Page 68 of The Masked Princess

“His father… his soul… how will the Goddess accept him without proper rites?”

“I’m not a monster; a priest said the rites over his body yesterday. If the Goddess doesn’t accept him, well, then I suppose he wasn’t a good enough man to begin with. As for his father, I hear that High General Kierson is a pragmatic man. I’m sure he’s well used to losing loved ones in the heat of battle without having the chance to say goodbye.”

The blood drained from Annalise’s face as the news sunk in, and she collapsed back into her pillows as the impossibility of the situation hit her like a warhorse.

Nelan remained in the corner of the room. Even through the haze of grief, Annalise noted that he wore long gloves, pants, and a high-collared tunic. He was obviously being cautious considering her curse and the news he delivered.

“Your remaining Dovean guards are out on a joint-training exercise with some of my men and are due back the day after our wedding. If you still wish to make your deal for the lives of the people you have left, I will honor it.”

“Yes, of course,” Annalise said automatically, mind too busy reeling from the news about Soren to truly process anything else.

“Excellent. I’ll inform General Anar, and he’ll arrange for a protective guard after the wedding.”

After Nelan left, Annalise stared up at the ceiling. Elsabeth and Priscilla entered her room, asking if she was okay, but Annalise couldn’t bring herself to respond. Her grief threatened to swallow her whole. The possibility of Soren dying, of his bright life being snuffed out far too soon, didn’t feel real.

Long after the sun rose fully, shining its bright rays through the window, she stirred herself. No matter how hard she tried, Annalise couldn’t wrap her mind around Soren being dead, but she could, at least, recognize that his death made things much easier for her.

She’d prepared herself long ago to assume the role of sacrificial lamb, but she wouldn’t allow Nelan to sacrifice her men and her country. Judging by the distance he kept while delivering her the news of Soren’s death, he was still wary of her curse.

As he should be.

If he insisted on a wedding, then a wedding they would have. Annalise had made up her mind. She’d agreed to be totally obedient to him after their wedding, but there was much that could happen before, especially for someone who carried a curse as she did.

She would not allow him to take control of Dovea, and she would have her revenge for Soren’s death.

She would kill Nelan.

CHAPTER 51

Slimy, stinking water invaded Soren’s nose and pressed him down with its weight. He held his breath for as long as he could, stretching his arms overhead in a vain attempt to swim back up toward the air and life, but his efforts were futile. He opened his mouth in a silent scream and inhaled a mouthful of water.

With a gasp, Soren opened his eyes, his mind spinning as he tried to remember what had happened to him. Slowly, like honey dripping from a clogged sieve into a barrel, flashes of memory returned. He’d been ambushed and choked, then just as he’d regained consciousness and registered being carried somewhere, someone had forced a sweet-smelling cloth over his face.

A bucketful of something fetid splashed over his head, leaving Soren cold, trembling, and retching at the terrible taste. A rattle of chains sounded, followed by his arms stretching overhead and the sensation of cold water running down his naked torso and legs. When he shook the worst of the water from his eyes, he traced the hefty rope binding his hands up to an iron ring where it was secured to the ceiling.

“Ah, that one did the trick. Excellent.”

Soren’s gaze flicked away from the rope. He was in the center of a stone room. Damp and mildew painted the stones that were visible at the edge of the torchlight, and the water drained across the cobblestone floor into a crack near the wall. Across the room from him stood King Nelan, who balanced the tip of a small knife on his fingertip. At his feet sat a wooden bucket.

“Your Majesty, while I appreciate your agreeing to meet with me, your private office or your throne room would have been perfectly fine—” Soren was forced to pause for several hacking coughs as his body tried to expel the water from his lungs, “—I’d hate to think that these theatrics might have disturbed you from your very important kingly duties of chasing skirts or plotting to kill your future wife and taking over her country.”

“I’ve watched you, Captain Kierson. You have spent most of your time with the women of my court these past few weeks, but I have no doubts about where your loyalties lie or how good you are at your job. Sometimes, the most dangerous snakes sun themselves on rocks in the open. I thought that a dank hole in the ground such as this one was a more suitable place for you.” King Nelan lost control of the knife on his fingertip and it fell. Instead of a clatter, there was only dull clink when it hit the muddy and grimy floor. “Do you mind if I call you Soren? Since my betrothed thinks so highly of you, I feel that titles and other such formalities are behind us.”

“As soon as you let me go, you can call me whatever you like, Nelan, although I wish you’d stop gossiping about me with the others—what would your court think of you spending so much mental effort on a lowly Dovean guard?” Soren replied.

“You are no more a lowly Dovean guard than I am the castle butler. Please, friend, let’s set these petty insults aside and speak man-to-man.”

Soren made a great show of looking around. “Is there another man here? I see only a very large worm dressed in ridiculous finery. Where are the men who ambushed me, Your Majesty? Off performing other terrible deeds such as kicking puppies and making small children cry?”

“More like harassing border towns under the guise of lawless bandits to keep my people terrified and our neighbors on their guard, but I see how a Dovean with little diplomatic and strategy experience could get the two confused.” Nelan picked up the knife from the floor and stepped toward Soren, his eyes glinting dangerously.

“So the bandits were under your orders? To what end?”

“To abduct Annalise so we could use her curse without any pesky formal attachments, of course.” Nelan clicked his tongue. “The poor princess, abducted on her way to her wedding and never seen again. It would have been so tragic, especially when we announced that we’d found a way to end her curse.”

Despite himself, Soren’s heart leaped to his throat at the thought of Annalise finally being free from her curse. “Have you?”

“No, of course not, but it would have made for a wonderful story.” Nelan shrugged, a smile colder than the freezing air in the room flitting across his face.