Page 39 of The Faceless Mage

“There is no use pretending that you would be either loyal or faithful to me. I am perfectly aware of your reputation, and was treated to an exhibition of your habits last night. But I was raised to know my duty to Farhall and will not balk due to something so commonplace as dissolution. In truth, there would be no reason for your drinking or womanizing to affect me once we were married.”

This time, she had genuinely shocked him.

“Evaraine, I would never…”

“Save your breath,” Leisa told him. “Consider this part of your lesson in my preferences. I might be unsophisticated and hopelessly gauche, but you will never need doubt what I am thinking. Nor should you doubt that I am quite well aware of what you think of me and my kingdom. So if you want to prove to me that you are committed to an alliance, there is truly only one thing I require from you, and that is a little plain speaking in return.”

This might not work. But there was so much she needed to know, and she doubted King Melger would be honest with her. Vaniell wasn’t as committed to the political necessity of the match as his father was, nor did he seem to despise her quite as thoroughly as his brother. Plus, there was the matter of that necklace. He’d gifted her with an obviously magical object, and she refused to believe he could have done so out of ignorance.

“Of course, I will do my best, my dear Evaraine, but…”

“What is Garimore’s stance towards mages, Vaniell?”

His recoil was a trained, calculated thing, but he betrayed himself by the briefest glance towards Leisa’s chest. As he had not done so at any point before gifting her the necklace, she rather doubted he had suddenly developed a fascination with her decidedly unspectacular bosom.

“Why would you ask about mages?” He shuddered theatrically, but then, Vaniell did many things theatrically.

She quite deliberately did not answer.

“My dear princess, whatever my kingdom’s position towards mages may be, it is well known that you, yourself, are not magical in any way. There is no need for concern.”

Leisa let him suffer for another moment, then struck out along the path at a measured pace, forcing him to follow.

“Perhaps not,” she allowed, “but as your father so wisely said, a monarch must always be prepared, and must know what will best serve his or her kingdom in the future.” She was going to make all of them regret that piece of condescending drivel—over and over again. “Farhall is home to many mages, as well as a fair number of non-human magic users, and I would consider it inexcusably shortsighted if I failed to consider their well-being.”

“Their well-being?” Vaniell echoed, as if confused by the concept.

“Are mages or non-humans being persecuted by Garimore?”

The words were barely out of her mouth when an invisible horse kicked her in the chest.

Or at least, that’s what it felt like.

Leisa stumbled as Vaniell’s head whipped around to face her, but she didn’t even get a chance to gloat at the shock in his eyes. She couldn’t even breathe. Her head spun, completely disoriented by a surge of emotion so powerful it almost knocked her off her feet. Her chest ached as the path seemed to undulate beneath her, and she wobbled, dizzily, leaning closer and closer to the ground…

Inevitably, she lost the fight. The hedge rushed up to meet her, but somehow she didn’t quite fall into it.

Instead, she hovered in the air for a moment before finding herself clasped against a very broad, very strong, very armor-clad masculine chest.

Oh, sweet mother of Abreia, the Raven had caught her again.

“Don’t drop me,” Leisa squeaked involuntarily, and then froze, because the giant, scary, magical assassin was touching her, and she had no idea what to think or what to feel. Her face was inches from that dark and featureless mask, which, in full sun, was not as featureless as she’d supposed. She could see delicate etchings in its surface—the artwork of some diabolical metalsmith—and wondered what might be hidden beneath the edges of that hood. If she pulled it back, would she see the shape of his ears and the color of his hair? Or had that too been hidden?

As they all remained motionless for that handful of seconds, Leisa became aware of the unmistakable rise and fall of the Raven’s chest as he held her. She felt a scalding heat from the gem around her neck, accompanied by a sense of intense, unwavering focus. Was he merely concerned for her well-being? Or had something about her words caught his attention?

And if so, what was it?

Her heart was racing madly, and she found herself still struggling to draw a breath. This close, everything about her bodyguard was overwhelming. His presence seemed to surround her, his focus pressing in on her mind and her magic alike. He was too strong. Too close. Too… too much.

“Put me down,” she said breathlessly, and he complied, fortunately, less abruptly than the time before. Her feet hit the brick path, and she wobbled for a moment before she was able to look up at Vaniell with a wide-eyed smile.

“Well, that was embarrassing.”

He continued to stare.

“I’ve always been a bit clumsy. Lucky for me that His Majesty’s bodyguard is quick on his feet.”

“Lucky,” Vaniell repeated.

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