Rise of the Vicious Princess Read online

  Dedication

  For Kristin Daly Rens,

  whose faith in me never wavered

  Map

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Map

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by C. J. Redwine

  Back Ad

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  One

  AFTER TONIGHT, THE new hairstyle of Charis Willowthorn would be the only acceptable updo for a debutante to wear to a ball. The dress of shimmering red silk that hugged her hips and then floated away from her legs as if she were a bird taking flight would be copied in a slew of rainbow hues. It would be hung from dressmakers’ mannequins and priced so that only the wealthiest of Calera’s nobility could possibly hope to emulate their fashionable princess. Once again, she’d be the topic of conversation at every decadent brunch and afternoon tea.

  Half the members of noble society, envious of her position, would be quietly scheming for ways to ingratiate themselves with her. Half, furious with the way the war was being managed, would be whispering ideas for how to get the royal family to either agree with their plans or get out of the way. And all of them would be so busy talking about how Charis looked, how she held herself, and what she said that none of them would notice she’d spent the entire ambassadors’ ball playing a deadly political game with the fate of her entire kingdom as the prize.

  A game she couldn’t afford to lose. Not if she was going to keep Mother happy, shore up Calera’s alliances with kingdoms whose trade they desperately needed, and find a path toward peace with Montevallo, the kingdom at their back who’d been wreaking havoc with the northern territories for years.

  “If you could hold still just another moment, Your Highness.” Milla bit her lip as she concentrated on maneuvering Charis’s thick brown curls through the glittering wire frame that was anchored to Charis’s head with hairpins. The princess’s handmaiden, a delicate girl of nearly fourteen with pale red hair and freckles dotting her nose, stood on her tiptoes to secure the final curl in the elaborate jewel-flecked tower of hair rising from Charis’s scalp.

  “Sorry, Milla.” Charis forced herself to sit quietly while her handmaiden tugged at the mesh, pushing jewels into place and humming under her breath as she worked.

  Milla’s wide grin peeked out from behind the tower of hair. “It’s not dignified for a princess to apologize to a handmaiden.”

  Charis rolled her eyes. “Duly noted.”

  Satisfied with Charis’s hair, Milla stepped back, her critical eye sweeping over the lines of Charis’s dress as she stood. “Will you be wearing any of the gifts from the noble families at tonight’s festivities?”

  Charis didn’t even glance at the small collection of items that had been left at her guards’ station during the day. To wear one would show favor to that family, and on a night that was supposed to be about honoring the newest ambassadors from Verace and Rullenvor, that would be a discourtesy Charis could ill afford. “Not tonight.”

  Milla circled her once, as though inspecting to be sure she hadn’t missed a single flaw. “Every eye in the ballroom will be on you, Your Highness.”

  Charis’s stomach clenched, but she made herself smile as if the weight of the kingdom weren’t resting on her shoulders. “You’ve done a brilliant job as always. Now, be sure to get some dinner before heading to the ladies’ parlor. I won’t need a touch-up until at least the second hour. After that, you can go to bed.”

  Milla’s eyes widened. “You won’t want to sleep on that hair, Your Highness. I’ll be waiting up.”

  “You can be very stubborn.”

  “My mama has told me the very same, only she doesn’t make it sound like a compliment.”

  Charis laughed, her stomach easing for a moment. And then she lifted her chin and faced the door. Once she stepped outside her private chambers, the game would begin, and Charis had to play her role to perfection.

  A pair of guards were waiting for her as she exited her chambers. Elsbet, a guard Charis was moderately fond of, immediately bowed and then stepped to the opposite side of the corridor to flank the princess’s left side. Reuben, Charis’s head guard and the one she was sure reported directly to her mother, took up his position on her right. He was built like a starving alley dog, his hard brown eyes following her every move as if challenging her to show any hint of weakness he could reveal to the queen.

  They moved through the corridor toward the grand staircase that would take Charis down three flights of stairs and into the main hall, just shy of the palace ballroom. Her heels tapped delicately against the gleaming wood floors, and she shivered a little as the sea breeze crept in through the windows that lined the hallway.

  Summer was losing its grip on Calera, and a chill was seeping into the air as the sun dipped below the horizon. Another season was passing with the war no closer to ending. Every week brought reports of new casualties, new ground gained by the fierce soldiers from the mountains at Calera’s back, and her kingdom was struggling to replenish its armies and retake the territories that were now occupied by the enemy.

  There had to be a path toward peace with King Alaric Penbyrn of Montevallo, and Charis was determined to find it.

  But those thoughts could be saved for a time when she wasn’t fifteen minutes late to the ball being held in honor of two new ambassadors. Mother was hardly going to forgive her tardiness, and Charis had no intention of letting the queen know she was late because Milla had struggled with the new hairstyle the handmaiden had designed.

