CHAPTER 2: GUARDED

  Melianthe

  Despite last night’s adventure I’m awake and waiting, morning light streaming through the high windows, when the knock sounds on my door. “Come in,” I call out, brimming with anticipation, but my excitement dies when I see who steps into the room. It’s a stranger, rosy-cheeked and blonde haired. Suddenly my heart is hammering in my chest and I can’t breathe. “Where is Lyra?” I get out, strangled. My maidservant helped me plan to free Sir Talos, she stole him a guard uniform last night, if she got caught….

  My panicked thoughts settle a bit as the girl curtsies to the floor, the exact degree of deference shown to royalty, her eyes downcast beneath her starched white servant’s cap. “Reassigned, Your Highness, as of yestereve. She’s to serve for Lady Marlowe now. My name is Adelaide. If you’ll tell me your preferences, Highness, I’m pleased to serve.” Her words are crisp, measured, careful.

  I exhale a shaky breath. It could be a cover to make Lyra disappear, but it’s doubtful that they’d go to such elaborate lengths for a servant. If she’d been caught, she’d be in line for her own dungeon cell or worse, and everyone would know it. She’s been my maidservant since I was old enough to have one and the loss of her companionship stings, but better reassigned than dead. I finally notice the breakfast tray she carries and pull myself together into my Empire manners, princess mask firmly in place. “Thank you, Adelaide. If you’ll just put the tray on the coffee table, I’ll wear the blue dress with the gold embroidery today I think.” Ravencrest blue, but with a concession to Empire gold. It’s about as much as I can stomach today.

  Adelaide curtsies again, setting down the tray, and bustles off to lay out the chosen dress and matching jewelry. I pour coffee from the silver urn, the unfamiliar bitter scent replacing the memory of mountain flowers and honey. The porcelain cup feels delicate as an eggshell in my hands as I add a heaping spoon of sugar and cream, trying to make it more palatable. I stare thoughtfully at nothing, chewing on a piece of toast spread with berry jam, thinking of ways to approach morning court.

  Adelaide reappears, silent as an unwanted ghost. “Highness,” she says, “I’ll be pleased to help dress you whenever you’re ready.” My stomach’s roiling anyway so I push away the crumb-scattered breakfast tray. Adelaide laces me into the heavy gown. I nod at her chosen jewels - the sapphire set that arrived last month from a lord I can’t remember, still gleaming with polish - and sit before the mirror to allow her to style my hair. The current fashion is to pin up all the hair, leaving the neck bare. I used to admire the ladies at court with their jeweled and pearl nets atop their long, shiny hair and dream of the day I’d be old enough to join them while Lyra hummed ballads and gently braided my hair into childish patterns. Now I sit motionless and let Adelaide push golden sapphire-tipped pins into my scalp with almost mathematical precision, holding the elaborate chignon in place. The back of my neck feels exposed, vulnerable, and I know that the drafts in the great hall will chill my bare skin.

  While Adelaide takes the breakfast tray I reach into a drawer, pulling out my mother’s silver raven pendant from a silk bag tucked underneath an old hairbrush, a book, other useless odds and ends. I slip it over my head and under my dress like armor and the comforting weight of it spreads its wings against my breastbone.

  It’s nearly time. I brush my hands down my skirts, standing straighter, and arrange my face into a mask of perfect, untroubled serenity. Sir Talos is waiting outside my door, in uniform, just as planned, and my knees go a bit weak with relief. Everything has gone well so far. Now we just need to get through morning court.

  He bows to me, his face impassive. “Good morning, Your Highness. I trust you slept well?” He’s gotten a sword from somewhere and seems much more balanced with it strapped to his hip.

  “I feel quite refreshed, thank you.” I take his offered arm, part of me thrilling at the contact. In the light of day I can see how prison has aged him but he still stands straight as ever, moves proudly as a lion.

