though of course you’re not to be faulted, Lord Quinlan, as I believe it is only those with the most discerning of taste who can recognize it.” I turn away from Lord Quinlan, and though I’ve never done so before, drop to my knees before Ezebo. “You sent for me, Your Majesty?”

Ezebo and Genevieve beam at me, and even Stefan manages a smirk.

“Princess Wilhamina, please rise,” Ezebo says, his eyes twinkling. “Truly, your presence delights us all. I am sorry to intrude on your breakfast, and to keep Stefan from you but—”

“How was your breakfast?” Stefan interrupts, showing every one of his white teeth.

“Pungent,” I answer. “And wonderfully quiet.”

“Yes, well,” Ezebo continues, shooting a confused look between me and Stefan, “at any rate, the queen, the crown prince, and I have had the, er . . . pleasure, of meeting with your father’s advisors for the last hour and they have wonderful news for you.”

Lord Quinlan bows and steps forward. “I am happy to report that your father is greatly improving. His physician is hopeful that he will soon be back to his old self.”

“This is good news for us all,” I say demurely, though I’m sorely tempted to ask Lord Quinlan why, if the king is supposedly feeling so much better, he hasn’t bothered to write as he promised?

The doors open then, and Lord Murcendor and Sir Reinhold enter. Instantly, I regret my earlier brashness. Of everyone, Lord Murcendor—the only person who has known both Wilha and me—is the most likely to discover I’m not Wilha.

Lord Murcendor bows deeply. “Your Highness. It is a pleasure to see you again.” He looks at me with bright eyes. But it’s not a look of admiration.

It’s a look of undisguised longing.

A shiver passes over me, and I tug at my mask. Arianne mentioned how good Lord Murcendor has been to Wilha. A father figure, it seems. But there is nothing parental in the way he stares at me now, and I wonder if Wilha hasn’t mistaken his intentions all these years.

Maybe I’m not the only one who notices, because just as Lord Murcendor says, “Princess, I was wondering if I could have a word in private. . . ,” Stefan steps forward and interrupts, “Father, did you not say that once Sir Reinhold finished inspecting Galandria’s latest payment of opals, you wished Lord Murcendor to meet with your councilors to discuss the mining rights?”

“Yes, I did.” Ezebo nods. “They are waiting even as we speak. Sir Reinhold, will you show Lord Murcendor the way?”

Lord Murcendor looks poised to argue, but then bows and leaves again with Sir Reinhold. “Another time,” he says as he passes me. I nod, careful to keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.

When I glance back at the dais my eyes meet Stefan’s and we share a look. He seems troubled as he glances from me to Lord Murcendor’s retreating figure. I nod slightly, and hope that, behind my mask, he sees my gratitude.

Ezebo rises. “If you will excuse me, I have other matters I must see to.” He turns to Lord Quinlan and Lord Royce. “Rooms have been prepared for the both of you, and someone will show you the way.” He nods, clearly dismissing us.

After the doors to the great hall close behind us, Lord Quinlan drops his smile and turns a scrutinizing eye upon me. “Wilha?” he guesses.

I stare at him and decide I can’t drop the charade. I have nothing valuable to offer him, no information that would prove useful. As far as I can tell, Ezebo has every intention of honoring the peace treaty, news that may not be too welcome, as it’s seemed like Lord Quinlan may be a bit too eager for the treaty to break.

“Yes, Lord Quinlan?”

He frowns. “For a moment there I thought . . . but you . . . seem to be getting on well with those Kyrenicans?”

I avert my eyes and soften my voice. “Father told me it was my duty to treat them as family.”

“Yes, well, of course. You father is right, as always.” He resumes his confident air; clearly he has decided I must be Wilha. “Ezebo told me of the mishap with the guards. To tell you the truth, I am shocked by Moran’s behavior. I was also told of your chamber maid running off.” He glances around to make sure that no servants are in earshot and moves in closer. “Tell me truly, what happened?”

I keep my eyes downcast. “Elara stole jewels from me and fled at the first opportunity she had. I have no idea of her whereabouts.”

He nods. “That is what I suspected.” His brow furrows. “But this is a problem.”

You’re telling me. “It is unfortunate, yes.”

Lord Quinlan sighs heavily. “It is too bad your sister didn’t turn out to be more like you, Wilha.”

At that, I have to stifle a snort. Lord Quinlan wishes I was more like Wilha? More easily controlled, is what he really means.

For the first time, I ask myself which girl got the better end of the deal sixteen years ago. I got the Ogdens, and Wilha got the mask. But I also had Cordon. Did Wilha have anyone at all?

