“So he does,” the Emperor agreed. “But the Empire has its enemies, Mace. The House of Dorsa has always seen fit to train its sons in the art of self-protection and combat. Many second and third sons of the House of Dorsa have gone on to be great generals. But since I have no sons, I have seen fit to train my eldest daughter in the combative arts. Since she is my heir, it seems only fitting.”
The Emperor gave Mace a stare halfway between challenging and inspecting. By now, word had spread that Tasia would be her father’s true heir, which meant that any husband of hers would carry the title of “Emperor” but not the attendant power that went with it.
All of which implied that Mace, even if his quest for Tasia’s hand in marriage succeeded, would not be the true power in the realm.
Mace nodded slowly, thoughtfully, and Tasia had the feeling the Emperor’s implication had not been lost on him.
“Of course,” he said. “Very understandable. The Princess will be the Empress one day, and will have need of a variety of different skills that other young women do not need. Including self-defense.” He raised his goblet, glancing from side to side. “To the House of Dorsa. Long may its wisdom protect the Empire.”
The Emperor gave a pleased nod and lifted his own cup. “Long may its wisdom protect the Empire,” he repeated, and his two daughters followed suit.
But Tasia’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.
Which fate was worse? she pondered. To be the girl-child of an Emperor and have her role in life pre-determined by the mere possession of a womb? Or to be a girl-child of an Emperor who had decided that, out of a group of poor options, she was the best choice to safeguard the Empire’s future?
Both fates seemed a noose around her neck.
She looked across the room, hoping to catch Mylla’s eye. But the girl was giggling about something with Adela’s two handmaids, their attention far removed from the royal family.
But a pair of dark eyes did catch Tasia’s. Joslyn. For the second time, Tasia caught her guard watching her from across the room. For one eerie moment, Tasia had the uncomfortable feeling that the guard had heard her thoughts, that she knew Tasia had been imagining a noose tightening around her throat.
Joslyn nodded at the Princess, shifted her gaze back down to her plate, and the strange feeling passed.
#
Mace and Tasia took a walk through one of the palace’s many gardens once the evening meal had finished. Tasia had tried to beg off, stating that she had a headache, but her father insisted that if a headache was what plagued her, the fresh night air would be the perfect cure. And so it was that she found herself strolling beside the young lordling from House Gifford half an hour later, Joslyn trailing a few respectful steps behind them.
“So,” Mace said conversationally once they were out of earshot of the palace, “your father tells me you’ve rejected every suitor he’s presented you with thus far.”
“He speaks truly,” Tasia said.
“And why have you rejected them? If I may ask?”
“Well, let’s see,” Tasia said with mock thoughtfulness. “Frederick of House Serrell was too fat. Barret of House Kelter was too shy. Preston of House Aventia was too… snobbish.”
Mace let out a short, surprised laugh. “Snobbish?”
“He was rather impressed with himself.”
“How so?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Tasia said, stopping to finger a small, tight rosebud. The garden would be a tapestry of color in just a few more weeks. “The night Preston came to dinner, he was dressed in finery greater than my own, with a ring on each finger, a pendant, and hair so well-oiled that he might have slaughtered a whale on his way to the palace.”
Mace laughed again, an easy, fluid sound with no hint of self-consciousness or pretension. “Note to self,” he said with an air of ponderousness, turning his gaze skyward, “do not dress too finely or oil my hair when visiting the Princess Natasia.”
“When visiting?” Tasia said. “You presume a second visit already? Bold.”
“No, no, your Majesty,” he said. “In the short span of hours we have known one another, I have already learned to presume nothing when it comes to you. It is rather rare to meet a princess training in self-defense and preparing to inherit her father’s crown.”
Tasia quirked an eyebrow. “I take it you’ve met many princesses, then.”
“Only three so far,” he said nonchalantly.
“Three?” The Princess scoffed. “Did your Wise Men fail to teach you the basics of arithmetic? There are only two princesses in the Empire — myself and my sister.”
Mace nodded. “This is true. I have met you, I have met your sister, and I also met a princess of one of the Adessian Islands.”
“The Adessian Islands are rather far from the West,” Tasia said skeptically.
“So they are,” Mace agreed. “My father sent me there to negotiate a trade agreement.”
“And you met a princess along the way?”
Tasia stopped at a marble bench beside a willow tree, sitting down and gesturing for Mace to sit beside her, which he did.
“I did.” He hesitated. When he spoke again, it was in a different tone. “Princess, may I ask you a frank question?”
Tasia studied him, her face openly curious. “You may.”
“Is my fate to be the same as all the other suitors? Am I wasting my time this evening?” He held up a hand. “And before you answer, let me just be clear — your acceptance of my bid, your rejection of it, it’s all the same to me. My father is the one who hungers for apartments within the royal wing of the palace, not me. I know I’m not to be shaped into an Emperor or wear your father’s crown.” Mace took a breath. “And if you’re going to reject me, which is fine, then I will cut my visit here short and head home. It’s plowing season in our land, and my father has little patience for settling disputes between farmers. I’d rather not have a backlog of cases to work through when I get back.”
Tasia let out a small giggle, which grew into a larger one, which evolved into full, long laughter.
Mace blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry; did I say something funny?”
She nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. “What’s funny is that I think you care as little about this potential marriage as I do. And you’re honest enough to say it.”
Mace shrugged. “I take it most of your suitors are not honest?”
“None of them are.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Mace, there’s nothing good about marrying into the House of Dorsa for you. You’ll be as ceremonial as an Emperor sewn into a tapestry, as powerless as a toothless hound. You’ll enjoy very little reward from the crown on your head and yet inherit all of its danger.” She took her hand from his shoulder, gestured at Joslyn. “Want to know the real reason she’s here? And why I’m learning supposed self-defense? And why Father’s chosen me as his heir instead of someone like you?”
Mace glanced at the stoic guard, then back to Tasia. “Why?”
“Because, Mace. Someone tried to kill me recently.” She waited for the statement to sink in. “You’re about the most bearable suitor I’ve had so far. But I wouldn’t wish this fate on you; I actually like you.”