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Author’s Note: This book, like the one preceding it, is still basically just a draft. I am sure there is probably more I could do with it, and maybe even a different route I could have taken, but for now, this is it. As it is a work in progress, feel free to leave suggestions in your reviews. Even if I don’t respond—I’m completely scatter-brained most of the time—I will definitely take those suggestions to heart.

For those of you who don’t favor a romantic story, you might not like this one much. Considering the nature of my main character, there really isn’t any way to eliminate the romantic from this story. Sorry, but if you can make your way through this one, I promise the next will be more fantasy than romance. Also, I’m not quite done editing this one, so I’m only going to post a chapter or two at a time. I’m in the process of posting another book chapter-by-chapter right now, so this one is going to be secondary to that.

By the way…in case you don’t remember, there was a brief reference to a certain assassin that Princess Cristi single-handedly talked out of killing her brother in the book about Alys and Jak. That would be S.D.

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Princess Cristi,

I don’t know why I am writing you. For all I know, missives from humble, untitled men like me never even reach your exalted hands. I just thought I should at least try to communicate to you my gratitude. When we first met two months ago, I never would have thought that another way of life was possible for me. Everything revolved around my work for the Viljarmas, as I was convinced it was the only way to live.

But I was wrong. For two months now I have worked honestly for a local blacksmith. I have given up the life of an assassin, much to my sister’s relief. She is wholeheartedly in love with you, you know, for being able to change my mind where she could not. I am not sure you will ever know just what you have done for me. You saved my life that day.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

S.D.

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Chapter One

She stood on the stone balcony, gazing out over a sea of people. Commoners, subjects, trained from birth to bow a knee to her.

Her fiery curls billowed gloriously in the cool afternoon breeze, and her gown of green silk clung flatteringly to her generous curves. With eyes shadowed by the knowledge of centuries, she swept her gaze across the crowd below. Where was he? Her one true love, the one she’d been waiting for all of her life…

“…and because our economy has increased exponentially over the past five years, we are now able to lower taxes by five percent.”

Cristi sighed as the sound of her father’s voice broke into her wonderful daydream. If that hadn’t done it, the sound of thousands of clapping hands certainly would have dragged her back to reality. This experience was tolerable when she could pretend she was standing alone on the family’s giant, third-floor balcony, a beautiful princess searching for her prince.

Reality, as usual, was not nearly so sweet. Instead, she stood in the shadow of her parents as they discussed political matters that only made her head spin. She was not beautiful. Many people had described her as “frumpy,” “bovine,” or just plain “fat.” Princess she might be, but no one ever felt the need to bow to her, nor were there any handsome princes out there waiting for a chance to earn her love.

What she wouldn’t give to be anywhere but here. If only she were married and thick with child like both of her brothers’ wives. Then she could have had an excuse to avoid this tedious affair.

Definitely not her idea of fun.

No, her idea of fun would be sneaking off to the kitchen to swipe pastries from the castle cook. Warm, flaky pastries stuffed with sweet blueberries, or warm cinnamon apple, or gooey strawberries…

With a twinge of guilt, Cristi remembered her resolution to stop eating desserts. Completely. She was determined to lose two dress sizes in time for her aunt and uncle’s Treaty Ball to be held in two months’ time.

The ball would be her father’s final topic of discussion for the day, as it was the most controversial.

Since the northern country of Feirtala’s native language so closely resembled the native tongue of the people who lived across the Endless Ocean, it had been designated as the most appropriate meeting place for the high-ranking officials from the two different lands. Across the Endless Ocean lay the vast empire of Galate, a land of diverse countries that even included a place of eternal fire known as Hueres where demons roamed free. In fact, Cristi reminded herself with a hint of drama, her own late grandfather-in-law was a demon. Sisters in law as well as sisters by blood, Alys and Ilana both bore the marks of their demon ancestry without shame.

A representative had been chosen from each Galatean country, save Hueres, as it was not actually considered a part of the Empire. Along with the former Empress and her Consort and their eldest son Raul, these representatives would be traveling across the Endless Ocean to attend the Treaty Ball in hopes of forming a pact between the two worlds separated by a windless body of water.

The gulf between the two countries had first been breached by her brother Will when he used his wind magic to traverse the ocean and kidnap the Empress’s eldest daughter. The contact may have ended there if the princess’s best friend had not snuck on board a rather ingenuously designed ship that needed no wind to propel it. When Will ended up marrying his captive, the tentative bond between Galatea and Shayark was formed.

