Page 58 of Of Masks and Fury

“We have to get this right,” I whispered, the words more for me than for him. “So many lives depend on it.”

His eyes, the only part of this person that were truly his, held a promise. “We’ll save them all, Isi, and then we’ll find your sister.”

He didn’t need to say he would make sure my father was no longer a threat. It was an unspoken vow between us.

A knock rang out on the suite’s outer door. Mae called out my name.

Trew’s jaw tightened. He gave me one last look before stepping away. Losing his touch left me cold. “I’ll be close by tonight.”

In a short time, I’d have to sit at the dinner table and smile at my father, the man who’d tortured my sister.

Trew strode to the door and was gone, the wards dissolving in his wake.

Mae poked her head in through the opening, her brow furrowed in a way that was so familiar it made my throat tighten. “Your Highness, are you ready to prepare for dinner?”

I forced a smile, the princess mask sliding back into place. “Yes, thank you. I think I rested enough.”

Her gaze swept over my tired eyes and tense shoulders, but she didn’t press. She’d given me her trust, and that meant not asking questions I couldn’t answer.

My ladies filed inside, their chatter filling the suite as they laid out a gown of deep emerald silk, its sleeves embroidered with silver thread that glittered like stars. It was a beautiful dress, one of my favorites, but tonight it felt like a costume for a role I despised.

As they laced me into the bodice, pulling it tight until it was difficult to take a full breath, my thoughts swirled. I saw the west tower in my mind, a dark spike against the sky. The few times I’d been there, it was empty, but the last time had to be at least twenty years ago. I also saw Addie crying in pain, and my father’s serene, benevolent smile as he hurt her.

“I heard Lords Crestin and Finley arguing over the princess this afternoon,” one lady whispered as she pinned my hair. “Something about pushing our beloved princess to choose tonight. Finley said he’d insist you decide.”

Meeting Mae’s concerned gaze, I ground my teeth and pretended I was looking forward to the evening.

The jewels they placed around my neck lay like ice against my skin. The emerald and diamond earrings were weights, pulling me down. Each element of this performance was a lie.

Pherin swooped back through the open window, landing silently on the vanity table in front of me. She met my gaze, her tiny form radiating with fury that mirrored my own.

Rip apart,she said in my mind.

I cannot wait.

Once my ladies had finished, they stepped back, murmuring admiration. A princess stared back at me in the mirror, her hair artfully arranged, her gown perfect, her expression a careful blank slate. But her eyes weren’t those of a dutiful princess.

These were the eyes of a warrior who had a battle to fight.

A king to kill.

“I’m ready,” I said, my voice steady and cold.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

TREW

Dinner had been an exercise in restraint.

I’d stood against the wall of the dining room while Isi played her role of the gracious princess, entertaining her suitors with soft smiles and polite conversation. Lord Alfred had dominated the conversation with his endless droning about his hunting hounds. Lord Finley had spent more time admiring his reflection in the polished silverware than contributing anything of substance. Other than a brief mention of horseflesh, Lord Crestin had studied Isi like a puzzle, even probing her occasionally with questions about her “delicate fears” of court unrest.

Every time one of them touched her hand or she laughed at their tedious jokes, my jaw clenched and I dreamed up new ways to make them disappear.

The meal stretched on for what felt like hours. Course after course of rich food I barely saw, wine flowing freely, servants moving between the tables in a subtle way that made them blend into the background. The king presided over it all from the head of the table, his satisfaction evident in every glance he directed at his daughter and her suitors.

He thought he was winning. He thought Isi was willing to be sold off to whichever lord proved most useful to his plans.

When the final course had been cleared and the king rose to retire to the parlor with the other men, Crestin stood, offering Isi his arm with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.