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I fixed on all the bits and bobs the servants left behind, most of all the scissors. They—Princess Emiana, Kirwan, King Salman, Alisdair Shadowsoul—believed I could be bought and sold without a fight, even if it meant chaining me down.
“Not quite.”
I REACHED FOR THE KNOBas it opened.
“Excuse me, Princess? We really must go. Are you read—?” Fiona choked, eyes bugging. “Princess!?”
Lifting my chin high, I smiled. “I’m ready. Let’s go. We mustn’t keep my betrothed waiting.”
“B-b-b-but—”
I brushed past her, marching out of the room and into the hall. One of my escorting guards dropped his sword. He sworefoully as he scrambled to pick it up, then pointed his gaze over my head—his face reddening.
“Princess,” Fiona half-screamed. “You mustn’t— You can’t—”
“How dare you say can’t to me,” I snapped, so easily adopting the tone the true princess used on nearly everyone she met. “It is your job to escort me to the ballroom. Do so, and keep your opinions to yourself, servant.”
Fiona’s eyes darted around, chest heaving. I could tell she was looking for the guards to step in and help her.
Swallowing hard, she faced me. “Princess, if I may, please return inside so that I may help you finish preparing for your wedding. I know it is your desire as well as all of Lyrica’s that your wedding ceremony is a beautiful, pleasant affair.”
“Why wouldn’t the ceremony be beautiful and pleasant?” I asked. “Am I not the famed beauty of the east? Is not my mere presence pleasurable? My betrothed will swoon at the sight of me, and all watching will sing of the wonder and majesty of this day, and the woman who became a bride at the end of it.” I stared her down. “Or will you dare to say otherwise?”
Her jaw worked, skin paling. “Please,” she whispered. “I beg of you, Your Majesty.”
I turned my back on her, marching away. “You begged me not to be late, and now you’re wasting time. Let’s go. My king awaits.”
It was a deathly tense and silent group that followed me through halls I shouldn’t know, but that my feet remembered with ease. Assuredly, the king sent all ten of these guards to pen me in like cattle, making sure I had no escape.
Instead, they all walked at least a pace away from me, looking like they’d get farther if they could.
Fiona muttered and fussed on my heels, hissing pleas for me to return to my room, stop this, let her help me—the begging went on.
I’m sorry, Fiona.Rounding a corner, the door to the throne room came into view.I swear, I will not let you be punished for what I’ve done, but I must do this. Anything to get back to my faywens.
I may be a liar, but I never break a promise.
Two of the guards drew ahead and swept open my doors. “Good luck to you, Princess.”
“Thank you,” I said, and stepped out onto the dais.
King Salman, ruler of Lyrica, champion of the battle of Ryen, and grand sorcerer of the Meya order, took one look at me and choked on his wine.
Hacking and wheezing, he doubled over—clutching his collar and straining as two attendants rushed to help him up and pound his back.
I couldn’t blame him for the undignified reaction. For a man who saw his daughter very little, it would still surprise him to see her like this.
Emiana’s radiant, fire-kissed hair was gone.
Well, not so much gone as hacked and cut like a blindfolded madwoman went at it with a pair of scissors. Some patches of hair were as long as my middle finger, some were barely longer than the tip. I left myself a few braids to hang over my face and behind my ears, but the rest were on my dressing room floor.
After making short work of her hair, the scissors transformed the wedding dress. I sliced through the bodice, ripped the hem, cut off the sleeves, and scattered the diamonds. I attacked the vanity with equal vigor, snatching up the rouge and face paints, and smearing them all over my ivory gown and ivory cheeks.
It was to compliment me to say I looked like the wild street jesters who danced and jumped around in dirty rags for any coin thrown at them.
My audience went deathly silent at the sight of me, and I went silent at the sight of them.
“Faeriken,” I rasped.