The bond strengthened over the years as Alys’s friend Jak’s husband, the captain of the ship on which she had snuck on board, enhanced the designs on said ship, making it safer and quicker to travel between the two lands. And then Cristi’s eldest brother Rakyr was forced to go to Galatea on a mission to find a plant in the jungle country of Horave, a mythical piece of vegetation that was the only hope to save their father’s life. While on this mission, he met Alys’s younger sister Ilana, who had taken her brother’s place as Rakyr’s guide to the Horavian jungle.

One of Feirtala’s princesses, Cristi’s cousin Amy, had even married a Galatean. Considering the relations developing between the ruling classes of Feirtala and Shayark and those of Galatea, the royals had unanimously decided that the topic of a treaty should be broached.

Cristi herself was undecided on the issue. While she adored and valued her Galatean relatives, she could not help but wonder if an alliance would bring more harm than good. It wasn’t that she was suspicious of alliances in general. From her extensive research in the royal libraries, she had come to discover that her world was a much safer, kinder place now that the grudges had been settled between Feirtala and Shayark. There had once been a time when Shayarkan shadowtouches, men and women with the ability to create darkness, were nothing more than slaves to the people of Feirtala. The two countries had despised one another, living in relative peace and loathing for centuries.

And then Cristi’s parents had met and fallen in love, a prince of Shayark sold into slavery by his only friend, and a princess of Feirtala, born out of wedlock and raised obscurely with no knowledge of her birth. Their love had healed many breaches: between Feirtalan and Shayarkan; between shadowtouch and lightmaker; between slave and master; between prejudice and acceptance.

Surely only good had come of that alliance.

And yet…and yet it was difficult for Cristi to compare the marriage bond that drew Shayark and Feirtala together with the frail bonds created by two of ten children belonging to the royal family of a vast empire such as Galatea. Not only were the two lands separated by a very large, nearly impassable body of water, but the actual rulers of the lands had never and would never meet one another.

Cristi’s father and mother knew King Callum of Feirtala very well, as they had met one another before her parents had assumed their roles as royalty in Shayark. Though they had not seen one another in person in over two decades, they had, at least, met.All Cristi knew of the current royal Galateaan couple, Emperor Danyl and his wife Agra, was what she heard from her sisters-in-law. Second-hand knowledge could not compare with meeting someone first-hand, and since the Emperor and his wife were bound by the powers that be to their palace in the Holy City, that was unlikely to happen.

Whatever Cristi’s opinions might be, however fatalistic her own feelings, even if they were based upon her ability to see the future, her parents supported the union. So did her brothers, although neither of them would be able to attend the conference being held to discuss the treaty due to their wives’ pregnancies. Because of this, Cristi had been nominated as the delegate to represent her family and the southern region of Shayark.

No one had asked her if she wanted to travel all the way to Jordynn and publicly support a treaty she had mixed feelings about. No one else could attend, and it was her duty as a Thorikell to represent and support her family. She would just have to grin and bear it.

Which was exactly what she did when her parents finally reached their announcement to the people that their daughter would be representing Shayark at the Treaty Ball.

The reaction was mixed and far from eager. There was a dull, unenthused clatter of hands clapping together. More than anything, Cristi heard the murmurings. They echoed in her head as if she stood below amongst the people, whispers of doubt about the trustworthiness of the people from across the sea. How could they truly bind themselves to a country ruled by a man tainted by demon blood?

Most of all, however, they worried about the King’s choice of envoy, as it was widely known that Princess Cristi had quite a taste for the fantastical. Not that she truly had difficulty discerning fact from fiction—she simply much preferred invention to truth. Truth was rather harsh, after all.

And the truth was, this ball would be the most controversial event in years. Both Feirtala and Shayark were nearly split down the middle with those who supported an alliance and those who opposed one. No decision would be made until after the counsel convened on the day following the ball, but whatever the result, Cristi knew it would be a close call. She only hoped she could have the courage to base her own vote upon what she felt was right and not what everyone expected of her.

As they descended the curving staircase leading down from the balcony, Cristi felt a restraining hand on her shoulder. Her mother gave her an encouraging smile as she bounced down the stairs in her usual lively manner. Nearly fifty years old and with only a touch of gray in her hair, Cristiana Mika Lewellyn Moreland Thorikell was every bit as vivacious as she had been during the early years of her life, in which she had accumulated her host of names.

