Page 41 of The Faceless Mage

Leisa found herself almost mesmerized by the other woman’s effrontery as her hand reached up again—probably to do something horrifying like pat the princess’s cheek—but it never landed.

Before anyone else could react, before Leisa really even knew what had happened, Lady Marceline’s wrist was gripped in a black leather vise. The Raven had appeared beside her, looming over them both with a menacing posture that very clearly proclaimed his disapproval.

Vaniell let out what Leisa was convinced was an entirely involuntary curse. One of the male courtiers screamed, and Lady Marceline turned the color of fresh snow before swooning in the Raven’s grip.

For a moment, she simply hung there, while he remained unmoving. But he must have gotten tired of it, because he dropped her, just as he’d once dropped Leisa. Lady Marceline’s head, fortunately, hit one of her arms instead of the brick path, and for two or three breaths, everyone just stared at her prone form.

“How unfortunate,” Leisa’s suitor mumbled under his breath, as the fallen woman’s friends knelt at her side. He shot Leisa a glance, and for once, it appeared she had utterly perplexed him. “My dear Evaraine, perhaps we should continue our conversation at some future time.” He let out a sigh that might actually have been genuine. “I will call for assistance for the lady and ensure she is returned to her chambers where a physician can examine her. In the meantime, I’m sure you would prefer to have a moment to prepare for your luncheon with Her Majesty.”

It was not a suggestion. Leisa was being ordered away—as ifshewere the problem in this scenario.

Perhaps she was. It wasn’t as though any of them had asked to be saddled with a foreign princess. They had their own habits, their own friendships, their own sense of belonging in a world she didn’t understand. Evaraine would always be an intruder, and her presence would create ripples of change throughout every area of their lives.

Leisa decided she probably shouldn’t be too hard on Marceline for wishing her world could go on exactly as it had before Vaniell’s proposed betrothal. She didn’t have to like Marceline—the beautiful courtier had been too cruel and spiteful for that—but she could at least show some pity for what the other woman had lost.

“Yes, thank you,” Leisa said, wondering that she still felt a bit stung by her exclusion from a group she hadn’t wanted to join anyway. “Our conversation need not be concluded immediately. I thank you for your time, Your Highness, and I believe I can find my own way back.”

She didn’t curtsy. Or offer Vaniell any other mark of respect he didn’t deserve. She might have it in her to pity Lady Marceline, but the Prince of Garimore was another matter. Their conversation thus far had chilled her deeply, and until they resolved it to her satisfaction, Leisa would remain in grave doubt that any alliance between their kingdoms was possible.

Chapter 12

The princess was lost.

Not that long ago, the Raven might not have been able to tell what she was feeling, but the link forged by the gem had grown stronger. He could sense her growing more humiliated by the second.

What he couldn’t understand was how she could have lost her way. After her incredibly effective evasion of half the king’s guards the night before, finding her room in the middle of the day should have been simple.

And why should she be embarrassed when there was no one but a bodyguard to see her?

He heard a small sound in her throat—a groan of frustration he assumed—before she whirled around to face him.

So he stopped, leaving five or six paces between them, and waited, wondering whether he could unnerve her simply by staring.

Somehow, after everything he’d seen, he doubted it. The princess was far more resilient than she wanted people to believe. She was also more politically astute, as her manipulation of Melger proved, but it remained to be seen whether she could outwit the king once he realized she was not so innocent as she pretended.

Evaraine clearly grasped some of the more troubling aspects of this alliance, along with some of the more troubling aspects of Prince Vaniell’s character. She had character enough of her own to care about her people, and courage enough to question Garimore’s plans for their future. She even had enough backbone to challenge the king to his face, which had surprised them both. In the long run, however, that would probably prove to be a mistake. King Melger did not care to be thwarted by anyone, let alone a princess he’d anticipated would remain neatly beneath his dictatorial thumb.

As she stood perhaps six paces away and stared at him, unblinking, the Raven realized it was the first time the two of them had been alone for that long. And as the silence stretched on, the Raven found himself wondering what she was thinking.

He could feel her emotions, yes, at least distantly, but not the thoughts that accompanied them. She was worried. Exhausted. Frustrated. Self-conscious. Curious.

Curious? He focused on that for a moment and realized that her curiosity was just as focused—onhim.

It had been so long since anyone dared express curiosity, he found himself momentarily taken aback.

They continued to eye one another before the princess finally broke the silence.

“All right,” she said, crossing her arms tightly in front of her chest. “I admit it. I lied.”

She must be more unnerved than he thought, to just blurt out a confession like that. But as he simply stood and stared, she seemed to take his lack of response as permission to keep talking.

“I have no idea how to get back to my suite. But I couldn’t exactly ask for directions in front of that lot.”

He heard derision in her voice, but her emotions? She felt… hurt. As much as she despised the courtiers, their rejection had wounded her.

It was perplexing, but the Raven sensed that observation would turn out to be important. Whatever mysteries the princess was hiding, a soft heart seemed likely to be one of them.

As evidenced by her concern for his ability to go without sleep. A very un-princesslike query, now that he thought about it. Royalty seemed trained from birth to ignore those beneath them.

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