Page 17 of The War Queen's Daughter

It’s certainly unlike anything I’ve ever worn, but an excellent choice, I think.

I exit my room, back into the hallway, hearing the sound of voices near the entry foyer, and move to join the other princesses who I can see have gathered to leave for dinner as one. I’m not too late after all, then, though they’re suddenly on the move before I can join them, and I’m hurrying my stride to catch up.

Before I slow down again and take my own pace. I will not rush after them like an errant child.

Oddly, I note, none of them are dressed like me, their full gowns even more elaborate than the ones they wore earlier. But it’s not until one of them turns and spots me, her eyes flying wide, gasping before she spins and giggles with her hands over her mouth, that I realize something is wrong.

But it’s too late, they’re passing through a final door, the dining room visible on the other side, and I’m still in motion, unable to stop myself as I cross the threshold last to the wide-eyed stares of the two servants who flank the door.

Someone gasps out loud, and then all chatter ceases completely as everyone turns to stare.

Vae was right. They’re all looking at me. But when I catch her evil wink and hear her tinkling laugh, I understand her goal to humiliate me, to pretend to befriend and then bring me low, succeeded all too well.

The Headservant hurries toward me as I glare at the Sarnian princess.

“I don’t know how you dress in Heald,” he hisses at me, “but we do not wear our bedclothes to dinner here.”

“How sad for you,” I say. “It’s the most comfortable way to eat.” I’ve had it, over and done with, and any cares I may have felt have gone with my armor. Let them stare. I’ve seen Mother wear less in public, and it’s not like I’m ugly. If their sensibilities are that tender, they should spend a few weeks on a campaign with me before they judge.

I walk forward, right next to the tall seat at the head of the table, and choose it with purpose. One of the princesses squeaks an attempt at a protest, but I ignore her and sit, helping myself to a glass of wine. No one moves or even breathes as I tear off a chunk of bread with both hands from the crusty loaf that’s clearly meant to be cut with the gold-handled knife next to it. I’m not a barbarian or uncouth, I swear it. But if they want a show, if I’ve been set up to give them a sight and a fright and someone to whisper about, let them have their freak to oogle.

I plan to enjoy my dinner, perhaps find someone to take to bed after and then, once I’ve had my fill, find my damned armor before someone ruins it.

Vae sits first, across from me, her pale eyes no longer kind. “You look…”

“You too,” I say, taking a bite out of my bread with gusto. “Wine?”

I don’t think she knows what to do with me. I don’t know what to do with myself. This role I find myself in feels right, however, a mask I can wear like a shield to protect me, and if this is what it takes to make it through this and then home again, so be it.

A small selection of princesses bend close to one another and snicker. One, a tall woman with a sneer carved into her sharp features, stifles a laugh behind a perfectly manicured hand. “How crude,” she says. “As expected.”

The doors to the dining hall open, and the scent of roasted meats and sweet wine washes over us as dinner is brought in. The princesses rush to sit without appearing to hurry, the swish of skirts and settling happening around me. But only Vae keeps my attention. I grin at her as I chew and sip as she stares back, her pristine ice blue gown a perfect match for her soulless eyes.

This is far from over, and she’d won the first round before I knew the rules. But this round belongs to me, whether she likes it or not.

The long table groans under the weight of food presented, surface gleaming with polished silver and crystal. No one touches a thing, however, the scent of the meat on the platter next to me about to make me mad with hunger.

I stab a slice, sliding it to my plate, as the princess next to me hisses.

“Not until our Overprince is seated,” she says. “We don’t eat until he arrives.”

“Then his Royal Overhighness shouldn’t be late for dinner,” I say, cutting a sliver and stuffing it in my mouth. “I’m starving.”

I might as well have slapped the lot of them by the way they gasp and clutch their necklines. And I’m the only one who doesn’t stand right away when the man in question finally deigns to join us.

He takes no notice of the princesses who rise as he hurries in, or that I’m eating, ignoring all of us as he lands hard on his chair and empties his wine glass. It’s barely touching the table, and a servant is refilling it, the Overprince’s attention fully focused on the table in front of him and not on us.

If he feels me watching, he makes no note of it, though Vae does and speaks up before anyone else can.

“Such a delight, as always, to have you join us for dinner, my Overprince.” She bows her head to him, that sweet kindness a fraud, like she is, rotten to the core.

He looks bored, that’s it. Not anxious or sad or angry. Just like he’s wasting his time and doesn’t know why.

He’s not alone in it.

The whispers start up as food is served. And they’re clearer now, the princesses making no attempt to hide their judgments as boldness takes hold.

“Look at her arms. Like a stable boy.” “Such muscles. Does she wrestle bears?” “And those terrible scars! She looks like a common mercenary.” The laughter, barely muffled, stings my ears. Every glance, every raised eyebrow, every dismissive turn of a head, is a blade. I stand out too much. Not in a good way.

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