Cristi stood stoically as her mother disappeared into the darkness, and only when she had gone did she turn to face her father, whose hand dropped limply to his side.

“Not everything revolves around your visions,” he said quietly in his usual philosophical tone of voice. Her parents were such opposites, her mother cheery and flamboyant, her father reserved and austere.

“I have not had a vision regarding the ball or the treaty. Just a…feeling,” she explained with an uneasy shrug of her plump shoulders.

“How can you know the feeling is about the treaty specifically and not some unrelated event somehow tied to the Treaty Ball?” he inquired.

At that, Cristi pursed her lips together. “I had not thought of that,” she finally forced herself to admit. It was true the nagging feelings had begun when talk regarding the ball first started to circulate, but it was equally true that this nagging sense of doom need not concern the ball directly. Perhaps there was another reason for her fatalistic premonitions.

“All I ask is that you judge fairly. Do not be ruled by your gift.”

Cristi looked up at her father and nodded solemnly. “I promise I will not disappoint you.”

At that, a hint of a smile touched his lips. “You could never disappoint me, little one,” he assured her, and he leaned over to kiss her rosy cheek.

“Even though I eat you out of house and home?” she teased, grinning impishly as she led the way down the stairs.

“A woman should have a hearty appetite. It is quite natural,” he assured her.

“Yes, well, apparently you are one of a kind in your sex, father. No other man seems to agree with your opinion.”

“Good,” he said with a grunt. “I’d hate to have to kill any of them who so much as look at you in the wrong way.”

Cristi chuckled, too good-natured about what her family insisted was only a slight weight problem to let her loneliness rise to the surface. “I should be glad, then. I would hate to have the death of a poor, besotted lad on my conscience.”

“Perhaps I should start feeding you more…” her father mused.

Cristi glanced back for a moment to see if he was being serious, but when she caught the twinkle in his eye, she burst out laughing. “What a novel idea. I think I shall go to the kitchens and get started on your plans right away…”

In spite of her banter, Cristi managed to curtail the kitchens after separating from her father at the bottom of the staircase. As badly as she wanted to eat, what she wanted more was something food could not give her.

She stalked down the halls of the castle, wending her way to the doors leading out to the enclosed grounds of her home. The people were still dispersing from the front lawns, but no one had been allowed in the private rear yard, so the gravel path leading to the stables was relatively clear but for a few servants and guards. Her ground would be limited, but riding in circles was far better than not riding at all, and it gave her such an illusion of freedom that she found her daily rides had become more of an obsession than a mere enjoyment.

When she stepped into the dark building where the horses were housed, she stopped for a moment to let her eyes adjust. While most Shayarkans saw better in absolute darkness, Cristi’s mixed blood required at least a small amount of light for her to see perfectly.

At first she thought she was alone, but she knew that just because she could not see or hear anyone did not mean the stables were empty. Someone was always there to look after the horses, be it the stablemaster Pynga with his crooked back and mischievous winks, or Muck, whom Cristi had named herself at the tender age of twelve when she first saw him, shoveling cow dung out of a horse stall.

Ever since Cristi had learned how to ride, Pynga had managed the Thorikell stables. Most of the royal family preferred to care for their own horses, making the old man’s job rather easy. Then her brother Will had randomly started assigning war victims to positions of importance at the Thorikell household. They had a one-legged butler, two nine-fingered cook’s assistants, a sharp-tongued lady’s maid (who, unfortunately, belonged to Cristi), among others.

Muck had been the first charity case, a deaf-mute lad of fourteen whose injuries appeared to be more of a mental nature than physical. No one knew when he lost the ability to hear or speak, though Cristi had always assumed he was born that way. But whatever had happened to him during the war had apparently ravaged his mind. She often found him skulking about during the daylight hours in nothing more than his bedclothes, and it seemed like he made a habit of scaring the wits out of people by appearing out of nowhere.

In spite of his handicaps, Cristi had to admit that he was wonderful with the horses. When Pynga finally passed on, her precious babies would fall into capable hands. Hands that were currently brushing down the glossy white coat of her sister Alys’s gentle mare with slow, sure strokes. As Cristi watched his rhythmic movements, she wondered if it was the monotony of the stable chores that made Muck such a diligent worker. Any idiot could brush down horses and muck stables, after all. Someone with a truly intelligent mind would surely grow bored with such menial labor. Not that Cristi was impugning Muck’s intelligence—however different his mind might be, he did have moments of lucidity that implied a deeper understanding. Regardless, it was obvious that there was something wrong with the man.

