Page 19 of The Faceless Mage

And suddenly, Leisa was absolutely certain that the Raven was standing somewhere behind her.

“But in order to preventaccidents,” the king continued, “and as an unmistakable mark of my dedication to this alliance, I now announce the commitment of my most trustworthy lieutenant to the defense of the person and honor of Princess Evaraine of Farhall.”

No applause greeted this announcement, only a vague feeling of dread. Prince Vaniell, Leisa noted, was the only one smiling. What did King Melger mean by his most trusted lieutenant? He wouldn’t have any need to worry about the defense of her person or her honor had he not separated her from her honor guard in the first place.

“I will brook no insults, no opposition to my will in this,” the king continued. “Defy me at your peril. That is all.”

Obviously done discussing the matter, he sat down again.

Judging it the best possible time to register her own objections, Leisa approached and curtsied, hoping no one could tell how badly her knees were shaking.

“Your Majesty,” she said, as humbly as possible, “I don’t pretend to understand, but if I could perhaps only speak with my honor guard, I’m sure there would be no need to trouble your own guards.”

“Have you something to hide?” the king inquired sternly.

“N-n-no,” she stammered, “but my father entrusted me to their care. It is a matter of protocol, and Her Majesty said…”

“And I changed my mind.” Melger subjected her to a harsh gaze for a moment before softening his regard. “You’re far too young and innocent to understand what kinds of treachery lurk in the hearts of even your closest confidants, but Idoknow. And I am the only one who knows how best to protect you from the dangers of my court. My decision has been made. You may select two members of your guard to remain and act as messengers, but the others will be returned to Farhall immediately.”

“Don’t worry,” the popinjay soothed, stepping towards Leisa to take her hand and place it on his arm again. “We have arrived at a solution that will satisfy everyone. You will be perfectly and entirely safe.”

“But how do you know?” she pleaded, certain she didn’t really want the answer.

Vaniell turned to gesture across the dais. “Because His Majesty has decreed that from this point forward, for as long as you remain a guest in our court, you will be protected by his own personal bodyguard.”

Leisa stared in horror.

Surely not.

But there was only one person he could mean.

The king had just assigned her the most deadly warrior under his command. The man he trusted the most to protect him from all threats, both mundane and magical—his personal mage assassin.

And the Raven was staring at her as though he already knew her secrets.

* * *

There was no question about it—she was the world’s worst spy, and the fact that she’d warned King Soren beforehand did little to ease her frustration.

The remainder of the evening passed in torturous fashion, and Leisa found herself wondering how often Princess Evaraine felt this way as she endured the court at Farhall. People came and went, faces blurred together—the movement and noise seemed never-ending.

Leisa had no idea how she continued to smile and behave as if it were all quite normal and nothing was troubling her. The matter of forks seemed a distant concern in comparison to the specter of dread hanging over her every move.

That specter matched the tall, broad-shouldered form that seemed content to hover somewhere just out of her peripheral vision, afflicting her with a constant itch between her shoulder blades that indicated she was being very thoroughly watched.

Of course, he was not truly a specter. After all, he’d caught her in his all-too-solid arms, so she knew he had both form and substance. But that was little comfort when she happened to glance his way and felt his attention fixed, unwavering, on her person. She didn’t feel protected—she felt like prey.

Was this the king’s intention? Was his Raven not a bodyguard but a spy, assigned to determine whether Farhall was intent on overthrowing Garimore from within? If so, she was going to have to be doubly careful.

Leisa decided not to attempt any dancing. There would be time enough to display her ineptitude on another occasion, and she was sufficiently discombobulated that she could scarcely discern a waltz from a minuet.

So instead, she sat and watched as her prospective bridegroom grew steadily more intoxicated and flirted wildly with every woman in the room who might reasonably be supposed to be under forty.

From the glances and comments she intercepted, this was simply his typical behavior, but from the expression on King Melger’s face, it was no more acceptable for a nearly-engaged man in Garimore than it would have been in Farhall.

Obviously, Leisa could not be said to be suffering from jealousy, either on her own behalf or Princess Evaraine’s. But it was difficult to keep her eyes from narrowing in disapproval as she watched his progress, imagining what his lack of decency and consideration would do to the princess’s feelings.

Evaraine did not, she’d confided, expect love. That was rarely possible in royal marriages, and to expect it would be to court disappointment. But she hoped for respect. Mutual consideration. The ability to share their lives and duties peacefully.

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