  “Your Highness!” Darold bowed as Charis descended the staircase and approached the side entrance to the ballroom. Her secretary’s voice was its usual calm near-monotone, but there was a slight edge to it that sounded like relief. His blond hair looked somewhat rumpled, and he’d buttoned his considerable girth into a dress coat that strained to hold him. “Her Majesty the Queen will be glad to know you’ve arrived.”

  Ah, that explained the relief, then. Mother would have held Darold personally responsible for her daughter’s tardiness.

  “I apologize for distressing you, Darold.”

  The shadow of relief in Darold’s voice was slipping toward worry. “The ambassadors have already arrived. The queen . . .”

  The queen would be furious that the crown princess hadn’t been in the ballroom to greet the newest diplomatic officials. A single misstep could sever the ties that Calera desperately needed if they were to turn the tide of the war and reclaim their northern territories.

  “
Fill me in on what I need to know.” Charis began moving toward the ballroom door.

  Darold shuffled the small stack of papers he held and hurried to keep up. “First, you are to join your mother on the dais and greet the ambassadors. The Veracian diplomat receives the first greeting as they have been our ally longer than Rullenvor. You will then officially open the ball with this speech.” He handed her a thin piece of paper with his neat handwriting filling half the page.

  “Any particular areas of concern I should address with each ambassador individually?”

  “Verace is having trouble with packs of wild giants coming down from their mountains.”

  “Again?”

  “Apparently once giants know there’s a readily available food source for the taking, it’s impossible to keep them at bay unless you destroy the entire pack.”

  “They have giants. We have bloodthirsty Montevallians. It seems nothing good ever comes down off a mountain.” They moved closer to the ballroom’s entrance.

  “Indeed.” Darold pulled another paper from his stack. “Rullenvor is engaged in a trade dispute with Solvang, though all reports indicate the two kingdoms are solving the issues through diplomatic channels. Also, there are rumors of unrest in the northern seas, though it’s unclear if that’s related to a sea kingdom or to the basilisk cave or some other threat in the uncharted waters up north. At any rate, if the rumors are true, that may be of concern to both ambassadors.”

  “I hardly think the basilisks will have left their cave to travel the seas.” Charis patted her tower of hair, pressing an errant ruby back into place.

  “There is the matter of the trade ship from Rullenvor that went down at sea before it could reach us. Several physicians have expressed concern over shortages in medical supplies as a result, so perhaps the ambassador could be encouraged to support the hasty launching of a new shipment.”

  “Without letting him know how very badly we need the supplies.” Charis nodded. It was a delicate balance, walking the line between stating what her kingdom needed and keeping Calera from appearing weak and ripe for a trade renegotiation that would put them at a serious disadvantage.

  Darold examined the paper he held as they came to a stop before the gilt-edged doors. “You are to give your first dance to Lord Ferris Everly.”

  Charis barely controlled her grimace.

  “The queen was very clear that even though you confer the honor of first dance to him, you may not discuss possible marriage with your fourth cousin at this juncture.”

  “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

  “Very well, Your Highness. There are several council members who will be in attendance. The queen wishes you to divide your dances equally between the faction that supports the war and the faction that supports annexing the north to Montevallo.”

  “And may I have any dances with partners of my choice?” Her tone gave nothing away, but still Darold cleared his throat, whether in sympathy or in censure Charis wasn’t sure. She kept her expression as smooth as the marble floor beneath her feet. She’d rather face her angry mother than have her secretary see the longing that sometimes ached during quiet moments when she allowed herself to imagine being an ordinary seventeen-year-old girl exchanging laughing glances and soft touches with a boy who wanted nothing from her but what she wanted to give.

  Not that such a boy existed. Yet. Still, if all of Charis’s dances were filled with political maneuvering and carefully controlled conversations designed to open pocketbooks or silence dissent, she would never have the chance to see what it was like to just be a girl dancing with a boy because they both wanted to.

  Darold cleared his throat again, and Charis’s attention snapped back to him. “There will be a ten-minute intermission from dancing at the top of every hour, and the queen has given you permission to spend that with whomever you choose as long as . . .”

  “As long as I don’t linger too long with members of one faction or the other,” Charis finished for him.

  “Just so.” Darold nodded to the footman who stood ready at the door. The man pulled the doors open, and a cacophony of laughter and conversation spilled out, brushing against Charis’s skin like an unwanted caress.

  “Is my father in attendance?” She kept the hope out of her voice, though it dug painfully into her chest all the same.

  “His Royal Highness wasn’t well enough to leave his chambers tonight.”

  The hope withered beneath a sharp pang of grief.

  Father hadn’t been well enough to leave his chambers more days than not for months now. Before that thought could burrow in, Charis shoved it into the corner of her heart and imagined she wore a skin of ice. A thick, impenetrable shield that nothing could breach. When she was sure every trace of herself had been buried beneath a sheen of cold composure, she let her mouth curve into a perfect smile and stepped forward.