“Good morning!” she called out cheerfully, ignoring the fact that the stablehand could not hear a word she said. Since the day he arrived, she’d made a habit of speaking to him about…well, everything. It was oddly comforting, divulging all of her problems to a deaf man. Most of the time he simply ignored her, but sometimes it seemed he was, if not listening, somehow comprehending the nature of her words. And on those occasions, he never judged.

Sadly enough, Cristi was forced to admit, the silent stablehand was quite possibly her best friend. While her sisters-in-law were always available for a heart-to-heart, there were certain topics she would feel embarrassed speaking about with even them. Yet nothing seemed too taboo for Muck. Even when he didn’t listen or didn’t respond with his usual friendly pat on the shoulder, it always lifted a weight just getting her problems out in the open.

Yes, Muck was definitely an excellent figurative shoulder to cry on. Beyond that—well, one could hardly think too highly of a man who would hang upside down from a tree limb, right at midnight when the castle courtyard was most crowded, with his shirt hanging up to his armpits and nothing on his bottom but the skin God gave him.

Cristi’s ears still burned every time she thought of that night. Not only was it the first and only time she had ever seen a man’s…thing, it was exactly three days after her brother Will won back the eastern province once ruled by the Barok family. Ever since the Viljarmas slaughtered the dearest friends of the royal family, the Thorikells had all been thirsting for vengeance. Except now when Cristi looked back on that delicious memory of finally having that revenge, it was tainted by the sight of Muck’s buttocks.

“My father’s getting a little pushy about this Treaty Ball. Can I help it if I have a bad feeling about the treaty? I’ve always gone on instinct. It’s who I am. So why can’t my own family trust me to know what’s best? I can see the future, damn it! I think that I deserve a little more respect.” As she spoke, she walked back to the stable directly across from Muck and began petting the nose of her favorite horse, Rosette. She was dapple gray and feisty, and Cristi stopped her tirade long enough to croon to her second best friend in the whole world.

“I just don’t think that anyone understands how stressful this all is,” she continued when Rosette felt appropriately praised for her beauty. “I have the wishes of one quarter of our entire country resting on my shoulders. I have to meet with all of the high-ranking nobles in a week and get blasted by them, and be told how worthless and unintelligent I am based merely upon my sex. Does anyone even realize how sexist this country is? One would think with someone as strong-minded as my mother reigning as queen, people would have a little more respect for my gender.”

Muck arrived with her saddle, slipping past her into the stall. She frowned at him as he slid past, wondering why he was bothering to do something that was normally Pynga’s job. If Pynga was not around, like today, Muck usually made her saddle her own horse. She cast him a questioning look over the back of her horse—on tiptoe, for she barely reached the top of the unusually small mare’s back.

He seemed to sense that she was staring at him, for he looked up from his ministrations. The expression in his shadowed eyes was one of deep sadness, and Cristi felt a twinge of pain in her chest. “Pynga?” she queried, mouthing the name slowly so he might understand. He did not respond. “Is he…dead?”

Muck looked down, either ignoring her or not understanding as he went back to saddling her horse. Frustrated at his lack of response, Cristi walked around and pushed his hands away so she could finish the job herself. This was one of the few times she’d become irritated over the fact that he could not respond to her. Normally she didn’t give a damn about his opinions, but on this matter, she would have liked a direct answer. Just a simple nod or shake of his head would have sufficed, but no, he was too damned ignorant to manage even that.

Cristi urged Rosette out of the stables, her jaw set as she ran the implications of Muck’s look over in her mind. There was no way that Pynga was dead. Not yet, anyway. Likely he’d suffered another of his attacks, which meant he would be out of commission for days. If she’d stopped to think for long enough, she would have realized that all on her own instead of lashing out at Muck for his inability to respond. Just as he couldn’t help being deaf and mute, it was entirely possible that he could not help being slightly off his rocker as well.

Which meant she would have to apologize. Whether he understood the gesture or not, protocol demanded it.

As she galloped along the path beaten by years of riding, Cristi tried to push all of the stress and obligations out of her mind so she could simply enjoy the freedom of her ride. Only on the second lap did she slow Rosette to a light canter and allow her brain to start functioning again. The buzz of the courtiers and servants milling about the back lawns reached her ears, but she tried not to let the noises or the looks overwhelm her. Servants, used to the princess and her wild ways, never gazed at her strangely during her evening rides. Only the courtiers glanced at her as if she was an anomaly, riding her horse astride in her split skirts with her hair streaming loose behind her.

