spice cakes and bread puddings, and roasted peacocks dressed with iridescent blue feathers. An orchestra plays while masked couples twirl about the dance floor.
On the dais, Wilha and Andrei sit on high-backed thrones. Andrei wears a sullen expression. The opal crown, bristling with jewels, hangs low on his head. Wilha sits ramrod straight. It’s only then that I notice Lord Murcendor standing behind them, one hand resting on each throne. A line of guests wait before Wilha and Andrei.
“What is that about?” I ask Lord Royce.
“Members of the court are invited to offer their greetings and well wishes to the king and princess,” he says.
“Really?” As I watch, a palace guard gestures to a couple who steps up on the dais. It gives me the opening I need. “What an excellent idea. I want to speak to Wilha, too. But someplace more private—can you arrange that?”
Lord Royce shakes his head. “You wanted to see if she’s faring well, and now you have. But speaking directly to her, that’s too dangerous.”
I snort. “You’re asking me to commit treason; isn’t that dangerous?”
“Keep your voice down!” He pulls me away from a row of palace guards. “Listening ears are everywhere.”
“We had a deal,” I say after he has led us into a corner. “I want to speak privately to my—to Her Highness. Tell anyone who asks that your niece was dying to meet the famous Masked Princess.” I cross my arms. “Otherwise, my answer is no.”
Lord Royce looks ready to wring my neck, but I don’t back down. I will not have Wilha find out from someone else about his plans.
“All right,” he says finally. “I will arrange it—but we’ll wait until later, when the guests are drunk on wine and their own importance and their senses are dulled. In the meantime, there’s someone I need to speak with who will be of use to our cause. . . . Do you think you can stay out of trouble until then?”
I roll my eyes at his concerned tone. “I won’t burn the place down if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He shoots me a murderous look before he stalks away and finds a man wearing a mask in the shape of a lion’s head.
I circle the room, and my thoughts turn to the book. I have not asked Lord Royce about the library, as I haven’t wanted to arouse his suspicions. If my mother didn’t trust him enough to give the message to him directly, then I won’t, either. I had considered attempting to sneak away and search the palace myself. Now I realize what a monumental task that would be. The palace is too large, and I would most likely be caught before I found the library.
I pause before a portrait of King Fennrick and Queen Astrid. The inscription says it was commissioned twenty years ago, shortly after they married. I have more of Astrid’s looks than Fennrick’s. I have her hair color, and her small nose. Yet I have the same green eyes as King Fennrick, and there is something about the set of his jaw that reminds me of myself. Unexpectedly, I feel tears threatening my eyes.
I have hated the two people in this portrait passionately and without ceasing for the last year. At some point I stopped viewing them as human; but rather as cold, bloodless beings, too callous to spare a thought for their daughter—for me —simply because I had the misfortune to be born a younger twin. Yet I have to confront the fact that the man and woman in this portrait don’t look cruel. The king in particular has a merry smile and a beautiful face. King Fennrick the Handsome , I think, and my heart constricts. On the day they sat for this portrait, did they have any inkling of the choice they would be forced to make only a few years later?
I turn and look around the opulent room, at the dais where Wilha and Andrei recline, both of them so used to this kind of wealth and privilege. I visualize myself sitting up there instead.
Surprisingly, the image doesn’t seem all that strange.
Chapter 21
Wilha
I remember now why I so
On the dais, Wilha and Andrei sit on high-backed thrones. Andrei wears a sullen expression. The opal crown, bristling with jewels, hangs low on his head. Wilha sits ramrod straight. It’s only then that I notice Lord Murcendor standing behind them, one hand resting on each throne. A line of guests wait before Wilha and Andrei.
“What is that about?” I ask Lord Royce.
“Members of the court are invited to offer their greetings and well wishes to the king and princess,” he says.
“Really?” As I watch, a palace guard gestures to a couple who steps up on the dais. It gives me the opening I need. “What an excellent idea. I want to speak to Wilha, too. But someplace more private—can you arrange that?”
Lord Royce shakes his head. “You wanted to see if she’s faring well, and now you have. But speaking directly to her, that’s too dangerous.”
I snort. “You’re asking me to commit treason; isn’t that dangerous?”
“Keep your voice down!” He pulls me away from a row of palace guards. “Listening ears are everywhere.”
“We had a deal,” I say after he has led us into a corner. “I want to speak privately to my—to Her Highness. Tell anyone who asks that your niece was dying to meet the famous Masked Princess.” I cross my arms. “Otherwise, my answer is no.”
Lord Royce looks ready to wring my neck, but I don’t back down. I will not have Wilha find out from someone else about his plans.
“All right,” he says finally. “I will arrange it—but we’ll wait until later, when the guests are drunk on wine and their own importance and their senses are dulled. In the meantime, there’s someone I need to speak with who will be of use to our cause. . . . Do you think you can stay out of trouble until then?”
I roll my eyes at his concerned tone. “I won’t burn the place down if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He shoots me a murderous look before he stalks away and finds a man wearing a mask in the shape of a lion’s head.
I circle the room, and my thoughts turn to the book. I have not asked Lord Royce about the library, as I haven’t wanted to arouse his suspicions. If my mother didn’t trust him enough to give the message to him directly, then I won’t, either. I had considered attempting to sneak away and search the palace myself. Now I realize what a monumental task that would be. The palace is too large, and I would most likely be caught before I found the library.
I pause before a portrait of King Fennrick and Queen Astrid. The inscription says it was commissioned twenty years ago, shortly after they married. I have more of Astrid’s looks than Fennrick’s. I have her hair color, and her small nose. Yet I have the same green eyes as King Fennrick, and there is something about the set of his jaw that reminds me of myself. Unexpectedly, I feel tears threatening my eyes.
I have hated the two people in this portrait passionately and without ceasing for the last year. At some point I stopped viewing them as human; but rather as cold, bloodless beings, too callous to spare a thought for their daughter—for me —simply because I had the misfortune to be born a younger twin. Yet I have to confront the fact that the man and woman in this portrait don’t look cruel. The king in particular has a merry smile and a beautiful face. King Fennrick the Handsome , I think, and my heart constricts. On the day they sat for this portrait, did they have any inkling of the choice they would be forced to make only a few years later?
I turn and look around the opulent room, at the dais where Wilha and Andrei recline, both of them so used to this kind of wealth and privilege. I visualize myself sitting up there instead.
Surprisingly, the image doesn’t seem all that strange.
Chapter 21
Wilha
I remember now why I so
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