  He escorts me to the great hall, where the nobles and Father have gathered to begin the day’s business. The great hall's ancient walls still hold their worn carvings, though tapestries now cover most of them. Sunlight catches on fresh gilt, a gaudy contrast against old stone. Across the room Father is talking to Lord Theron and a woman I don’t know, dressed in a white dress and cloak that make her glow. She holds herself with regal bearing, her pale hair gleaming in its braided crown. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

  Father glances my direction and I think I detect a half second of surprise cross his face as he sees me on Sir Talos’ arm but he beckons me over. The usual morning chatter dies to whispers as we approach, courtiers' eyes darting between Father, me, and Sir Talos with barely concealed curiosity. Lord Theron bows and excuses himself, his eyes lingering on Sir Talos. “Melianthe, my dear,” Father says, ringed hand tucked into his beard, “this is Ambassador Cordelia. She’s come all the way from Asterion to replace Jarrod.”

  I curtsy to Ambassador Cordelia, a calculated deference of greater-rank-to-one-older-and-wiser, and her amber eyes flicker with pleasure. “Princess, it’s a delight to meet you,” she says, and even her voice is warm honey. Just watching her makes me feel ungainly, too sharp at the edges. Every tilt of her head, every gesture of her hand seems to command the space around her without apparent effort. I find myself mimicking the downsweep of her lashses before I catch myself. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Ambassador Cordelia,” I say pleasantly and rise. “Ravencrest is honored by the Empire’s continued guidance.” The words taste like ash in my mouth but I shape them carefully.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  A small, satisfied smile passes over Cordelia’s full lips. “I hope the new maidservant is to your liking. She traveled with me from the capital and we’ve brought all the latest fashions. I know how important it is to a young girl to keep up with the times.”

  So Cordelia’s responsible for taking Lyra from me. I grit my teeth for a second before responding, “Adelaide seems very well trained. I’m sure her service will be a blessing.” I can’t very well ask for Lyra back and I don’t want to get the poor girl in trouble, even if she’s an Empire spy.

  One well-manicured platinum eyebrow arches. “I had planned to assign you a guard as well - I don’t know what Jarrod was thinking, allowing you to wander unescorted - but it seems there’s been some confusion?” She speaks to Father with warmth and concern layered through the question.

  I break in smoothly, “Sir Talos is very experienced, with a long record of service, and was chosen as a symbol to placate the more… traditional viewpoints.” I match my smile to hers.

  “Sir Talos?” I can see the thoughts working behind her eyes as she recognizes the name. “Aldrich…” She turns to Father. “Is it a good idea to entrust your daughter’s safety to a known loyalist? Commander Varius is Empire-trained and will protect dear Melianthe with his life.” She runs the syllables of my name together into a lilt - Mel-yan-thee.

  Father clears his throat. “Talos served King Everett personally. I have no doubt he will take the same care with my daughter.” His narrowed blue eyes, the mirror of my own, get the message across. Sir Talos had better take the same care, or else.

  “And naturally,” I add, “when the traditionalists see Sir Talos working for the good of the Empire, perhaps they will come to realize the benefits of cooperation.” I allow my smile to deepen slightly. I’ve got an excellent point, and she knows it.

  “Well.” Cordelia takes a breath. “I certainly hope so.” She claps her hands together, actually claps them like a delighted child, changing the subject. “But I have one last piece of good news for you!”

  If she thinks it’s good news, I suspect I would rather drown myself in the lake than hear what she has to say. But Father says it for her.

  “The Empire has arranged a betrothal for you.”

  The assembled courtiers and nobles break into scattered applause as the bottom drops out of my stomach. I knew this was coming at some point, but it was always in the far distant future. Now, it’s an uncomfortable reality.

  “Oh?” I manage to get out, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

  “The Empire has chosen Prince Cassian, heir to the throne of Blackmere, to unite your kingdoms and solidify the relationship between you,” Cordelia chimes in. “Cassian was fostered in Asterion and is a delightful young man. I’m sure you will find him very agreeable.”