  “Her Royal Highness, Princess Charis Willowthorn,” the footman announced as Charis swept into the ballroom.

  Two

  IVORY WALLS GLEAMED beneath the glow of silver chandeliers whose candles matched the blue of the sea on a clear summer’s day. A long table against the back wall was draped in matching blue linens and held an assortment of light snacks and beverages, and a cadre of servants in blue and silver circled the room carrying trays of refreshments as well. The windows on the eastern wall that faced the sea were open, and the faint chill of an early autumn breeze tangled with the sheer ivory drapes and ruffled sheets of music belonging to the orchestra that surrounded the bottom of the dais.

  Guests in satin and silk were scattered throughout the room, but Charis barely looked at them as they bowed and murmured, “Your Highness.” She only had eyes for her mother.

  Queen Letha stood on the dais, resplendent in silk the color of purple twilit skies. Gloves covered her hands and arms past her elbows, and jewels sparkled at her wrists, throat, and earlobes. Candlelight glittered against the silvery strands in the queen’s dark hair and gleamed in her cold blue eyes. She locked gazes with Charis, and though her expression remained unchanged, Charis’s heart thudded.

  Keeping her chin high, Charis reached the dais and gracefully climbed the steps, ignoring the footman who offered a supporting hand. There must be no sign of weakness. No chink in her armor. Not just in front of the queen, but in front of the crowd of assembled nobles and dignitaries.

  “Your Majesty,” Charis said, her voice crisp and clear though the pounding of her heart was a hammer against her temple. She bowed her head briefly, a sign of respect for the one person in the kingdom who outranked her.

  “Charis, how lovely you look.” Mother’s voice was as crisp as her daughter’s, and she extended her hands for Charis to take. Pulling Charis close, she leaned in as though to kiss her daughter’s cheeks. When her mouth was beside the princess’s ear, she whispered, “We will discuss this breach in courtesy tomorrow.”

  Mother moved to her other cheek. “There are wolves in the room, daughter. Remember what you must be.”

  What you must be.

  Charis met Mother’s icy smile with one of her own. She knew this lesson well. It had been drilled into her from her earliest memory.

  Be smarter. Strike harder. Never falter, never waver, never break.

  Every interaction was a chess move, and only the most ruthless person on the board survived to win the game.

  Charis had been born to win the game.

  Stepping past the queen, she offered her hand to the ambassador from Verace, a slight woman with olive skin, striking features, and bold eyebrows. “Ambassador Gemanotti, welcome to Arborlay, the jewel of Calera. We are pleased to continue our kingdoms’ friendship through you.”

  “Your capital city is beautiful, Your Highness, and the generosity of your family lives up to its reputation.” The woman’s voice was firm, her eye contact steady. She took the princess’s fingertips in her own and bowed.

  Charis then turned to the ambassador from Rullenvor, a man with a smattering of dark frec
kles on his pale beige skin and close-cut red hair that was turning silver at the temples. Extending her hand, she said, “Ambassador Shyrn, we welcome you to Arborlay and look forward to continuing our kingdoms’ goodwill toward each other.”

  He bowed and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. Straightening, he said in a deep, gravelly voice, “Your Highness, Rullenvor is most keen to further our kingdoms’ mutual interests.”

  “We will set aside time to discuss those interests and our friendship soon,” the queen said, including both ambassadors in her smile. “Now the princess will open the ball with a speech in your honor.”

  Charis bowed to her mother, turned to the center of the dais, and assessed the crowd with a measured look. Nobility in brilliant gowns or elegant dress coats were scattered around the room. The mix of skin tones and hair colors was a testament to Calera’s long history of healthy trade relationships and generous immigration policies with the other sea kingdoms. In fact, many of Calera’s families could trace their heritage back to both ancient Caleran families and ancestors across the water. When Charis had met the gazes of many of the onlookers, holding them silent in anticipation, she finally looked at the speech Darold had given her and began to speak.

  Two hours later, as the bell to signal the second intermission sounded, Charis stepped back from yet another dance partner—she’d lost count of how many times she’d twirled around the ballroom floor, dispensing smiles and tiny political barbs designed to open pocketbooks for the war effort or silence the gathering opposition to the conflict, and by extension, to the royal family. Her cheeks ached, her feet throbbed, and she’d willingly give away her best tiara for an hour of absolute silence.

  Her eyes sought Mother’s and held—a quick, unspoken communication that Charis was doing her job and would have details to report in the morning. Queen Letha’s lips curved slightly, and then she stepped away from the dais and toward the ladies’ parlor. Charis’s partner bowed, and she pivoted toward the windows before another could take the man’s place and use up her precious ten minutes of intermission with conversation.