One would think, as Cristi had intimated to Muck, that after having a queen with similar quirks for over thirty years, the people would get used to it. Unfortunately, Cristi lacked her mother’s certain aplomb that made it all right for her to traipse about in masculine apparel and ride horses astride. In fact, there was a lot that Cristi lacked, and it took a great amount of effort on her part not to dwell on those faults. As always when she found herself sliding into depression, she remembered the cherished words of the one man in Shayark who never failed to lift her spirits.

You must never allow yourself to feel dragged down by the opinions of others. Do those you care about love you for who you are ? That is all that should matter. Even if you were the ugliest woman in all of Shayark—and I can personally attest that this is not the case—if someone loves you, then you will be the most beautiful woman in the world to him.

She sighed at the memory of it, that beautiful letter in response to her five-page tirade on one of her few attempts at romance, which, like all the others, had failed miserably.

Where Muck was her favorite human confidante, S.D. had been her most trusted long distance friend. Even though she only knew him by his former name of Silent Death from his time as a Viljarma assassin, she would have trusted the man with her life. At the age of ten, she very nearly had. After having a vision regarding a murder attempt on her brother Will, Cristi had taken it upon herself to frighten off the would-be assassin.

Silent Death had not been pleased that his quarry had been replaced by his target’s little sister. In fact, for a moment she’d feared he would kill her just for the sake of having royal blood spilt. In the end, they had simply talked. And by afternoon, Cristi had been assured that the assassin would give up his life of servitude to the dastardly Viljarmas and support his younger sister honestly.

Six months later, the first letter arrived. Cristi had answered it because it was the polite thing to do, but when he wrote her yet again…

The letters had been infrequent over the years. They’d dwindled down in the past few years until, nearly a year ago now, they’d stopped entirely. At the time, Cristi had thought nothing of the abrupt cessation, assuming that S.D. had grown weary of their written correspondences. While Cristi had saved every one of his letters, as her friend was a veritable treasure trove of good advice, most of her replies were laden with grievances and highly dramatized tales from her life. She was surprised the man hadn’t tired of her sooner.

A few times over the past eleven years, Cristi had toyed with the idea of meeting her faceless correspondent. Due to the thickness of the curtains in her brother’s room, it had been too dark on that one fateful morning to determine the age or appearance of the former assassin, but her parents’ own relationship had taught her that age did not matter when it came to true love. Not that she was in love with S.D., but what better way to begin a relationship than with friendship? And he was constantly advising her that her appearance should not be her primary concern. A strong mind and a loving heart were far more important. Perhaps that meant he was abominably ugly, but really, she was hardly one to be picky about looks.

Then, some time after the letters had stopped entirely, she’d received a correspondence from her dear friend requesting just such a meeting, and for some reason, she’d panicked. The letter still rested in the top drawer of her desk, awaiting a response. For the time being, she was quite convinced that it was far better to dream of a perfect ending than to discover that life never quite measured up to one’s imaginings. No scenario that she created in her mind regarding a real life meeting between her and S.D. could ever come close to what would likely happen when they met—absolutely nothing, if her past record was any indication.

Forcing herself to set aside thoughts of her long-distance friend, she concentrated instead on the upcoming Treaty Ball. This was a time for reflection, both on past and future events. Perhaps if she could clear her mind, push away her anxiety long enough to focus, she could see just what it was about this ball that made her so uneasy. If she could pinpoint the source—well, then it might be easier to make a decision about which way to vote.

Cristi closed her eyes, trusting Rosette to lead her along the path, and pushed her mind forward, into the future. She focused all of herself on the Treaty Ball, forming the words as an image in her mind, detaching her emotions as she let her mind drift through time.

Just one image. Something. Anything. Show me why…

She felt like she slammed against a brick wall and was fully prepared to drift back down to her body atop her dapple-gray mare. Which was why she was utterly surprised to find herself standing in the middle of the grand dining hall her family used only for formal functions when one or both of the other Shayarkan Kings were visiting.

She could tell from the smoky layer covering everything in sight that this would not be a complete vision.

Generally her visions appealed to only one of her senses at a time, but she had the ability to control how she used that sense to determine the nature of the vision. Unfortunately, she hadn’t learned that valuable lesson until after the smell of acrid smoke assaulted her for a straight week, she discovered too late that she could have sifted through the smoke for other familiar smells that might have led her to pinpointing the attack on Barokja sooner. To this day, a little piece of her still felt immense guilt over her failure to stop the deaths of their dear friends the Baroks.

