Page 14 of The War Queen's Daughter

Anything.

Gorgon goes with them when I release him from his stand at attention, Amber guiding me, and good thing, too, because I’m in a daze again, and this time, I fear I’ll never wake from it.

We’re back inside again, the hushed halls engulfing me, the tap of my boots on the marble echoing. Wherever she leads me, I’m oblivious until she opens a door and steps through.

It’s bright here, late-day’s sunlight pouring through tall windows overlooking a small garden. There’s a seating area of plush furnishings, a large four-poster bed draped in gauze and velvet. Another door leads to a clothing storage that Amber goes through as she speaks.

“Vivenne sent your measure,” she says, pulling out a dress to show me. I don’t acknowledge it, hating the thing already though it’s never touched my body or done me real offence. “These should all fit and can be tailored as we need.” She pulls out some white underthings, shoes, depositing all on the bed.

I cross to one of the large, arched windows, looking out over manicured gardens. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows, and a gentle breeze carries the scent of foreign blossoms. My hands clench and unclench. Trapped in a cage of my mother’s making.

By that same mother who sent me to humiliation. She sent me here, knowing I would be one among many, a disposablepawn in some twisted game of courtly intrigue. I can’t bring myself to believe it. My mother, for all her ambition, for all her ruthlessness, has always valued Heald’s honor. Surely, she wouldn’t subject her only daughter to such a public degradation. And yet, the queen of Heald is a master of tactics. A maestro of deception. She has manipulated me my whole life.

Why would now be any different?

I turn to find Amber watching me with so much empathy that anger is the only response I have available to me.

“Get out,” I snarl, advancing on her. She’s so startled by the command that she retreats to the door. “I don’t need your help.” I slam it closed in her face, turning to lean back against it.

Breathe, Remalla. Breathe.

I’m about to straighten when a soft knock fires me up all over again. I whirl, my hand instinctively going to the hilt of my sword as I jerk it open to shout at Amber for her audacity.

Only to find I’m threatening another stranger, this one a man, with the point of my very sharp blade.

Chapter 9

“Princess Remalla.” The new stranger nods to me slowly, glancing down at my sword between us. It’s pointed between his legs, and if it makes him uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it. “I am Chancellor Hallick. The Overking’s advisor.” Black eyes glitter beneath thick brows and lashes, his oiled hair held back with a silver band. A heavy beard and carefully twisted mustache hide much of his face, my least favorite as it hides the truth of a man more easily than when clean-shaven. Though he’s dressed as finely as the rest, I sense a hardness in him that is familiar enough, if unwelcome. Too much the ilk of my mother for my liking. “I wish to speak with you.”

I hesitate, but I know better than to refuse. If I’m right, and I am, Hallick’s traits in common with the queen of Heald require obedience. Besides, I have to speak to someone of authority sometime, and if he can give me some possible exit strategy, he might be worth talking to.

Hope has no home here, but I give it one anyway and open the door. Chancellor Hallick oozes through to my chamber, the way he moves making my skin crawl. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and I realize the hardness I sensed was not my mother’s at all. She is a loud and powerful weapon.

He is a snake. He feels oily, untrustworthy, like something that slithers in the shadows. He is the very embodiment of the courtly intrigue my aunt warned me about, lies and controls hidden in plain sight.

“Princess Remalla,” he says my name again, one of the only people I haven’t had to correct when it comes to my title, so I allow him to remain, though I’m watchful now. And I’m glad I let him in for other reasons. Here is an enemy I understand or, at least, recognize. If he knows I’ve pegged him for the reptile he is, he doesn’t show it, his voice a low purr. “A trying day, I’m sure. Come, let us speak.” He glides toward the seating area, seemingly unfazed by my still-present armor.

Hallick sits, patting the cushion next to him on the small sofa. I choose to stand, arms crossed, and wait.

That smile only deepens. “Caution is understandable,” he says. “And warranted, highness.” His words are a silken web, weaving around my anger. “Our Overking is wise, though this tradition of the ‘Royal Selection’, well.” He tuts softly. “Certainly, an insult to the likes of the heir of Heald.” What a relief to have him here, to see and embrace a threat I’ve encountered before. Not him specifically, but his like. I’ve observed more than enough parleys my mother has agreed to, watched her manage the sleek and cultured political representatives of kings and queens who come to negotiate treaties, to lie and cheat and manipulate. Send them scurrying in terror from her laughter at their attempts to win her over.

He will never know the gratitude I feel for the balance his visit brings me, and is no doubt thinking he’s swaying me when I feel myself smile as he goes on. “You understand, however, that this selection process, one the Overking himself endured many years ago at his father’s insistence, ensures the strongest possible union for Protoris.” I don’t answer, letting him keep the air full with his chatter. “I can assure you, your mother, Queen Jhanette, understands the true nature of this arrangement, and has agreed to it for the greater glory of Heald.” That much I believe, yes.

And the conversation in my mother’s tent the night she informed me is coming into clarity, all the things she didn’t say. The things my aunt tried to.

Hallick goes on, and I try not to sigh, barely hearing him as he paints a picture of immense power, of my future influence, if only I play this game correctly. He appeals to my honor, my duty, my family’s legacy. He reminds me of the consequences of refusal, the “unfortunate misunderstandings” that could arise between Heald and Protoris were I to reject this process outright.

His words are a slow, steady tide, wearing down my energy if not my resistance. I only hear the thinly veiled threats, the insidious manipulation behind every word, despite his artful delivery. But more than that, I hear the chilling confirmation of what Amber already told me.

Motherdidknow. Knew all along. Was sent to the capital at my age, to stand before the current Overking. Only to be rejected and sent away.

No wonder she’s bitter.

So, why allow me to go through this same thing, too? Aunt spoke up and I didn’t understand, but Mother did. I can’t believe it’s cruelty. Does she honestly believe what Amber has told me? Is the Overprince turning his back on all the other choices?

Do I really stand a chance to be his bride?

Wait. Is that why Hallick is here? The sudden insight has me smiling again.

---