“Ezebo has not heard from Garwyn, but I will send more of my men to search the city and see if we can locate her,” Lord Quinlan says.

“Locate her, why?” I ask. “She escorted me here, and clearly the Strassburgs do not mean to harm me. It would seem that she has finished her duty and chosen to start a life somewhere else, rather than return to Galandria.” I keep my voice soft. I’m not challenging him; I’m a polite princess, making a polite inquiry.

But this is what I’ve wondered: If I said thanks, but no thanks, to the Guardians’ offer of a new life in Allegria, what would they do? Would I be allowed to find a new life anywhere else?

“Your father has ordered me to bring her back to the Opal Palace,” he answers. “It is his decision what becomes of her.”

Exactly as I thought. And if Fennrick and the Guardians once contemplated sending me into seclusion—my sole offense being that I had the misfortune of being Wilha’s twin—what type of “new life” would they choose for me now, when they still suspect I may want to claim the opal crown for myself?

No, Galandria is not safe for me, and never will be.

“As you command,” I say sweetly.

Lord Quinlan excuses himself, and I turn away to head back to my chambers.

“There was one other thing.”

I jump slightly at the sound of Lord Royce’s voice. I had nearly forgotten about him.

“Yes?” Unease claws at my belly. His ice blue eyes are watchful, far from the impassive gaze he wore before Ezebo and Genevieve.

“Your Father commissioned Master Welkin to design another one of his creations to congratulate you on your betrothal. He knows what a fan you are of his work. Lord Quinlan and I have brought it here to Korynth.”

Master Welkin? Creations? The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. Lord Royce watches me closely, a muscle twitching near his jaw. Was he not so easily convinced that I’m Wilha? Is it possible that he’s testing me?

I curtsy. “If you write to my father the king, please tell him his gifts are always welcome.”

I plead exhaustion then, and tell him I must return to my chambers. I don’t know if Lord Royce was simply delivering a message from his king or something else entirely. But I decide that the best thing I can do is avoid the Guardians as much as possible before the masquerade.

CHAPTER 42

WILHA

Garwyn may be searching for me, but I am not ready to be found. If there is one thing I learned in the Opal Palace, it was how to content myself with a life lived behind walls. The walls of my room at the Sleeping Dragon may be far less grand than my chambers in the Opal Palace, but they serve my purpose, nevertheless.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the castle tonight?” Kyra says as we close up the dress shop.

I nod. “And besides,” I hold up the bundle I carry, “I told Galina I would finish this dress tonight at home.”

“Oh, come on, Willie. You’ve been sewing for Galina for the past few nights. It’s really not fair for her to give you so much work.” She glances over her shoulder, to make sure Galina, who is still in the back room, doesn’t hear us.

“I volunteered to do it. I will stop once the masquerade is over.”

After I leave the shop, I hurry up the street. When I arrive at the Sleeping Dragon, I find Victor and ask him, just as I have done the past few nights, if he could bring dinner to my room. Then I’m up the stairs and locking my door behind me. I place the bundle on my bed and step over to the window. In the building across the street, a woman is leaning out of her window and removing laundry from a clothesline. She waves at me. I wave back and look down at the street. Many Kyrenicans—most of them carrying candles—make their way west toward the castle.

Garwyn and Moran left the Sleeping Dragon the night after I heard them talking, presumably to try other inns in the area. But ever since, I have jumped at the sound of the bell in the dress shop, certain Garwyn had found me, certain he had finally realized I was not just “the barman’s nosy girlfriend.” My neck has prickled with the feeling of someone watching me. Each time I have whirled around, only to find no one there.

Garwyn may not have seen me, but I have seen him. Two days ago, from the window of the dress shop I glimpsed him strolling up the street, his eyes intent on the passersby.

And he is not the only Galandrian I have seen. Indeed, from the window yesterday I was certain I glimpsed one of Lord Quinlan’s men and wondered if the Guardians had arrived in Korynth. I received my answer today when I saw Lord Royce this morning, walking toward the docks with Sir Reinhold. Are they also searching for me? I think if I had seen Lord Murcendor on the street I would have declared myself to him, and he would have instructed me how to make things right. But I know little about Lord Royce, so I stayed hidden in the dress shop.

A knock sounds at the door, but when I open it, it’s not Victor, but James standing in the doorway, holding a plate piled high with steamed clams. He places the tray on my desk and closes the door behind him.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you, I’m sorry,” he blurts out, before I have the chance to say anything.