Now she always made sure to manipulate her visions in whatever way possible to learn the most information. Unfortunately, if God did not want her to see, smell, hear, taste, or feel something, then she might as well forget about it.

This vision was one such instance. She could see the square of tables placed ridgedly around the room. She could even see some of the people present, although most were just blurry, vague forms. Focusing on the most important table, that belonging to her family, she was able to pick out her father, and to his right, Will and Alys. Rakyr and Ilana’s chairs, to the left of her clearly visible mother, remained empty. Cristi’s chair was occupied, but the vision refused to allow her to see herself. Not that this bothered her. Mirrors were bad enough. Seeing oneself in a vision…well, it was ten times worse.

Out of nowhere, a massive beast came clopping around the outskirts of the room. Only from experience could Cristi use the animal’s movements to place it as a horse. Someone was riding a horse into the dining hall? And pulling that horse right up alongside Cristi’s chair…was that a rose? No, some other red flower she had never seen before and was too far away to identify. The hazy figure on the horse leapt off in a blur, presenting her with the flower in a move so romantic that her heart fairly melted…

With jarring force, she was dragged back into the present, barely aware of the fact that not only was she no longer riding Rosette, but she was flat on her back and surrounded by servants and courtiers. Most of the servants looked worried. Most of the courtiers looked scornful. All of them were whispering, and no one seemed to notice that the princess was coming to. They seemed far more interested in her horse, which was prancing around her in a circle, neighing with worry.

Then, out of the circle burst a dirty, hairy man whose stench preceded him on the wind. Cristi screwed her nose up in distaste as the crazy stablehand bent over her, his lips pursed and his eyes glimmering with worry. He was obviously experiencing one of his sane spells, for he stopped to check her pulse and waved his hands in front of her eyes to confirm that she was conscious and responsive. Then, without even raising a brow to question her ability to rise on her own, he lifted her up into his filthy arms.

Ordinarily, Cristi would have found such a situation romantic. One time she had fainted after trying to starve herself back into a state of skinniness, and one of their household servants had carried her up to her room. Cristi had been convinced for three straight weeks that the young man was truly a prince in disguise and had proclaimed herself madly in love with him. Until she heard him bragging to one of his friends that he was going to seduce ‘Princess Pig’ and become a prince. Such an overused plot, really.

Muck, however…there was no prince lurking underneath all of that filth and sweat. In fact, sometimes she was hard-pressed to believe there was even a man beneath it all—except on occasions where that one particular memory surfaced, reminding her that Muck was most certainly a man…physically, anyway.

Still, she could hardly order him to set her down and allow her to walk back to the castle on her own two feet. Not when those two feet—and most of her legs--were still slightly numb from her fall. At least he was quick about it. With his usual lack of grace, Muck took her to her chambers, dumped her on her bed, and then swiftly left the room.

Moments later, the door to her bedroom burst open, and in strode her older brother Will, a thunderous expression on his face. “Do we need Rakyr?”

“Nothing’s broken,” Cristi assured him. “Just sore.”

Will nodded curtly before plopping down beside her on the bed. He lay on his back, his hands folded behind his head, and waited patiently for her to tell him what happened. For a while they lay in silence, Cristi trying to think of the best possible way to explain to her brother that she had just witnessed a scene straight out of one of her romantic novels, and because it was a vision it would probably even come true! He would not like the idea that his little sister now knew, with almost absolute certainty, that there was a prince charming out there just waiting for her.

“I had a vision,” she finally said. “I was trying to see something about the ball. You know I’ve been feeling anxious about it for months now, but father reminded me that just because I’m getting a bad feeling does not mean that I should vote against the treaty.”

“He’s right.” That was all Will said, but Cristi was well aware of her brother’s wholehearted support of the treaty. Not that he had much of a choice. He couldn’t very well vote against a treaty with his wife’s family.

“I am most relaxed when I am riding. I thought I might…see better if I was doing something soothing when I projected myself forward. Unfortunately, it did not work.”

“What did you see?” Will finally asked when he realized she was not going to continue without prompting.

Cristi blushed furiously. “Not much.”

“Elaborate.”

“Truly, there is no need for me to go into details. The nature of the vision was rather personal, and frankly the main issue here is that I fell off of my horse, not…”

“Hell, it was a man, wasn’t it? Who is he? Tell me his name and I’ll go ahead and kill him before it’s too late.”

