The Princess in the Opal Mask (29 page)

“Proper?” I scoff. “You’re a fine one to talk. You’ve been surrounded all night by silly noblegirls.”

“I wouldn’t be if you would stay by my side for longer than two minutes. You have been flitting around the hall all night. What is wrong?”

Everything. Everything in the whole world. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

Stefan stares at me for a moment longer. “Come on.” He turns away. “I want to show you something.” I follow him down the hall, up a staircase, and over to a window. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?” Outside, beyond the castle gates, a large crowd waits. Most people carry lanterns and candles, making the street an ocean of light. Stefan turns to me. “Tell me what is going on,” he says. “And please do not say ‘nothing,’ because I know something is troubling you.”

I want to tell him I’m not the princess he’s being forced to marry. That, really, I’m the servant girl he met in the kitchen, the girl he could easily laugh with. Though I guess I’m neither. Not really a servant, not really royalty. I’m nobody.

I guess if I could tell him just one thing, it would be good-bye.

When I hesitate too long, he sighs and turns away. “So many people out there,” he says. “And they have all come to see you.”

“They didn’t come to see me,” I mumble. “They came to see the Masked Princess.”

“Why do you do that?” he asks. “Why do you refer to yourself as that?”

“Because I’m not the Masked Princess.” I close my eyes and lean against the window. I’m tired of pretending. Where is Wilha? Has she changed her mind?

Stefan sighs. “I know.”

My eyes fly open. “What?”

He takes my arm and his expression turns serious. “Let me take you to your room. There is something I want to discuss with you.”

W
hat is the penalty for impersonating royalty? When we reach my chambers, Stefan gestures to an armchair and asks me to sit. While he lights candles and makes a fire, my heart races. How did I give myself away? What small detail did I miss? Was it the note I wrote to Genevieve? On a table near the door is my satchel, packed and ready to go. I contemplate making a run for it, but decide I wouldn’t be fast enough. Not with the weight from my mask and dress.

When the fire is roaring, Stefan lowers himself into the chair next to me. “I have been wanting to speak with you.”

“Yes?” I scoot forward, prepared to fall to my knees. There’s no role I can play here, no golden words I can speak that will make this better. I’ve impersonated royalty. A forgivable offense when we were on the road and security was a concern. Now, my actions will only be seen as treasonous and self-serving. The only card I have left is to beg and plead for mercy.

I can only hope that Stefan will have some to offer.

He takes a deep breath, and blurts, “I wanted to ask for your forgiveness.”

“I—what?” I ask, stunned. “You want to ask for
my
forgiveness?”

“Yes.” He stands, and begins to pace in front of the fire. “I have been thinking about what you said yesterday, how that loaf of bread from the baker was the first sincere gift you received in Korynth. Such pointed words, and they found their mark. I want you to know that—”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “Just to be clear, you’re not mad at me for . . . anything?”

“No, of course not. I told you, I am trying to apologize,” he says, sounding slightly annoyed.

“Oh.” I lean back in my chair, feeling shaky with relief. “Okay then. Continue.”

“Where was I?” He starts pacing again. “I have not welcomed you to the city properly. I know that. It is just that I thought I was being forced to marry a monster.”

“Excuse me?” Irritation flares in my chest.

He holds up a hand. “Please, allow me to finish. I considered it little better than a death sentence to marry you—”

“A death sentence?” I repeat. “Stefan, if this is your idea of an apology, then—”

“You know, this would go a whole lot faster if you didn’t insist on interrupting every two seconds.”

“All right,” I say, leaning back in my chair again. “But let me know when you get to the actual apology part.”

He shoots me an incensed look and continues. “Try to understand. I have grown up hearing horrible things about the Andewyns, about all Galandrians. That they are liars, barbarians wrapped in fine clothing. That they are gluttonous and swollen with their own vanity. Blind to the fact that their glorious kingdom has begun to decline.” He pauses. “You heard similar terrible things about Kyrenicans, did you not?”

“Dogs,” I say hesitantly. “Many Galandrians refer to Kyrenicans as dogs—but not every Galandrian feels that way,” I add hastily when his gaze narrows. “Just as I’m sure not every Kyrenican holds such harsh feelings toward Galandria.”

