The young nobleman stared at Joslyn a moment, then turned his attention back to Tasia. “You are heir because your father trusts no one else,” he said. “That seems like a rather reasonable decision to me.”
Tasia nodded. “He believes someone is trying to destabilize the Empire, and he’s making an effort to determine the would-be killer by process of elimination. I’ve been eliminated as a suspect, as I am the only highborn he knows who is without a doubt innocent of the attempt on my life.”
“But I doubt that’s his only reason for naming you heir,” Mace said. “It’s — well, forgive me for saying so, Princess, but it’s almost unheard of for an Emperor to name a girl-child his heir. So it must be about more than trust. He must truly hold you in high esteem.”
Tasia gave a non-committal shrug. “Perhaps. Yes, Father says I have a shrewd mind, like my grandmother. But I don’t think I’m all that shrewd, given that I nearly got myself killed through my recklessness.”
Mace looked into the distance, thoughtful. After a moment, he leaned forward, and this time when he spoke, it was with great earnestness. “Princess, my grandfather was one of the Western lords who rebelled against your father. He died dangling at the end of a rope the year I was born, the same year my father became Lord of House Gifford. Under any other Emperor, my family would have been stripped of our lands and our titles. But my father pledged his loyalty to yours, and your father chose to trust that pledge.” He smiled grimly. “I am probably alive today because your father showed mine mercy. And if my way of repaying that kindness is to become a toothless, ceremonial Emperor beside you… well, there are certainly worse fates than being bound to a beautiful woman.”
His sincerity — and apparent honesty — softened Tasia, and the smile she returned to him this time was genuine. “You would make a good Emperor, actually. Better than I will make as an Empress.”
“You shouldn’t say that.”
Tasia leaned back, gazing at the rising moon. “It’s ironic, don’t you think? My sister is the one named for Empress Adela, yet I am the one being asked to fill Adela’s enormous shoes.”
Mace cocked his head, a glimmer of humor in his eyes. “The Empress Adela had big feet? My Wise Man never taught me that.”
Tasia slapped him playfully, and their conversation moved away from heavy things and back to their earlier banter.
Much to her surprise, her father was waiting for them when they returned from the gardens. The Emperor asked Wise Man Evrart to escort Mace to his rooms, then turned to Tasia once they were out of earshot.
“Well?”
“Alright,” Tasia said with a resigned sigh. “I suppose he’ll do.”
#
An hour or two later, having changed out of her evening gown and into her night robe, Tasia brushed her hair by herself at her vanity. Mylla had already prepared Tasia’s bed for the night; Joslyn had performed her evening inspection of the Princess’s three adjoining chambers — the spacious antechamber, where Tasia entertained visitors and where Joslyn had recently taken up residence; the servant’s chamber, which was currently Mylla’s room; and Tasia’s own bedchamber.
Joslyn approached Tasia, standing behind her and meeting her eyes in the mirror.
“So my rooms are safe for the night?” Tasia asked. “No assassins hiding beneath mattresses? No goblins behind the tapestries?”
Joslyn permitted herself a half-smile. “Goblins can be quite nasty, when provoked.”
Tasia set her brush down and turned on her stool. “Was that actually a joke, Guard Joslyn of Terinto?”
Joslyn’s half-smile grew into a smirk. “I would never joke about goblins.”
“Yes, well. I should’ve known better than to ascribe a sense of humor to you,” Tasia said.
Mylla finished turning down the blankets on Tasia’s bed, disappeared into her own bedchamber and shut the door behind her.
“Joslyn,” Tasia said quietly. “About what Mylla said on the beach earlier today…”
Joslyn shook her head. “I have been surrounded by the coarseness of common soldiers for the past seven years, Princess. The Lady Mylla said nothing worse than what I have heard before. And she was right that I need to remember to speak with more deference to my… betters.”
“No, Joslyn. Mylla was wrong. About all of it.” She hesitated, contemplating how much to say. “No one has ever spoken to me the way you spoke to me today. Other than the Emperor.”
“I apologize, Princess. I shouldn’t have — ”
“But you told me exactly what I needed to hear.” Tasia let out a long breath. “The events of the last few weeks… the assassination attempt… being named my father’s heir… I know I need to change. And I’m trying to change. My father needs me to change. The Empire needs me to change. You were only trying to help me do that.”
Joslyn gave the Princess a single nod. Tasia hadn’t exactly apologized, but she’d come as close as a princess could when speaking to a servant. Somehow Joslyn understood and accepted.
“And over these past few weeks…” Tasia said. She searched for words, thinking of the late nights she and the guard had spent together when Mylla was out at various functions with her father. They alternated between playing Castles and Knights, which Joslyn had gotten remarkably good at, and teaching the guard to read. “I’ve come to trust you,” Tasia concluded. “When you’re a Princess, it’s not easy to find people you can truly trust.”
The guard’s expression was both surprised and appreciative. “Thank you, Princess.”
“Just call me Tasia when we’re alone.” The Princess glanced at Mylla’s bedroom door. It was still closed, but she lowered her voice anyway. “And Joslyn, I don’t think your face is over-large. And there’s nothing wrong with your eyes, either. I happen to think they’re… beautiful.”
It was a sentiment the Princess hadn’t planned to voice, but as soon as she said it, she realized it was true. Joslyn’s nearly black eyes were indeed beautiful. And it had nothing to do with the folds around her eyes, or their bottomless depths, or the way the guard’s pupils seemed to disappear within the irises. Joslyn’s eyes were beautiful because she revealed herself through them. Even when her face and posture remained stoic and formal, her eyes would give her away — sometimes glinting with humor when she surprised Tasia at Castles and Knights, sometimes with earnest sincerity as she copied the letters Tasia wrote for her, and on rare occasions, Tasia thought she saw a genuine affection in the guard’s eyes.
And those emotions — the sincerity and earnestness, the flashes of humor or hurt, the attentiveness she directed towards the Princess — they were why Tasia had come to trust the guard.
“Thank you, Prin… Tasia.”
Their eyes met. Tasia opened her mouth to speak, but she wasn’t quite sure how to end the uncharacteristically personal conversation.
“I should… bid you goodnight,” Joslyn said, gesturing at the door behind her to the antechamber.
“Yes,” said the Princess, turning back to the vanity. “It’s been a long day. And from what I hear, I’m waking up early to move rocks up and down the beach again tomorrow.”