“I didn’t trap her,” Lord Quinlan retorts. “I was merely going to ask—in private—how she is getting on here in Kyrenica. The Guardians and I have hardly had a minute with her since arriving in the city. You and your father seem to be purposely keeping her away from us.”
“I am sure the princess is getting on just fine. I am also sure there is nothing you need to say to her that requires spiriting her away from everyone else.”
Lord Quinlan begins to protest, but Stefan cuts him off. “I will remind you, Lord Quinlan, that you are here solely at the invitation of my family, an invitation that can be revoked at any time if we see fit.” He regards Lord Quinlan coolly and continues, “At any rate, please excuse us. I need a word alone with the princess.”
Lord Quinlan hesitates, looking as though he is bursting to say something, but finally leaves.
“What did he want?” Stefan demands.
“I don’t know. He said—” I break off when I see Stefan’s scowl, and a delicious thought occurs to me. “Are you jealous?”
“Not remotely,” he snaps. “But I don’t trust your father’s advisors and would rather you stay away from them. And I hardly think it is proper for you to be conversing in dark corners with another man.”
“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.”
CHAPTER 54
ELARA
What 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.