Stefan nods. “I am sure you are right. But can you blame me, if I thought that you, the Masked Princess, the most famous girl in your kingdom—indeed, in the whole world—might be the worst of the whole lot? Monstrous, not in your appearance, but in your heart. Many princesses are spoiled. They have been told since birth that the world is theirs for the taking. And I confess, the thought of spending my life with a girl like that was distasteful. But now I realize I was wrong. You are not the Masked Princess, you are far more than that. You are a puzzle to me, unlike any girl I have ever met. And so”—he drops to his knees, reaches for my hands, and heat floods my chest—“I am asking for a second chance. Forgive me, please, for all my unkindnesses? I have been rude, and I am sorry. And I want to ask you, really and truly this time, will you marry me?”

“Yes.” The answer tears from my lips, though I know it’s not me he’s asking, although how can he be asking Wilha, when he has never met her?

My thoughts are tangled, and suddenly, his face is moving toward mine—until his nose bumps against my mask. He laughs and tilts his head and finally, his lips land on my own.

The kiss is soft and gentle, and my arms wind around his shoulders. I let myself be taken away by it, and when he draws back he says, “Will you take off your mask for me? I would love to see your face.” His fingers are fumbling to untie my mask.

“I . . . can’t, Stefan. Not now.” I grab his hands and hold them. I want nothing else. I want to stay here and let him take off the mask and let him look at me. But not when I’m leaving. Not when it will be another girl’s face he sees tomorrow.

“Then, will you do something else for me? Will you allow me another kiss?”

I nod. Wilha will get a lifetime with him. But this moment is mine, this is my good-bye.

He tilts his head. And when our lips touch again, I could swear I smell the sea.

The sea.

Where did Wilha say the passageway opened out to? It was the Lonesome Sea, I’m sure of it. Which means . . . my head snaps away from him, leaving Stefan looking confused.

“Is something wrong?” he says. “Did you not like it?”

“No,” I answer. “I mean, yes, I did. But we have been away from the ball for quite a while.” I smile. “Didn’t you just say everyone came here to see me tonight? We don’t want to disappoint them, do we?”

Stefan grins. “One day you will make a wonderful queen.” He stands and pulls me to my feet. Then he crosses the room, opens the door, and holds it expectantly. “Come. Your public awaits you.”

I turn and with one last glance around the room, I whisper, “I’ll come back, I promise.”

But my voice is so low, I doubt Wilha hears.

B
ile rises to my throat as I watch them kiss. The words I was about to speak, of the danger Elara is in, of the men plotting by Rowan’s Rock, die on my lips. I quickly duck back into the bedroom, thankful that they are too en-grossed in each other to notice me. But the image of them kissing is burned into my mind.

It is as though I have seen a vision of my future.

What is she thinking, to have let Stefan come into her chambers? Is this supposed to be a signal of some sort? A declaration that she is not switching back?

I’m taking what I can and then I’m leaving,
I remember her once saying. At the time, I thought she just meant jewelry. I did not realize she was also prepared to take pieces of my own life with her.

“Will you take off your mask for me?” The words are softly spoken, yet I still hear them. Words I have longed to hear all my life, but they are not spoken to me. Elara has done her job well. Too well. Because when the crown prince wakes up tomorrow morning and it is me wearing the mask, and not Elara, will he find me dull in comparison? Will he smile at me, but secretly wonder where the radiant girl he has fallen in love with has gone to?

“Come. Your public awaits you.”

When I am certain they are gone, I creep into the sitting room and kneel by the hearth. The fire is beginning to die out, so I grab the poker, stew the embers, and add some more wood. I remove my costume mask and hold up my palms, trying to warm myself and thaw the chill that is seeping through me.

I inhale, and work at putting aside the dull ache in my chest. Regardless of what I have just seen, Elara still needs to be warned. The Kyrenican troops need to be alerted, all without anyone learning of the existence of another Andewyn princess.

A slight draft caresses my neck.

“Wilha?” comes a voice from behind.

The sudden noise startles me. But when I turn around, relief floods my chest. “Lord Murcendor.” I rise to greet him.

