Page 25 of The Faceless Mage

Which explained why, in the face of a princess who refused to behave as expected, he’d gone running to fetch His Majesty to solve the problem for him.

King Melger strode into the room, surrounded by the near-visible cloud of his annoyance. At his heels? Prince Vaniell.

After so many years, the surge of hatred that followed his captor’s appearance had grown almost unnoticeable. Commonplace. As familiar as the burning ache in the Raven’s chest where his magic boiled and churned behind its invisible chains.

The king was… frustrated. After all this time, the Raven knew his moods, could feel them from halfway across the palace. And he was deeply aware that Melger had little patience for anything that did not fall in line with his plans and expectations.

The princess from Farhall had been chosen for Vaniell in part because she seemed weak. Easily manipulated. Easily controlled. With every passing hour, that assumption came further into question. Which meant that the king’s mood would grow ever more volatile.

Which was when he tended to employ violence to get what he wanted.

So swiftly it would have been difficult for eyes to follow, the Raven emptied his cup into a nearby vase, then set it on the floor. He could have set it down still full, but…

He hadn’t. And he did not care to dissect his reasons. He was certain they would make him uncomfortable.

The roomful of guards leaped to their feet as the king entered, those from Garimore bowing deeply, while the four from Farhall remained stiffly at attention.

Melger’s eyes, however, were not on the armed guards. He was watching his true mark—the princess, who even now met his eyes as they took one another’s measure.

The Raven could feel the king’s uneasy curiosity, the beginnings of questioning his own decision. Was this woman the sweet, quiet, fragile person they’d been led to believe? She was meant to be the simplest part of the plan. Easily manipulated, easily overlooked. Wooed, won, and then forgotten.

If only the Raven could have cheered for her success in upending their expectations. But those who disappointed Melger’s expectations tended to meet a swift end—on the edge of the Raven’s blade. Every life he was forced to take ate away at another corner of his soul, and this one… If he was forced to kill the princess from Farhall, he knew somehow that it would haunt him.

They are more troublesome than expected.The king’s observation echoed across their link. It was not yet a command, but the Raven’s shoulders tensed as he awaited the words that would force his obedience.The princess must agree to this alliance. Therefore you will not permit her to be harmed or disrespected, nor will you permit her guards to poison her against us. Your duty is to be her constant shadow. I will be informed if she or her people engage in treachery, or if my son does anything to endanger this accord. You will, of course, send word the moment the princess decides for or against the marriage.

Beneath his mask, the Raven’s lips curled upwards in a cruel mockery of a smile. For a decade, he’d pretended to be less than what he was—an automaton, with no thoughts or feelings of his own. It ensured that the king underestimated him. Everyone did. They feared him, yes, but they did not expect him to think.

But today, the king had gotten careless, and his words were less than specific. An entire flock of wyverns could’ve flown through the holes in those orders.

Beneath the Raven’s iron control, emotion began to seethe and take shape. But he shoved it back, into the deepest, darkest part of his mind. He couldn’t let Melger feel what he was horrified to realize were the smoldering embers of… hope.

But no. He refused to indulge in that most treacherous, most useless of emotions. It didn’t matter that the princess was not what anyone expected her to be. It didn’t matter that she was unexpectedly tenacious and likely to cause a great deal of chaos. It most especially did not matter that he found her intriguing. There was no hope. None. Not ever.

The Raven turned his attention back to the moment, expecting Melger to argue or assert his will. To be condescending and dismissive.

Instead, after he had gazed on the princess for a handful of moments, the king turned to address Captain Orvell.

“You and your men return to your posts.” That was all. He assigned neither blame nor commendation.

Then he turned back to the princess. “Choose your two,” he said bluntly. “I think it would be best if we avoid any repetition of this incident.”

“We?” Prince Vaniell murmured under his breath, so quietly, he probably hadn’t meant it to be overheard.

By the minute twitch of the princess’s eyebrows, she’d heard him anyway but chose not to respond.

“I couldn’t agree more,” she said instead, with such overwhelming dignity it seemed certain she was longing to point out Melger’s staggering hypocrisy. “And, taking that into account, I will be appointing these four”—she pointed to her guards—“to attend me for the duration of my stay. The remainder I will personally dispatch in the morning to oversee the return of my maids and ladies to Farhall and ensure their safety on the road.”

If the Raven hadn’t been watching Vaniell closely, he might have missed the tiny smirk that creased the prince’s lips.

The viper was amused.

Whatever King Melger had expected, it wasn’t for the princess to deny him. But when he failed to assign blame, he had also surrendered the moral high ground, and the princess seemed very much aware that she’d been handed an opportunity.

The king opened his mouth.

But to the surprise of—apparently—everyone, Vaniell entered the fray on the princess’s behalf.

“My dear Evaraine,” he said, moving towards her to take her hand and press it to his lips, “that is an eminently sensible suggestion. We are grateful for your understanding.”

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