  I swallow as my mind races through the implications. Blackmere sits on our eastern border, our last buffer against the Empire. I’ve heard that Cassian was taken hostage at the age of eight as collateral for the debts Blackmere couldn’t repay. Ten years in Asterion; by binding me to an Empire-trained prince they mean to put Ravencrest in chains.

  “Your majority is coming soon,” Father says. The morning light behind him throws shadows from his crown over his face, his expression unreadable. “We will hold a formal ball to celebrate both your coming of age and the betrothal on your birthday.”

  Sixteen, the same age my mother was when she married Father. The age I cease being a passive investment and become a tool in their hands. I want to scream, cry, anything to stop this. Instead I bow my head, only a very slight tremble passing through me. “Thank you, Father.”

  “We have so much to do!” Cordelia extends her hands toward me in delight. “Your court manners are excellent but there’s so much more refinement a princess and future queen needs. I’ve scheduled you a block of morning lessons with me each day so that we can catch you up to Cassian, starting tomorrow.” She seems genuinely excited, and I hate how much I want to learn her secrets - how she makes every eye in the room follow her movements, how she turns beauty into authority, grace into power. The way she commands attention without seeming to seek it, while I feel like I'm constantly performing, constantly being judged and found wanting. Is that something I can learn from her, without becoming what she is? Trapped between wanting and hating, there’s only one response I can give.

  “I look forward to it, Ambassador Cordelia. I’m sure there’s much I can learn from you.” Like how to be an uptight bitch, I don’t say, even as I find myself studying how she holds her shoulders, the precise angle of her chin. Power is power, after all, and I need every weapon I can get. My fingers brush unconsciously against where my mother's raven pendant lies hidden. Would she understand, or be ashamed of how much I want to learn?

  Father lifts a hand. “You’re excused, Melianthe. A meeting is about to start and we don’t require your presence. Now, come give your father a kiss before you go.”

  Bewildered at the unusual request, I dutifully approach his chair, Sir Talos following like a faithful shadow, and bend down to kiss his cheek. He turns his head as though to return it, but instead his lips brush against my ear in a whisper. “It’s a very dangerous game you’ve started playing, my girl. Watch yourself.”

  I straighten, a prickle of unease running down my spine. Is it a threat, or a warning? I curtsy to Father, to Cordelia, and walk to the door with my head held high, Sir Talos trailing in my wake. The excited murmur of voices rises behind us as we leave, but I barely hear it over the rushing in my ears. I manage to keep my composure until we turn the corner into an empty corridor, then my knees give out. Sir Talos catches my elbow before I can fall.

  'Your Highness?' His voice is carefully neutral, but his grip is steady.

  'I need-' My voice cracks and I swallow hard. “I need a moment.” He lets me go and I lean against the cold stone wall for strength, my hands over my face as if by shutting out the world I can forget what just happened. I take a deep, shuddering breath, then another. I will not cry. Not here in public, and especially not in front of Sir Talos.

  He gives me the time I need, waiting in patient silence while I take slow, careful breaths and stuff my conflicting emotions down into a little box, to be taken out and examined later. When I lower my hands, my eyes are dry. We begin moving again; I have music lessons this morning and I don’t want to explain myself if I’m late. As we walk I settle myself enough to remember one of the other reasons I wanted Sir Talos close to me. Beauty and grace isn’t the only kind of power I need.

  “I want you to teach me to fight.” The words drop through the air like stones, heavy with my determination. I expect him to argue, to refuse, but he only considers the request for a few paces.

  “Meet me in the rose garden at dawn. Wear something you can move comfortably in.”

  I nearly miss a step at how easily he’s agreed.

  “Your father is right, Princess,” he continues quietly. “This is a dangerous game.”

  I stare straight ahead, my gaze stony. “Then I’d better learn to play it well.”