He removes his checkered gold and black mask, and I see that he is paler than usual.

“Wilha?” he says, sounding slightly confused. “But I spoke with—” He stops as realization dawns on his face. “Elara is here, isn’t she? She is posing as the Masked Princess.”

I nod. “We were going to switch back tonight.”

His eyes take in my dirty dress, tangled hair, and damp bodice. My cheeks grow warm when I read his unusual gaze, for he is looking at me in a way he never has before.

I tug at my dress uncomfortably and glance at the bedroom behind him. “You know of the passageway?” I ask, though of course I realize he must. Yet why he used it or has come here at all, I don’t know. But I don’t have time to wonder. “Can you help me, Lord Murcendor? I need to speak to King Ezebo without him knowing who I am. It is urgent.”

“King Ezebo is beneath you,” Lord Murcendor says. “He is unworthy to even stand in your presence.”

“Even so, I must speak with him. Elara could be in danger at this very—”

“All will be made as it should,” he says. “Please, sit down.” He gestures to the chair behind me.

“I can’t. Not until someone alerts King Ezebo.” I am frantic now, wishing I could make him understand. “We have to find him.”

I move for the door, but he reaches out and grabs my arm. “Sit down,” he says with more force.

The image of Lord Murcendor seems to change. It is as though I have been unknowingly staring at him through a kaleidoscope for a long time, and suddenly, the pieces have shifted, forming a new picture. A suspicion is nagging at me, but I refuse to acknowledge it.

Instead I sit down, hoping with all my heart, that I am wrong.

W
e take our time walking back to the great hall. Stefan stops to speak with several Kyrenican nobles. As the night has worn on, the guests seem to have fanned out around the castle. I should be in more of a hurry to get back to my chambers, and back to Wilha, but Stefan’s hand is warm in mine, and I don’t want to pull away. Not yet.

When we reach the great hall, Stefan turns to me and bows. “Dance with me,” he says.

I hesitate. Wilha made me wait for days before she decided to return to the castle. Why shouldn’t I make her wait, just a little longer?

“Princess, may I have a word with you?” Lord Royce appears, and bows to Stefan. “That is, if you do not mind, Your Highness.”

Stefan blows out an irritated breath. “If you must,” he says shortly. To me, he says, “But before this night is over, we will dance.”

I nod, and after Stefan has left I say, “Yes, Lord Royce?” All around us, masked figures spin and whirl, and I wonder if he is also going to ask me to dance.

“Are you quite sure you have no idea of your sister’s whereabouts?” he asks, surprising me. He uses a casual tone of voice. But staring at his expressionless white mask, it feels as though this is some kind of test. We are game players, each holding tightly to our own hand.

So I decide to play an unexpected card.

“In truth, Lord Royce, I know exactly where she is.” She’s upstairs, hiding.

His ice blue eyes search my own. “Where?”

“I told King Ezebo and Lord Quinlan she stole my jewels, but that was a lie.”

“A lie? That does not sound like you, Wilha.” Is that a dare I see in his eyes?

“It was Elara’s idea, of course. But the truth is, I gave her the jewels. She intended to book passage on a ship and sail east over the Lonesome Sea. We both believed it was best for everyone if she simply disappeared.” The moment I speak the words, I decide that after I leave the castle, I’ll head further north, up the Kyrenican coastline.

“That is a pity,” Lord Royce counters. “There were things I could have told her. Things your mother wanted her to know, a message she intended Elara to have.”

Finally, he’s showed his hand. This is a dare, plain and simple: Confess who you really are. He’s not convinced I’m Wilha, so he has set a trap. And my mother is the bait.

This is his mistake. I am not so easily caught.

“If I ever see her again, Lord Royce, I will let you know.” I curtsy and turn my back on him.

L
ord Murcendor gazes at me with his dark eyes. “It kills me to see you here in this castle, in the heart of the enemy.”

“The Kyrenicans are not my enemy,” I say carefully, thinking of James, Kyra, and Victor. “Some of them are quite nice, actually.”

“The whole country is diseased,” he hisses. “They are a plague, one that needs to be wiped out.”