She lifts the lid, revealing a plate piled high with tuna eyes.
“His Highness told us this is your favorite Kyrenican dish and that you would quite like to have them for breakfast. We made sure to make extra.”
I look at her hopeful face. “Thank you,” I say. “Please be sure to convey my utmost gratitude to the crown prince and tell him that his, um, kindness won’t be easily forgotten.”
I pick up my fork and cut into the tuna eye, although I imagine it’s Stefan’s eye I’m gouging. I take a quick bite and force it down. “It’s delicious,” I say, ignoring my stom-ach’s protests.
A servant enters the room. “Your Highness, His Majesty the king asks me to inform you that your father’s advisors have arrived and are eager to see you. King Ezebo waits with them in the great hall.”
He bows himself from the room, and I apologize to Cook that I won’t be able to continue the meal.
“Of course, Princess. Don’t you worry, you shall have another plate of the delicacy tomorrow morning,” she promises.
On the way to the great hall, my mind races. I had forgotten that the Guardians were due to arrive in Korynth today. By now they will have heard of the missing maid. If I’m supposed to be “proving my loyalty” by posing as Wilha, what will they say if I confess in private I’m not Wilha, but Elara? Will they really believe that shy Wilha, who seemed to be scared of her own shadow, actually plucked up the courage to escape the castle on her own? Or will they believe I’m the threat they have always suspected me to be? Another Aislinn Andewyn, willing to harm her sister to gain her own ends?
Inside the great hall, Ezebo and Genevieve are seated on their thrones. Stefan stands next to his mother. Lord Quinlan and Lord Royce are poised before them and they bow when I enter.
Lord Quinlan steps forward. He is wearing more rings and necklaces than all the Strassburgs combined. “Ah, Princess Wilhamina, what a pleasure it is to see you again. I was just telling King Ezebo here what a fine little room this is.” He gestures vaguely about the great hall.
Next to Lord Quinlan, Lord Royce’s weathered face is strained, as though he’s trying not to roll his eyes. Ezebo is red-faced, and Stefan stares at Lord Quinlan with open hostility. Yet Lord Quinlan, who doesn’t seem bothered by the effect his words are having on his hosts, continues, “I have always thought that Galandrians, used to so much grandeur, are a little too ornate when it comes to palace design.”
“Ornate would be one way to describe it,” Lord Royce speaks up. “Gallingly tacky would be another.” Lord Royce’s face is as impassive as ever when he turns to look at me. And yet I can’t help but think he is giving me a message: Fix this.
“I am inclined to agree with Lord Royce,” I say quickly. “I find this hall to be one of the most elegant I have ever seen, though of course you’re not to be faulted, Lord Quinlan, as I believe it is only those with the most discerning of taste who can recognize it.” I turn away from Lord Quinlan, and though I’ve never done so before, drop to my knees before Ezebo. “You sent for me, Your Majesty?”
Ezebo and Genevieve beam at me, and even Stefan manages a smirk.
“Princess Wilhamina, please rise,” Ezebo says, his eyes twinkling. “Truly, your presence delights us all. I am sorry to intrude on your breakfast, and to keep Stefan from you but—”
“How was your breakfast?” Stefan interrupts, showing every one of his white teeth.
“Pungent,” I answer. “And wonderfully quiet.”
“Yes, well,” Ezebo continues, shooting a confused look between me and Stefan, “at any rate, the queen, the crown prince, and I have had the, er . . . pleasure, of meeting with your father’s advisors for the last hour and they have wonderful news for you.”
Lord Quinlan bows and steps forward. “I am happy to report that your father is greatly improving. His physician is hopeful that he will soon be back to his old self.”
“This is good news for us all,” I say demurely, though I’m sorely tempted to ask Lord Quinlan why, if the king is supposedly feeling so much better, he hasn’t bothered to write as he promised?
The doors open then, and Lord Murcendor and Sir Reinhold enter. Instantly, I regret my earlier brashness. Of everyone, Lord Murcendor—the only person who has known both Wilha and me—is the most likely to discover I’m not Wilha.
Lord Murcendor bows deeply. “Your Highness. It is a pleasure to see you again.” He looks at me with bright eyes. But it’s not a look of admiration.
It’s a look of undisguised longing.
A shiver passes over me, and I tug at my mask. Arianne mentioned how good Lord Murcendor has been to Wilha. A father figure, it seems. But there is nothing parental in the way he stares at me now, and I wonder if Wilha hasn’t mistaken his intentions all these years.
Maybe I’m not the only one who notices, because just as Lord Murcendor says, “Princess, I was wondering if I could have a word in private. . . ,” Stefan steps forward and interrupts, “Father, did you not say that once Sir Reinhold finished inspecting Galandria’s latest payment of opals, you wished Lord Murcendor to meet with your councilors to discuss the mining rights?”
“Yes, I did.” Ezebo nods. “They are waiting even as we speak. Sir Reinhold, will you show Lord Murcendor the way?”
Lord Murcendor looks poised to argue, but then bows and leaves again with Sir Reinhold. “Another time,” he says as he passes me. I nod, careful to keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.
When I glance back at the dais my eyes meet Stefan’s and we share a look. He seems troubled as he glances from me to Lord Murcendor’s retreating figure. I nod slightly, and hope that, behind my mask, he sees my gratitude.
Ezebo rises. “If you will excuse me, I have other matters I must see to.” He turns to Lord Quinlan and Lord Royce. “Rooms have been prepared for the both of you, and someone will show you the way.” He nods, clearly dismissing us.
After the doors to the great hall close behind us, Lord Quinlan drops his smile and turns a scrutinizing eye upon me. “Wilha?” he guesses.
I stare at him and decide I can’t drop the charade. I have nothing valuable to offer him, no information that would prove useful. As far as I can tell, Ezebo has every intention of honoring the peace treaty, news that may not be too welcome, as it’s seemed like Lord Quinlan may be a bit too eager for the treaty to break.
“Yes, Lord Quinlan?”
He frowns. “For a moment there I thought . . . but you . . . seem to be getting on well with those Kyrenicans?”
I avert my eyes and soften my voice. “Father told me it was my duty to treat them as family.”
“Yes, well, of course. You father is right, as always.” He resumes his confident air; clearly he has decided I must be Wilha. “Ezebo told me of the mishap with the guards. To tell you the truth, I am shocked by Moran’s behavior. I was also told of your chamber maid running off.” He glances around to make sure that no servants are in earshot and moves in closer. “Tell me truly, what happened?”
I keep my eyes downcast. “Elara stole jewels from me and fled at the first opportunity she had. I have no idea of her whereabouts.”
He nods. “That is what I suspected.” His brow furrows. “But this is a problem.”
You’re telling me. “It is unfortunate, yes.”
Lord Quinlan sighs heavily. “It is too bad your sister didn’t turn out to be more like you, Wilha.”