“It was fine, really.” My voice sounds unconvincing, even to me.

“It can’t be fine. You’ve been avoiding me all week.”

“I have not.”

“You leave early for Galina’s, and you’ve been staying there all hours. Then when you return, you spend all evening in your room, sewing.”

“It cannot be avoided,” I insist. “The masquerade is nearly here. There is hardly enough time to fill the orders we already have, and more are still coming in.”

“Then why are you asking Victor to bring your meals to you, when you could just as easily ask me? You’re avoiding me.”

“Okay,” I admit. “I may be avoiding you, just a little.”

“I knew it.” He rakes his hand through his hair. “I never should have kissed you. I’m a fool.”

“You are not,” I assure him. “It is only that, well . . . I had never been kissed before.”

I have imagined my first kiss a hundred times over, but with Patric. Yet surrounded by all my guards, fantasies were all I could hope for. With James, it was all so quick. One minute I was torn between hiding or declaring myself to Garwyn, and the next, James’s lips were pressing against mine.

James curses. “I’m sorry. It was impulsive and I . . .” He sighs. “And I want to do this right. Victor said I could have a free morning tomorrow. Would you . . . go on a picnic with me?”

It is such a simple thing, a boy inviting a girl to share a meal. And any girl could easily accept. Any girl who is not me.

“I am sorry, James. With the masquerade coming up I can’t.”

He nods, disappointment etched on his face. “Well, it was worth a try I guess,” he says and begins to back out of the room. “I really am sorry, Willie.”

“No, James there’s no need to—” I begin, but he closes the door behind him.

I lock my door again and move to my desk, but find I cannot eat. I stand up and throw open my window, and a salty breeze wafts into the room. Glowing lanterns hang from the rooftops and excited laughter spirals up like sweet incense.

Down below, everyone seems to be having a wonderful time. Yet up here, I hide, just as silent and fearful as I was during the years I spent in the Opal Palace.

I unlock the door and exit my room. Downstairs, James is filling several mugs with ale. When he sees me, he gives me a hopeful smile.

“I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind?”

“I have,” I answer. “I would love to go on a picnic with you.”

I refuse to find Garwyn or any of the others and offer myself up to them. But neither will I continue to hide. If it’s me they’re searching for, let them come.

In the meantime, I intend to enjoy my waning days of freedom.

CHAPTER 43

ELARA

If I spend one more day in this castle, I’ll go mad. When was the last time I saw the outdoors or breathed fresh air, apart from my waving from the balcony? While Milly fastens ribbons in my hair, I tug at the mask I’m wearing. When was the last time I spoke with someone without wearing this wretched thing? I think back to the night I enjoyed a midnight snack with the squire—with Stefan, rather. I wouldn’t admit it, not to anyone, but I miss the squire. It’s too bad, really, because I liked him. Stefan, on the other hand, can take a flying leap.

“Milly, if I wanted to get a carriage to take me into the city, how would I go about it?”

“Not sure, Your Highness.” Milly yawns as she fusses over my hair. “Think you’d have to speak to the king.”

Under Stefan’s orders, Milly has moved into my chambers, and both of us know it’s because she’s supposed to be keeping an eye on me. “Your Highness,” she said the first night, “the crown prince could fire me if he thought I wasn’t doing a good job.”

I looked at her fretful gaze and remembered how fearful I was over displeasing Mistress Ogden, as she had the power to toss me out. “I promise Milly,” I had said, “you won’t get in trouble on my account.”

So I have resolved not to explore the passageway, not to make any plans at all, until after the masquerade, when the Guardians are safely on their way back to Galandria.

“And where is the king right now?” I ask.

“He is with Lord Quinlan.” Milly gets a sour expression on her face. “His latest complaint is that his chambers aren’t warm enough.”

I suppress a grin. Thankfully, I haven’t seen the Guard-ians since they first arrived in Korynth a few days ago. Ezebo has sent Lord Royce and Lord Murcendor to meet with several of his advisors as part of the peace treaty. How Lord Quinlan occupies his time, I can’t be sure. He seems to have little use for me, now that he is sure I’m Wilha—but I hear about him often enough from Milly. Apparently he’s gaining quite a reputation among the servants.

“Would you like me to escort you to the king’s study?” Milly asks.

“No,” I answer quickly. I have no wish to see Lord Quinlan.

