“No one could mistake who you are,” he says, bowing deep. “You are beautiful.” He steps closer. “Though you would be even more beautiful if you were not wearing your mask.”
I struggle to keep my smile in place. I know he’s probably only being polite for the benefit of the soldiers and servants behind us, but my heart constricts at his words anyway.
“May I present Their Royal Highnesses Princess Wilhamina Andewyn of Galandria and Crown Prince Stefan Strassburg,” calls out a page.
The music halts, the dancing stops, and a hush falls over the crowd as everyone stares at us. King Ezebo rises from his seat on the dais and begins to clap. The rest of the royal family—except for Eudora, who remains stubbornly seated—follows suit and soon the ballroom is filled with thunderous applause. It’s dizzying, listening to them all cheer for me.
Not for you, I remind myself. For Wilhamina.
Stefan bows to me again. “Ready to meet your public?”
I take the hand he offers. “I’m ready.”
He gives my hand a small squeeze, and together we descend into the colorful crowd below.
CHAPTER 50
WILHA
Night has fallen at the ocean. An iridescent ribbon of moonlight spools across the Lonesome Sea and the tide has begun to rise. I step over jagged rocks, gasping when a wave rolls in and icy water seeps through my borrowed slippers. When I reach the moss-covered stone steps cut into the cliff, I hike up my skirt and begin climbing.
I haven’t gotten very far when I hear voices coming from down the beach. I stop and duck down behind a boulder. The voices grow closer, and it sounds as though two men are fighting.
“We won’t be caught—the entire city is focused on the masquerade. I’ve been given our orders. We are to wait here until the signal is given. When will your men arrive?”
With a start, I realize the voice sounds familiar. I chance a look over the boulder and see that it is Garwyn, along with Moran and the rest of the Galandrian guards. Garwyn is talking to Anton and Jaromil.
“In a moment,” Anton answers tersely. “They’ll be here soon.”
“What is the signal?” asks Jaromil.
“At midnight, when the castle lets off fireworks, we are to begin. We are to start here, on the southernmost dock and spread out and work our way west. Tomorrow, Kyrenica will wake to a city burned.”
“I still don’t see how that will spark war,” Anton says.
“It will when they see the Galandrian banners we’ll leave in our wake. And if that isn’t enough, he has something else planned.”
Anton says something else, but his voice is low. I stand up cautiously to hear better.
“. . . Don’t know how, exactly,” Garwyn is answering. “Someone in the castle could be working for him. Or maybe he plans to do it himself. But after tonight the crown prince will need to find himself a new bride.”
After this there is silence, and I see the dim profiles of Anton and Jaromil turn to each other. “Does that mean . . . ?” Jaromil asks.
“Yes, slain on the very night of her own welcoming party. When Galandria gets word of it, they’ll be chomping at the bit to go to war. And when Kyrenica realizes Galandria is responsible for the burning of their capital, they’ll be all too eager to meet them.”
“Never wanted a peace treaty in the first place,” Jaromil says. “Your master, whoever he is, is a wretched bastard—a man after my own heart.”
Horror washes over me and I duck down behind the boulder, putting a hand to my mouth to keep from crying out. It is possible that Anton and Jaromil are involved with illegal trading, and that Garwyn and his guards have been searching for me—but that is not what they have been recruiting men for.
They have been to help push Galandria and Kyrenica into war.
And I watched them do it. All the time they spent in the inn plotting, I watched them and did nothing. Not even when I was sure I read evil in their expressions. All I did was hide when I thought it was me they were coming for.
As a result, the entire city will burn, and Elara may be in danger this very moment. While I don’t understand everything they have just said, I know that someone in the castle wants the Masked Princess dead.
All this time the mask was to protect Elara and me from people who would seek to use us to destroy our kingdom. The same type of people who will assassinate Elara tonight.
Unless I stop them.
Without hesitation, I rise and quietly begin climbing, hopeful that the men, draped in darkness and preoccupied with their evil schemes, won’t notice me.
CHAPTER 51
ELARA
Wilha is everywhere, but nowhere. When I glimpse a girl lurking near the fireplace wearing a mask shaped like a dragon’s head, I’m certain it’s her. Then I suspect she is the girl in the blue and green mask with peacock feathers who lingers by the platters of food, but never eats. After that, I’m positive she is the girl in the wolf mask standing quietly by the window.
But none of these girls turn out to be Wilha when I approach them.
Through it all, as I exchange pleasantries with noblemen and compliment noblewomen on their beautiful dresses, I expect a tap on the shoulder, a nudge in the ribs—some signal to let me know she has arrived and is ready to switch back. But as the night wears on, there’s nothing. Where is she?
When Ezebo asks me to dance a waltz and everyone turns to stare, I wonder if she’s here, biding her time. Hiding behind a mask and watching me, but saying nothing. Just as Lord Royce has done.
All evening, he’s stood to the side of the room, near the orchestra, watching me. Of all the masks in the room, his is the most unusual. It is white and plain and completely un-adorned, almost as though he has no face at all.
But Lord Murcendor and Lord Quinlan have not been so content to stay in the background. Both of them have hovered just at the edges of the crowd surrounding me, both seemingly intent to catch my eye. It’s been a complicated dance to avoid them all night, but a worthwhile one.
Wilha can speak to the Guardians after we switch back. I’ve had enough of them to last a lifetime.
After I finish dancing with Ezebo I stride over to the dais, hoping that with a better vantage point I’ll be able to spot Wilha. Instead I find Ruby, standing alone, tears streaming down her face.
“Ruby, what’s wrong?”
Ruby turns and presses herself to my side. “I went to give Grandmother a hug and I accidentally spilled her drink on her. She yelled at me and told me I will never make a good princess.”
I look around the room, searching for Genevieve. Stefan, I notice with a flash of irritation, is surrounded by a group of giggly noblegirls. Again.
“Where is your mother?”
“She and Leandra accompanied Grandmother to her chambers so she could change into another gown,” Ruby says through muffled sobs. “They were trying to calm her down.”
I hug Ruby. As fond as I’ve grown of Genevieve and the rest of the Strassburgs, it’s ridiculous the way they allow Eudora to push them all around.
Or maybe I’m the ridiculous one. Maybe it’s the royal way to let Eudora, as the eldest, spill her vitriol everywhere, regardless of who she hurts in the process.
But watching Ruby cry, I’m reminded of when I finally understood that even if I couldn’t walk away from Mistress Ogden and the abuse she hurled my way, I didn’t have to hear her, either. That was the day I shut my ears and started feeding her words to my imaginary kitten.
“And then Grandmother said—”