Page 15 of The War Queen's Daughter

Hallick’s voice tapers off when I do, the Chancellor pausing, then falling still. I haven’t moved or changed expression since he began until now, and though my smile is a reaction, it’s not the one he’s expecting, surely. He must now see that he’s no more reached me than one of the statues outside my window in the fancy garden courtyard now falling dark as the sun sets over the city.

If anything, I now have his measure completely. He thinks to gain my ear and my trust because he thinks I’ll be the next Overqueen, does he? I should feel encouraged.

I’m just disgusted.

It’s quiet as he observes me with his serpent-like eyes. My anger is still a hot ember, but buried deep enough that I’m thinking clearly again. The cold ash of resignation has settled over it. I am trapped, yes. I cannot leave. Not yet. Hallick’s attempt to woo me means there’s more odds for me than against.

But a seed of an idea has planted itself, and I’m going to water and feed it because it gives me comfort.

There is a chance that Amber is wrong and that if I wait this out…

I could go home legitimately once the Overprince’s choice is made. And should he try to choose me as the ambassador and Hallick clearly think he will?

Maybe I can make him regret it. Choose another.

I laugh at the thought. Hallick, unprepared, jumps a little, rises to his feet. Fear passes over his face, though he hides it well. But not from me.

“Thank you, Chancellor,” I say with real warmth, for he’s given me an avenue of consideration I hadn’t allowed myself until now. Mother’s taught me too well and might live to regret her lifelong instruction in the art of manipulation and strategy. “Is there anything else?”

“Dinner, highness,” he says. “In an hour. I trust you’ll be ready.”

He turns and sweeps toward the door as I feel my whole being finally settle. I have my orders, and I’ve assessed my situation. Now I have a strategy turned into a plan. All that’s left is to act on it.

And perhaps unwarranted, I have to hope my mother, for all her deceit, truly knows what she is doing.

In the meantime, I have to find a way to navigate this treacherous landscape, to survive it. Even if that means ensuring the Overprince never, ever chooses me as his bride.

“I understand, Chancellor,” I say, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. “I will participate. In this game and dinner.”

Hallick’s smile widens as he pauses, clearly surprised by my agreement. He flashes perfectly white teeth as he stands in the open door. “Excellent, Princess Remalla. A wise decision. Your mother raised you well.” He nods, a final, oily gesture, and then slips out of the room as silently as he entered.

I stand there, alone again, the silence of the room pressing in on me. The heavy velvet curtains, the polished furniture, the sweet smell of bouquets of flowers that I don’t have names for—it all feels like a smothering weight. I am not sure what to do next. My usual instincts, honed for battle, are useless here. My mind feels numb, exhausted.

Then, a second soft, this time tentative, knock sounds on my door.

The sound echoes in the heavy silence of my new quarters. What now? I take a breath, push away the resentment that rises, and pull open the way to whoever it is who has come to call.

The princess of Sarn smiles instantly, dimples at the ready, radiating a warmth that I struggle to quantify. She’s both inviting and slightly unsettling, and unlike the Chancellor, much harder to read. I can’t argue that she’s utterly exquisite, however, now that I’m in a state of mind to appreciate her. She’s a wisp of a thing, draped in a gown of shimmering pale blue silk that seems to glow in the dimming light. Her hair is spun gold, a cascade of perfect blonde curls framing a face of delicate beauty. Her eyes are an astonishing, icy blue, clear as mountain springs, and her pale complexion is flawless. She looks like a porcelain doll, fragile and perfect. The scent of sweet lavender drifts from her.

“Forgive my intrusion,” she says, her voice a soft, melodic chime. “I am Vae, first daughter of Sarn. I understand you weren’t informed of why we… well, I thought perhaps you might be feeling a little overwhelmed.” Her smile is gentle, disarmingly kind.

Princess Vae of Sarn. I might not know her, but I do know her country. My mother’s favorite target, lying on our northwest border. The land of Heald has encroached upon hers in several brutal campaigns, pushing back their holdings, weakening their defenses. My own hands have been stained with the blood of Sarn warriors. Mind you, it’s been almost five years since our last skirmish, Mother’s attentions turned elsewhere. This woman, so beautiful and seemingly benevolent, hails from a land my people have actively ravaged. My warrior’s instincts immediately screamdanger. Which means I distrust her, fundamentally, with every fiber of my being.

Because were we in each other’s boots, I’d hate her for what’s been done for the sake of land and power.

Yet, her smile holds steady, her blue eyes wide and earnest. And the kindness, so unexpected in this viper’s nest of a court, feels like a balm to my raw nerves. I am unsure of the social rules here. Is this genuine compassion, or a meticulously crafted trap? I choose to accept the gesture, for now.

“Remalla of Heald,” I reply, dipping my head in a slight, stiff bow, armor creaking faintly. I’m acutely aware of the fact I stink and that she’s the kind of delicate beauty someone like the Overprince should crave. Perhaps our two goals can be aligned. Mother might want me on the Overqueen’s throne, but it’s clear to me that this is not my place, and Heald will not benefit from my marriage.

I will turn into Amber and be of no use to anyone.

“Oh, I know who you are, Lady Remalla,” Vae says, her dimples adorable. “The Warrior Princess. Everyone whispersabout you, even before you arrived. When we heard you’d accepted and were joining our little game.” She laughs, a tinkling sound. “Of course, I wouldn’t have missed your striking entrance for all the gold in the Overkingdom. How remarkable you are.” A faint amusement dances in her eyes, but it’s not unkind. “And that armor is truly… formidable.”

I feel a flush creep up my neck. The memory of my defiant salute to the smirking man in the market, the humiliation of the Headservant’s disdain, and each and every whisper I imagine aimed at me culminates in a wash of dread that I can’t shake. “It’s just armor,” I mumble, feeling clumsy, suddenly aware of every scuff, every scratch. “I arrived… directly.”

Vae steps further into the room, her gaze sweeping over my quarters. “Of course. And quite rightly so. A warrior should look the part. But… for court, perhaps something a little… different?” She tilts her head, her expression thoughtful. “Your hair is such a gorgeous black, I’m hideously jealous. Who chose this for you?” She tsks over the gown that Amber laid out, hurrying to put it away, though she hesitates as if uncertain if she’s overstepped. I gesture for her to carry on. “And your eyes… they are molten amber, truly outstanding. We must accentuate them. You know, I’ve always wished for tanned skin.” She sighs deeply as she helps herself to the closet and the clothing there, her voice a bit muffled as she rifles through what’s available to me. “You stand out without even trying, Remalla. Ah, perfect!” Vae emerges again with something bronze draped over her arm. “Your height,” she gushes, “those muscles, honestly.” She extends her find toward me and, hesitant, I take it. “You would look stunning in anything, but the bronze will make them all stare.”

I look down at the thin fabric of the gown, back up to the more elaborate one she wears.

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