Dawn’s early rays peek through the castle windows by the time I enter my bedroom. When I open the blue velvet box to take off the mask, I find a letter tucked inside. Not Patric’s letter, but another, also addressed to the Masked Princess. I quickly open it, all thoughts of removing my mask forgotten.
Dear Elara,
Tonight you saved the city from an unimaginable fate. Indeed, your actions may well have saved both Kyrenica and Galandria from an unnecessary war. I know you do not consider yourself an Andewyn, and for this, I cannot blame you. Yet in you I see so much of our ancestors. Indeed, far more than I have ever glimpsed in myself.
You say you have no name, so I beg of you, take mine. For in these last several days you have worn it with more grace and vigor than I ever have. Take my name and build for yourself the life that should have been yours sixteen years ago. Become the Masked Princess. I have seen you and Stefan together, and it is clear he has claimed your heart and you his. Someday we will meet again, and on that day I hope you will forgive me for choosing a life outside of the castle.
Somewhere in your heart you must see that this is the logical end to this matter.
Wilha finishes the letter without a signature. Fitting for someone who has just walked away from her identity. I stride to the sitting room, start a fire, and sink into the armchair, considering her words.
For all Wilha’s persuasion, she forgot to mention there is still a peace treaty, still a war that would very likely be fought if I choose to leave. But despite all this, Wilha has made her decision.
Now I must make mine.
I read the letter one more time and then I rise. I toss it into the fire, where it curls and blackens, turning in on itself. Until there is nothing left but ashes and embers.
A knock sounds at the door, and I hurry to open it before Milly awakens. Stefan enters the room. His eyes droop with exhaustion.
“The guards can find no trace of Lord Murcendor in the castle, or in the city. They will continue to look, of course, but I fear we may not find him. Lord Quinlan has sent several pigeons bound for Galandria. He seemed eager that your father should know of Lord Murcendor’s actions. Indeed, that was what he wanted to speak to you about in private earlier. One of his men saw Lord Murcendor in the city yesterday speaking with Garwyn, and he was troubled when Lord Murcendor did not report it to my father.”
“Where is Lord Quinlan now?” I ask.
“Packing. Both he and Lord Royce mean to leave Korynth at once. As it was some of his own men who joined with Lord Murcendor, Lord Quinlan in particular is anxious to return to Galandria and explain these events to your father in person. Both he and Lord Royce have asked to speak to you before they leave, but I told them I myself would convey their well wishes.” He pauses. “After what happened with Lord Mur-cendor, I am not eager for any of your father’s advisors to meet with you.” He sighs. “Unless of course you wish to?”
I hesitate, remembering Lord Royce’s words: “There were things I could’ve told her. Things your mother wanted her to know. A message she intended Elara to have.”
I don’t think Lord Royce knows anything. If my mother gave me up so easily, I doubt she had anything to say to me, other than giving me the book. And even if she did, I’m not sure I care. Not after she decided I was worth so much less than Wilhamina.
Nevertheless, the temptation to speak to him is strong. Just, I think, as Lord Royce intends. I imagine him not very far away, waiting for me to come to him. Waiting for me to play into his hands.
He’ll have to keep waiting. The farther I stay away from the Guardians, and Galandria all together, the safer I’ll be.
“No,” I say. “I have no wish to speak to them.”
Stefan nods and reaches for my hand. “You are the most wondrous woman I have ever met. Do you want to tell me exactly how you managed to appear on that cliff at just the right moment tonight?”
“A woman can’t give away all her secrets. Surely you must know that,” I say with a bat of my eyes.
He pulls me close, cups my chin in his hands, and whispers, “I look forward to a lifetime of learning your secrets.” His lips meet mine and a thrill passes over me, split into equal parts of joy and fear. Joy that he wants me.
And fear that he will find out my biggest secret.
But I push those thoughts away and give myself over to the kiss. It’s me he wants, and me he will marry, the only twin he has ever known. And if I have to trade one name for another, does it really matter? Because standing on that ledge and addressing those men as the Masked Princess didn’t feel like deception. It felt like the righting of so many wrongs.
“I meant what I said earlier. I intend to make a new start,” Stefan says when we pull apart. “I intend to put aside our families’ differences and love you.” He traces a finger down my mask. “Loving you, I suspect, will not be a difficult thing to do.” His face is hopeful and expectant, and I know he wants me to return his sentiments.
Instead, I bring my lips to his for another kiss. Of all the words in this world, love is the most powerful of them all. It’s a word I can’t say. Not yet, anyway.
Not until I know it comes from the deepest, most sincere place in my heart.
CHAPTER 63
WILHA
The masquerade lasts until dawn. When a servant ushers the remaining guests from the great hall, I rise up from the corner I have been hiding in to join the crowd that is now streaming out the castle.
The streets of Korynth are damp and dirty from a night of reveling. Several men are passed out near the castle gates. Empty bottles of ale and half-burned candles litter the cobblestone streets.
I pass a couple slumped together on a wooden bench. The girl wears a simple, powder blue dress and a lavender costume mask. Instinctively, I change direction and turn north, set on a new destination.
When I reach the Broken Statue I kneel down, my eyes almost level with Queen Rowan’s stone gaze. I remove my white and silver mask and tilt my head to the wind, enjoying the feel of fresh, salty air on my face.
Queen Rowan’s broken, beheaded statue stares at me silently. For once, I don’t think she is judging me to be unworthy of the Andewyn name. I think she is watching, curious to see which path I shall take.
“No matter where I go,” I whisper to her, “I will always be an Andewyn. Always.”
I leave the mask at the foot of the statue. Then I rise and turn eastward, and head for home.
I don’t know what will happen today, or the next day, or the day after that. I only know, for the first time ever, I have the chance to choose the life I want to live.
And for right now, that is everything.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For years this book was my “Secret Project,” the story I played around with when I needed a break from my formal work-in-progress. It would still be my secret project today had my agent, Kerry Sparks, not suggested that I “start writing my YA book” during a phone call when I was whining about having writer’s block. Thank you for all your encouragement and direction, Kerry!
Marlo Scrimizzi, my editor at Running Press, believed in this project even in its earliest stages. Marlo, every author should be so lucky to have an editor like you!
The entire team at Running Press has been a joy to work with. Thank you to Teresa Bonaddio, the genius behind the cover and map. To Suzanne Wallace, Susan Hom, Emily Epstein, and Stacy Schuck: Thank you all for helping turn my manuscript into an actual book and seeing that it gets into the hands of readers.