“I suppose you could ask the crown prince over breakfast this morning,” Milly says, careful to keep her eyes averted. I think she must know “breakfast” consists of me sitting alone with only a plate of tuna eyes for company. Where Stefan eats, or how he spends his days, I don’t know either. During dinner, he speaks to whatever nobles are joining us for dinner, and is careful to avoid being alone with me. And yet, I’ve watched as he has swept Ruby up in a hug, and proceeded to waltz her around the room. I’ve seen him stand up for Genevieve, when Eudora starts in on her. Clearly, he’s capable of great kindness—just not to me.

Not that I care.

“We both know Stefan would probably say no, even if he did show up for breakfast,” I answer quietly.

At this, Milly meets my gaze and nods. “He’s being most unkind,” she says in a low voice. “I am sure that if the king and queen realized they wouldn’t stand for it.”

Her words give me an idea. I give Milly a gracious smile and utter a polite response, and head for my bedroom.

From the writing desk, I pull out a quill and a piece of parchment. I sit quietly for several moments, contem-plating a letter that is sufficiently Wilha-like, but still gets my point across.

“Milly,” I call when I’m finished.

“Yes?” she says, appearing in the doorway.

I hold out the folded parchment. “Can you please take this to the queen?”

Milly raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. After she has left, I smile—really smile—for the first time in days.

Stefan is not the only one who can play dirty.

CHAPTER 44

WILHA

With a picnic basket in hand, James leads me to the beach near Rowan’s Rock. He spreads out a blanket and gestures for me to sit.

The day is overcast and the tide is low. I glance over at the cliffs and the staircase that I know is hidden among the rocks and moss. I purposely turn away from it, determined not to let anything spoil the afternoon.

“I can tell you’re getting sick of eating so much fish,” James says once we are settled. “It’s okay,” he adds, when I start to protest. “I grow tired of it after a while, too.” He opens the basket and removes several nonseafood items: olives, figs drizzled with honey, boiled eggs, and a roll of soft goat cheese.

We watch the ocean and eat silently, the only sound being the rhythmic lulling of the waves. I kick off the slippers I borrowed from Kyra and dig my toes into the cool sand.

James gives a sigh of contentment. “Summer is finally making an appearance.”

“It is?” I ask, glancing up at the overcast sky.

“Well, I guess it’s not as warm as your border village, but this is what summer in Korynth looks like. This far north, you’ll be amazed when you see how cold the winters are. But don’t worry,” he adds quickly, mistaking my dismayed expression for concern. “I will make sure you have warm enough clothes.”

“Thank you,” I say, managing a smile, and James closes his eyes and tilts his head back. I’m not worried about winters in Korynth, cold though they might be. At the moment, I’m entertaining another thought altogether. When winter comes, where will I be? What if Garwyn and his men never find me? What if they conclude I have left the city and the search is called off?

I think of the way the girls in the dress shop have begun to stare at me. Many of them seem to like my stitching, and have asked about my techniques. When I answer their questions, their stares are intent, as though they have decided I am someone worth listening to.

My eyes focus on Rowan’s Rock, which rises up out of the sea. Elegant in her mossy finery, it looks as though she wears an emerald gown, like one of Galandria’s Guardians. If only Lord Murcendor were here right now to give me counsel.

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.

CHAPTER 45

ELARA

Genevieve’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.”

CHAPTER 46

WILHA

The 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.”

“When?” she asks. “I need a definite time. When can we switch back? Tonight?”

I think of all the orders we still have to fill at Galina’s and how I promised her I would stay up all night sewing, if she would just let me sneak away for a picnic with James.

“Not tonight,” I answer. “Tomorrow night, at the masquerade. It will be easiest to make the switch then.”

“I’m assuming you can get into the castle through the passageway?” she asks coolly.

I nod. “There is an entrance near the sea. I will enter the castle through there. Then I will find you, and we will switch back.”

“How do I know you’ll keep your word? How do I know you won’t run away again?” Elara asks.

“I said I will be there,” I answer, tamping down a flood of frustration. “I swear it.”

“Good,” she says crisply, gathering up her dress. “It’s too bad I didn’t know we would be meeting today,” she adds. “Otherwise I would have brought your letter.” Her voice is carefully casual.

“What letter?”

“From Patric,” she says, and my heart quickens at the sound of his name. “He was your trainer, wasn’t he? He sent you a letter; I have it in the castle.” Elara looks at me, and I read the calculation in her eyes. “I guess you’ll have to wait to read it until you return.” She turns to leave. “Until the masquerade.”

I nod and curtsy for the benefit of the guards in case they are watching through the windows. Elara opens the door. A gust of ocean air fills the room, along with the shouts and cheers of people calling out to the Masked Princess.

When the door closes again, I am left with nothing but a chilling silence.