“I couldn’t see him,” she insisted, silently wishing that she had been able to. Perhaps if she had seen his face, she would have had something to go by, some way of knowing beforehand just who her mystery prince would be.

“Damn,” Will grumbled, his hand settling back in his lap, leaving its position on one of the many knives he kept hidden on his person.

“Is she all right?”

Cristi gave a startled jump as the door to her room came crashing open and her sister-in-law Alys waddled through the doorway. Will didn’t look the least bit surprised to find his wife standing there, though he did ask rather lazily just what she had done with their children. “Ilana is watching them,” Alys curtly replied before refocusing her attention on Cristi. “Are you all right?”

“Ilana? You’re letting your crazy sister watch our children?” Will exploded before Cristi could even open her mouth to respond.

“My crazy sister just happens to be married to your brother!” Alys shouted back irritably. “She is perfectly capable of watching two small children.”

“The woman’s seven months pregnant!”

“So am I!”

“Should I leave now?”

Both heads swiveled, and it was clear that they had momentarily forgotten her presence in the room. Will winced and looked away even as Alys grinned sheepishly, looking not one bit embarrassed at being caught in the middle of an argument. “Perhaps my oafish husband should go find our children, since he is so worried about their safety,” she suggested, not even sparing Will a glance.

He grumbled something under his breath about obstinate women before stalking away. As soon as the door shut behind him, Alys made her way to Cristi’s bed and sat down beside her.

“Well? What happened?”

“I was felled by a vision,” Cristi said dramatically, her ability to laugh at herself finally returning in the presence of her favorite sister-in-law. She got along well enough with Alys’s eccentric sister Ilana, but they did not share the same bond that had formed during Alys’s initial stay at the castle when she was nothing more than Will’s prisoner. At the time, the two had had only each other, Cristi being far too separated in years from her brothers to consider them companions, and far too elevated in status to have any normal companions of her own. Alys was also a princess, rather outspoken, and shared Cristi’s love of knowledge. While there were some things Cristi would probably never feel comfortable discussing with her sister-in-law, the subject of men was not one of them. One could always learn useful things from the more experienced, after all.

“He was that gorgeous, huh?” Alys teased. When Cristi did not laugh, she raised one golden eyebrow in question. “It really was about a man, then?”

“Oh yes. Not just a man, however. I think it must have been the man.”

“You felt that strongly?” her sister-in-law asked, an eyebrow lifted in question.

“Haven’t you ever had a vision that left you with a feeling of absolute certainty?”

Alys looked a little green when she nodded, in spite of the fact that she hadn’t had a negative vision since her marriage to Will ten years ago. The time before that had been replete with enough devastating visions—all assaulting her too late for her to make use of them—to cause a lifetime of regret.

“Well, even though it was only a sight vision, I sensed love. There was this misty haze over everything, but not that gray, ominous haze you see when something terrible is about to happen. It was this luminous, lilac glow that was so light and lovely and exactly how I would imagine the perfect love scene to look,” she said, waving her arms about theatrically as she spoke, finishing by clutching her closed fists to her chest with a dreamy sigh.

“Any idea who the lucky man might be?”

The spell broken, Cristi snorted inelegantly. “Probably some fat farmer.”

Alys’s lips pinched into a disapproving frown. “Do not start being hard on yourself now. What was it that friend of yours said about how someone who loves you will be able to look past the physical?”

With a sigh, Cristi relented. “All right, so maybe he’s a fat dignitary.”

Alys couldn’t help but chortle at that. After a moment of humor, however, her expression sobered. “Do you think it might be him?”

“Him who?”

“Your friend. The one you write to all the time.”

Cristi’s face screwed into an expression of part-disbelief, part-thoughtfulness. “I’ve never even met him. Besides which, we are just friends, regardless of what his last letter seemed to imply. My relationship with S.D. is no more amorous than my relationship with…” She pulled a name out of the air. “With Muck.”

Alys rolled her eyes and was silent for a very long time after that, which worried Cristi a great deal. When her sister-in-law was silent for long stretches of time, it meant she was thinking. Not just thinking, but plotting.

“When was the last time you wrote to him?”

With a sigh over the fact that her sister-in-law was obviously not going to give up any time soon, Cristi tried to think back on the exact date of that last correspondence she had so pointedly ignored out of sheer self-preservation. That very random plea to designate a time and place where they might share a conversation face to face had occurred about… “Four months ago,” she guessed.

