Chapter 5: a dinner among wolves

As was often her custom, Annalise spent the first hour of the evening at the high table with her father, his most trusted advisors, and his current favorite courtesan, Larken. Annalise noted with interest that despite Larken sitting next to her father, several times throughout the night he sent a choice piece of beef or particularly delectable roll to Lady Evelina Adrilla, who sat with her father at a table further down the hall, as befitted their station as minor nobility. 

Larken’s plump red lips pressed more thinly with each food item sent until their cupid’s bow shapes were lost under the pressure. After the third, she cut her dark doe-like eyes to Annalise, and her frown turned into a cruel smile. Annalise steeled herself for whatever attack Larken was about to send her way. 

“I heard you had quite the terrible afternoon, Princess Annalise. You simply must tell us what happened,” Larken said. 

“Some livestock got loose and turned the market on end just before we left. It took several minutes for the guards to get everything settled down, but there were very few injuries, all things considered,” Annalise said, praying to the Goddess that the explanation would satisfy Larken and she wouldn’t push the subject further. 

Unfortunately, she wasn’t so lucky. Larken’s next words dripped from her mouth like an ugly poison, a jarring contrast to come from such a beautiful face. “I heard you were attacked. Is that true? It must have been terrifying. However did you manage to get away?” 

“There was a strange man who did attack me, yes.” Annalise lifted her mask away from her face a sliver so she could take a sip of watered wine to buy herself a moment to compose herself. The table fell silent, waiting for her response. Further down, High General Kierson leaned over to whisper something to her frowning father.

“You poor thing. Did he hurt you?” 

Annalise would have laughed at Larken’s faux-concern, but there was nothing funny about the trap she could sense being set. She glanced at the king, but he was still speaking with the high general. Since the curse had taken effect, there had been little love lost between her and her father, and even less after the accident with one of his concubines. As it was, any mention of her curse was nearly guaranteed to put him in a bad mood. The only reason King Evert still tolerated her presence was because he had no other heir, Annalise’s cousins were far too young to secure the lineage, and even he wasn’t foolish or prideful enough to leave the country in a succession crisis.

“My assailant tried to cut off my arm, but I was able to stop him. He didn’t survive the encounter,” Annalise said flatly.

“The captain of the castle guard said that the villain was completely decomposed, more like a rock than a dead body by the time he got there. Is that what you’re wishing to know, Larken? All the gory details?” King Everet’s voice rolled over the table like thunder.

For once, Annalise was grateful for her mask, as she didn’t have to worry about controlling the trepidation or fear in her expression when she heard him speak. Her father was known across the land for his fighting prowess, his hard nature, and his temper. 

Larken, to her credit, appeared unperturbed at the warning in his tone. “I was simply trying to make conversation with your daughter, Your Majesty. I’d heard rumors and was concerned about your daughter’s welfare.” 

“Aye, I’d wager you were about as concerned for her as you were for the suckling roasted pig on the table. Couldn’t wait to carve her up with your words and lay her out for the other vultures in this court to peck at behind their false smiles, could you? Do you forget she is the Crown Princess, my only heir, and that a word from her could strip you of all your privileges?” King Evert asked, his voice rising with every question until it boomed. 

The entire room fell silent as everyone, nobles, guards, and servants alike looked at each other with wide eyes. 

The king leaned back in his chair, his otherwise handsome features twisted into a sneer. “Your presumption knows no bounds, woman.” 

Larken drew herself up to her full height, her eyes flashing and lips pressed thinly together before she dipped her head, her glossy brunette hair shining in the light of the sconces burning on the walls and the fire in the hearths. “I apologize, Your Majesty. Please forgive me.” 

“Don’t ask for my forgiveness. Ask for hers.” King Evert gestured to Annalise with his silver cup in his hand and settled back in his chair.

Annalise went stock-still. The last thing she wanted was to be involved in some lover’s quarrel between her father and his latest favorite, but there was no hiding now. Larken turned to her, her dark eyes burning with a fire like hot coals. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I meant no disrespect by my questions.” 

Annalise dipped her head in acknowledgment of the words, even if they were delivered in a tone brimming with hate and rage. “You are forgiven, Larken.” 

The other woman stood, her charcoal gray dress swishing with the movement, the light from the hearth fires glinting on the rubies at her throat and in her ears as though they were drops of blood. “I am feeling indisposed. Please excuse me, Your Majesty.” With a deep curtsy she was gone, striding away from the high table with enough confidence that anyone might have thought she won the battle.

King Everet watched Larken go, but turned back to speak to one of his advisors before she was even halfway out of the Great Hall. As soon as she was sure that her father wouldn’t say anything else to her, Annalise excused herself and went to her harp, which was set up at one end of the hall slightly apart from the other musicians. She spent the rest of the evening there, playing with the others as the men and women of her father’s court danced. There were more noble families in attendance than usual; the next day was a court day when her father would listen to supplicants and judge difficult cases, and as the last one of the year just before the holiday season, there were many nobles who’d traveled to Dovelan to spend the winter social season at the castle. 

Eventually, her father stepped down from the dais and approached Lady Evelina’s table. The younger woman took his proffered hand and he swept her onto the dance floor to applause and cheers. Larken’s sour attitude and penchant for sharp words had burned many, and Annalise had no doubt that a majority of the court lords and ladies would be happy to see her cast aside.

Lady Evelina was a beautiful woman a few years younger than Annalise, with shining chestnut hair and a forest green dress. By all accounts, she’d grown up sheltered by her doting elderly father, Lord Adrilla, who spent more time amongst the orchards and herds of swine on his estate at the eastern edge of Dovea than he did at court. Despite her young mother dying during childbirth and her father never remarrying, Lady Evelina governess and tutors must have been top-notch, as her comportment was exceptional; she hung on King Evert’s arm and laughed at all his jokes, even when they weren’t funny. When she turned her attention away from Lady Evelina, Annalise noted with some interest that Lord Adrilla watched his daughter with the smallest of frowns on his face from the side of the room. 

Annalise had lost track of how many women her father had gone through over the years, especially as none of them lasted long. After the her mother’s death, King Evert decreed he would only elevate a woman to the position of his queen if she was carrying his child. It had been close to ten years since the death of Queen Elvira, and none had yet achieved that vaunted role. Once, three years before, Annalise had thought she might have a stepmother, but Orena had overplayed her hand, gambling with everything she had and losing it all. 

She watched the revelers through her mask. Despite what Priscilla said regarding the importance of dressing her station, no one at court even spared her a second glance. It was no matter to Annalise. She lost herself in the music of her harp until the evening ran late and she excused herself back to her room. In many ways, her nights at the harp were acts of small rebellion—they could hide her away behind masks and long sleeves, they could talk behind her back and shoot pitying glances from the corner of their eyes without ever looking directly at her face, but they couldn’t ignore the music that poured from her fingers any more than they could ignore the heat that came from the hearth or the light of the candles that lined the Great Hall.

She may be hidden, but she refused to be forgotten.