Page 20 of The Masked Princess

“Alaric, this is Princess Annalise, her escort, Lord Soren, and her lady’s maid, Priscilla. I was just telling them about your work with the Rhinneans. Princess Annalise, this is Alaric, one of our most talented healers. He is particularly adept at managing pregnancies and delivering children. With the happy news from the castle, I have every intention of recommending him to your father as Lady Larken’s personal physician,” Master Trenk said.

The young man stood and bowed. His light blond hair was cropped short and his frame slight, but something about his manner was very serious and grave despite the youthful appearance of his face.

“Welcome. I’ve heard much of your gifts to the guild, Your Highness. Thank you. Your generosity is very much appreciated,” he said, his cultured voice as smooth as a river stone.

Annalise dipped her head in acknowledgment of his bow. “Guildmaster Trenk mentioned that you’ve been working with the Rhinnean peasantry? I must confess that I’m rather surprised they allowed such a thing considering the rather bloodthirsty reputation of their clan.”

When her father, King Everet, was a young man, he’d spent several years waging war against the Rhinneans—first to defend Dovea, and then to conquer the rival kingdom—but the mountainous land of the Rhinnean kingdom and the fierce fighting of its inhabitants thwarted all attempts of conquest.

“They didn’t give me too much trouble, Your Highness,” Alaric said, “I took care to not advertise where I’m from, simply that I was a healer looking to further his knowledge. The small hamlets I traveled to deep within the mountains weren’t much more than Rhinnean by name, and many of them didn’t have healers of their own.”

“Alaric is quite humble, Princess Annalise. Several of the Rhinnean villagers were so grateful for his help that they tried to convince him to stay. I’m told that he actually saved several children from a spreading fever endemic to the mountains, and he brought back some herbs for further study that the Rhinneans use to aid themselves when they get a persistent cough,” Guildmaster Trenk added.

A pink flush spread over Alaric’s face at the guildmaster’s words. “Yes, well, I did my best to impart as much of my knowledge as I could as a means of payment for their own wildcraft and healing arts. Hopefully it serves them well.”

“You gave our enemies healing knowledge? Isn’t that dangerous?” Priscilla asked.

Alaric’s expression turned consternated. “One of the things I taught them was to use a special blend of herbs to help birthing women have an easier labor and to reduce the childbearing sickness. Would you have rather those women and children become ill and possibly died?”

“Children grow up to become warriors and warriors become killers—” Priscilla glanced between Alaric and Guildmaster Trenk, both of whom wore horrified expressions— “But no, babes in their mother’s arms do no harm. Please forgive me for my unthinking words.”

“Yes, well, we better be on our way. I’m sure that you are busy, Your Highness, and we don’t wish to keep you too long. Next, I will show you our novices,” Guildmaster Trenk said as he opened the door and dipped his head.

After a brief demonstration from the novice healers, during which she lavished them with praise that they soaked up like their cotton poultice cloths, the trio left the guild. Annalise and Soren walked in front, with Priscilla following a step behind. The lady’s maid carried a small sack the guildmaster had insisted on giving Annalise, which he said contained a tin of salve that would keep her hands from getting chapped in the cold on her journey to Rhinnea.

“Do you think it was something I said?” Priscilla asked once they were out of earshot of the guild.

“I’d say that both Alaric and the guildmaster were quite shocked at the thought of not sharing their healing knowledge,” Annalise replied as diplomatically as she could.

“Has no one explained to them that knowledge is power? Alaric probably didn’t hesitate to tell them how to stitch a wound or what herbs to use to speed healing from a cut.”

“I would wager that you’re correct. Is there something so wrong with that?” Annalise asked.

Priscilla shrugged. “In my land, we do not share knowledge so freely with our enemies. A sick snake is a weak snake, and a weak snake is easier to kill.”

Soren snorted. “I hope for all our sakes that the only serpent we encounter in Rhinnea is the kind that slithers along the ground.”

CHAPTER 14

Just in time for the deadline imposed by King Everet, the preparations were complete.

As her escort traveled through the streets of Dovelan, Annalise waved from her carriage at the people lining the street. They cheered when they saw her and threw dried flowers and sweet-smelling herbs. The mood was genuinely cheerful and a welcome contrast to the forced cheer and stiff goodbyes that had occurred earlier as she said farewell to her father and the Dovean court.

Up ahead, Soren led a company of fifty men on horseback, riding at the front of the column on a great chestnut mare with a brilliant white blaze. The gear and trappings of the soldiers and their horses were oiled and polished to a high sheen. In the middle of the procession was Annalise’s carriage, followed by several wagons laden with her trousseau—everything she would need to start life as the new Queen of Rhinnea, as well as a dowry her father insisted on sending.

King Everet was many things, and while pride was one of his top qualities, cunning was another, and he never passed up the chance to flaunt his kingdom’s wealth and might. She suspected the pomp and circumstance of the procession was also for the benefit of the Rhinneans traveling with them. With any luck, they would report back on the Dovean’s prosperity and morale and perhaps make their king think twice about any potential future aggression between the kingdoms.

To call her dowry and trousseau substantial would be a gross understatement. King Everet doubled the value of the Rhinneans’ bride price for her dowry, and as she’d watched the jewels, furs, and expensive fabrics packed away, Annalise had tried not to flinch at the great expense. After a quick mental calculation, she estimated the money could have fed all the orphans and poor in Dovea for several months, if not a year, and the fact that the expenditures were more to soothe her father’s pride than anything else made her skin itch. Nevertheless, she continued waving from her carriage, a smile pasted on her unmasked face so her people could see her one last time.

“If they knew how much the items in this procession were really worth, they’d surely swap those flowers for rotten food and handkerchiefs for pitchforks,” she said through clenched teeth.

Priscilla huffed as she continued her embroidery. “We’ve already discussed this, Your Highness, but need I remind you that you’re the crown princess? Don’t you dare feel bad. If anything, it’s shameful that your father married you off with hardly any protest, especially when he doesn’t have another heir, and with Larken so early in her pregnancy she’s not even showing.”

“It’s just a frightful expense.”

“And rightfully so. Surely your governess told you about the role of the trousseau when you were younger. It’s your things and your money, meant to keep you in comfort and wealth even if the man you marry keeps a tight purse. It’s a sign of the esteem of your people. Your dowry is the same. Anything less than the best could put you in a precarious position in your new home.”

“In that case, I’m surprised my father didn’t send me off with a moldy crust of bread and a few ripped blankets.” Annalise bit her tongue when Priscilla’s hands stilled; she hadn’t meant to sound so bitter, but sometimes she couldn’t help herself. After so many years of living behind a mask and being treated like a piece of furniture, albeit a mysterious and dangerous one, occasionally the anger at her mistreatment bubbled up too fast for her to keep tamped down.