“Well,” Alys murmured, drawing out the word to two separate syllables. “Perhaps you should agree to a meeting with him. You know. Just to make sure. I know you say that the two of you are only friends, but you’ve been writing to the man for years. He must know you inside and out. Really, Cristi, you can’t just expect your dream prince to fall in your lap. Sometimes you have to take control of the situation.”

“What if he stands me up?”

Alys shrugged. “Then at least we will know to eliminate him from the running.”

“But what if he has a perfectly logical reason for not showing up? What if his sister gets sick? Or he has a client who will keep him busy for the next six months?”

“Stop over-analyzing. Just write the damn letter and we’ll see what happens. Either he shows up and he is your dream come true, or you start looking among other eligible young men for the man in your vision. No more servants, okay? Promise me. If S.D. doesn’t show up…”

“Or if he’s old or ugly, which is perfectly possible…”

“Then you will cease with these incessant attractions to totally unsuitable men. Agreed?”

Cristi rolled her eyes and grumbled, “Agreed.” Not that she had only fancied herself in love with servants. It was just that men with money or social standing didn’t need to withstand her company for her money or her position in society. They already had everything they needed, and so did not have to endure the attentions of Princess Pig.

She really hated that nickname.

Alys hauled Cristi to her feet and pushed her towards the worn writing desk on the other side of the room. The legs were scuffed from where Cristi rubbed her shoes against the spindly wood as she wrote. There were ink stains on the age-roughened surface, and Cristi knew the source of every one. This was the one place in the castle where she felt most at home, and all because of someone who lived miles away.

Alys took a quill from its inkpot and thrust it into Cristi’s hand.

“Maybe I shouldn’t help fate along on this one. I mean, if I had the vision, obviously it’s going to happen, right?”

“Not necessarily. You told me once that you believed God gives you these visions so that you can make them a reality. How can you expect to find the man He intended for you by doing nothing?”

Well she had a point, damn it. “Alys…”

“Write.”

Cristi stared blankly at the paper for five full minutes before she forced herself to place the pen to the paper.

S.D.,

How have you been? I apologize for the length of time between your last letter and this one, but I have been dreadfully busy with the preparations for the upcoming Treaty Ball…

“You little liar. You haven’t done anything but stand out on a balcony today with your parents,” Alys said accusingly. “Why don’t you tell him the truth? All this time you’ve been scared to meet with him, haven’t you? You thought he might not find you attractive.”

“Or vice versa,” Cristi grumbled. “For all I know, the man’s fifty.”

“For all you know, the man is gorgeous and prefers a woman with a sharp mind and a little bit of cushioning. Now keep writing.”

I am writing this letter because I have decided that I agree with you. We have reached a point in our relationship when perhaps it might be critical…and even a little bit fun…if we were to actually meet in person. I admit I am much better with words when they are written on paper, but surely after all of these years the two of us could find something interesting to talk about. I should very much like to hear the sound of your voice again. It is not quite the same hearing it in my head while I read your words.

If I am too late in responding to your previous letter, then I will understand. Otherwise, I will meet you in the public gardens at Thorikell Castle…

Cristi paused to think of when the best time to meet him would be. Then she smiled as she continued, at noon, the day before my departure for the Treaty Ball. I look forward to seeing you then.

Love,

Cristi.

Alys grinned down at her. “You are such a perfect little coward.”

“There is nothing cowardly about this. I am merely making certain that if things do not go according to plan, I will have plenty of other worries to occupy myself with. That way I won’t sink into some terrible depression and miss the ball entirely.”

“I suppose I must admire your ability to leave room for escape.”

“This is stupid. Either he won’t show, or he will be frightfully ugly, or he will take one look at me and run away screaming.”

“Stop being such a baby. He will show, he will not be ugly, and he has already indicated in his letters that he thinks you are beautiful.”

“Those were pity compliments,” Cristi insisted, but she smiled just a little as she folded the letter and lit the royal blue candle sitting atop her desk. “They were very nice pity compliments, though.” She sighed as she held the flame a few inches over the paper, watching as the wax dripped down to seal the paper shut. “Not that I believed any of them. The man has not even seen me since I was a child and is basing his opinions solely upon what he believes I must look like now that I have grown up.” As she pressed the seal of her family ring into the wax, she felt an odd sense of closure.

One way or another, this was it. Either they did not meet and it was over, or they did meet, and then it would only just begin.

Please, she thought silently, please do not let him be old and disgusting. For once in my life, can’t I just have my handsome prince?