Chapter 37

Annalise had just enough time to tell Priscilla about her adventures in Murana when a messenger from Rea arrived proclaiming to the entire camp that an escort contingent from the palace led by King Nelan himself was on its way and would meet the Doveans outside of the city gates in an hour. 

The messenger’s announcement prompted a flurry of activity. 

“It’s shameful that they gave you only an hour before you meet your betrothed, especially when you’ve just travelled all this way without so much as time for a bath or to brush your hair.” Elsabeth clucked her tongue before her face broke into a smile. “Well, it’s certainly cold enough that anything that warms us up is a welcome surprise, and there’s nothing like a good challenge and burst of adrenaline to get the blood pumping. Priscilla, do you have a preference between dressing Princess Annalise or doing her hair?” 

Priscilla, who’d been hurriedly putting away her embroidery, Elsabeth’s knitting, and Annalise’s whittling paused in her work. “I’ve always helped the princess dress. She never lets me do her hair.” 

“I see. Yes, you’re such a pretty thing and by all accounts a top-notch servant, so I doubt she wanted to risk anything happening to you. If you don’t mind then, I’ll work with her hair and you can dress her. While you get her things together, I’ll warm some water so she can at least wash the visible bits. Your Highness, are you going to wear a mask?”  

Annalise, who’d watched the interactions between her lady’s maids with a small amount of both trepidation and amusement, froze. “I…I’m not sure yet,” she said. 

“In that case, you just let us work. We’ll have you looking perfect for your betrothed. All you have to think about is what kind of accessory you want to wear, if you’d rather go without,” Elsabeth said firmly. 

With the plan decided, her two lady’s maids leapt into action. While Elsabeth poured water into a metal pot to warm over the brazier, Priscilla left to search the luggage for a suitable dress for Annalise to wear to her first meeting with the Rhinnean king. 

When she returned, Priscilla hung several blankets from the doors of the carriage to create a makeshift dressing room while Elsabeth worked on Annalise’s hair, taking it down from its traveling braid before gently combing her curls with her fingers and then re-styling it into a half-up style that kept the hair free from Annalise’s face while allowing her natural blonde curls to cascade down her back like a waterfall. The dress Priscilla chose was a magnificent gown made of deep blue and silver with dark brown trim that looked like bare branches against a clear winter sky. 

Annalise knew that Priscilla and Elsabeth would need time to hash out their roles, but it was encouraging to see that when push came to shove they could set aside their differences and work well together. 

As her maids flitted around her like industrious sparrows, Annalise stared at the wooden wall of her carriage and tried to take stock of her feelings. 

For so long she’d assumed that she was doomed to a life hidden behind masks and long sleeves. All she’d desired was to spend her days tending an herb garden, weaving cloth for charity, and using what little influence she had to make the lives of the less fortunate better. Annalise had long given up on a happy life; her only hope was for an industrious life that would make the Goddess proud. She was fed from the king’s table, dressed in fine clothes, had a warm place to sleep, and had the love of her people as long as she kept her distance. On good days, she’d been content, and that was all she’d thought she deserved.

Then Soren returned and turned her world upside down.

He sought her out. He asked for her opinion. When she was alone, he gave her company. When others whispered behind their hands at her misfortune, he asked her to dance. Instead of pushing her behind her mask, he drew her out. He spoke to her of their shared past, told her stories of his time on the sea, and acted like when he was with her he saw a real future. As the only son of Dovea’s High General, Soren could have had his pick of any post, and yet when her father assigned him to her protection detail he’d almost seemed relieved. 

Annalise knew why her father had given him the assignment; she’d seen the way Lady Evelina spoke with Soren on his first day in court, and how the other ladies eyed him like he was a delectable steak and they were starving wolves. If he’d stayed in Dovelan, he may have even proven competition to her father himself. And yet, on his first night in court, he’d asked her to dance. He’d looked at her like she meant something to him, held her like she was something precious, and the next day he’d spent hours in her chambers catching up with her and trying to make her laugh. 

Soren was sunshine and warmth and laughter. He was strong enough to lift a trunk crammed full of dresses and soft enough to hold the hand of Elsabeth’s toddling nephew. He was a skilled fighter who took on all challengers with a twinkle in his eyes and an accomplished dancer who made even the most clumsy of his partners look like they floated on air. He could converse with her about the implications of trade deals between foreign countries and tell a joke that brought tears to her eyes from laughing so hard.

He’d rescued her even when gravely injured himself. He’d encouraged her to open up to others and to not hide her face. He’d never left her side, and his strong, steadying presence made her feel as though, for the first time since her mother had died, she could truly breathe. He’d offered to spirit her away to a life where instead of Annalise, Crown Princess of Dovea betrothed to King Nelan of Rhinnea, she could simply be Annalise. Soren was her protector. He was her best friend. He was the kind of man she’d once imagined a future with. 

He’d told her that he loved her. 

And in return she’d broken his heart. 

Time flew by as fast as a falcon on the wind, and before Annalise knew it, she was sitting in the carriage waiting for the guards to hook up the horses so they could be on their way. As they neared the city gates, Priscilla said Annalise’s name, calling her attention away from the window. 

Annalise turned to find her maid holding a mask in each hand: her broken ivory one, and the intricately carved wooden half-mask the Lennils had given her. 

“Just in case you wanted to wear one,” Priscilla said softly. 

Annalise could feel Elsabeth watching her intently. Her scrutiny both reminded Annalise of Soren’s displeasure when she’d tried to wear the ivory mask on their way to Rea and made the reality of her situation sink in all that much more. 

She was the Dovean princess, cursed to kill someone if they got too close. 

She was betrothed to Dovea’s enemy. 

She loved Soren wholeheartedly. 

If she made one misstep, her entire kingdom suffered. 

With steady fingers, and despite a heart that felt like it was about to pound out of her chest, Annalise reached for the brown mask. As she tied the ribbons behind her head, she did her best to ignore the uncomfortable pang in her heart and the sensation that she was betraying herself and everyone who loved her.