The Princess in the Tower (Schooled in Magic #15)
Christopher Nuttall
Prologue I
ALASSA CURSED AS SHE JABBED THE needle into her finger. Again.
It wasn’t particularly ladylike to swear, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t the kind of person who liked being confined to a single suite, no matter how luxurious. She wanted to take her horse out for a ride or practice her magic or share a bed with her husband, not waste her time sewing…she’d never had the talent for needlework, no matter how many governesses had tried to train her in the genteel arts.
She eyed her work for a long moment, then tossed it aside and began to pace the suite. It had everything she could reasonably want, except windows and freedom. The lights brightened and dimmed randomly, leaving her unsure just how long she’d spent in the suite. Her body didn’t appear to have changed that much, as far as she could tell, but without magic it was hard to be sure how well the pregnancy was progressing, if it was progressing at all. She was all too aware that her family found it hard to have children. The mere fact that it had taken her so long to conceive, even with a husband who wasn’t remotely related to her, was proof that the pregnancy wouldn’t be easy.
It has to be done, she thought, resting her hand on her abdomen. The child will be the next monarch of Zangaria.
A wave of despair crashed over her as she lay back in her bed. She’d gambled–she’d risked everything for her friend–and she’d lost. Her father had given her an opportunity to prove that she would defy him, that she would turn against him, and–like a silly little girl–she’d taken it. And yet, no matter how many times she second-guessed herself, she knew she’d had no choice. Imaiqah–one of her two closest friends–was condemned by the mere fact of being related to a traitor, a man who’d betrayed the king. Alassa knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the death warrant was nothing more than a formality. She’d had to move to save Imaiqah before it was too late. And she’d failed…
Jade was out there, somewhere. She clung to the thought, even though she had no way to know if he’d received her message. Mouse might have been caught, when she slipped out of the castle and into the town…or she might have betrayed her mistress and taken her message straight to the king. And if Jade hadn’t received the message…? He’d be suspicious, wouldn’t he? She’d made a point of chatting with him via parchment every day they’d spent apart. He might sneak back into the kingdom rather than ride up the High Street, sure of a hero’s welcome. She hoped he would have the sense to be careful–his father-in-law wouldn’t hesitate to have him executed if he fell into the king’s hands–and bring help. He’d need a great deal of assistance if he wanted to save his wife.
And his child from being raised by the king, Alassa thought. She didn’t think her father would have her executed, but he’d certainly send her into comfortable confinement shortly after she’d given birth. Boy or girl, her child would be the next legitimate ruler. He’ll take the child and raise him in his own image.
She stared up at the ceiling, battling despair. Imaiqah might have already been executed, now that she’d served her role. Sir William should have been safe–he’d been following her orders–but he might have been sent into exile. Not knowing was worse than anything. She’d tried asking her keeper about her friends and servants, but the wretched woman had refused to be drawn on the matter. Alassa, it seemed, was to be kept in a perpetual state of ignorance. Her letters to her mother and father had never been returned. She didn’t even know precisely how long she’d been a prisoner.
The door opened. Alassa tensed automatically, then told herself to relax as a maid walked into the suite. There was no point in trying to fight. She knew from bitter experience that the suite’s wards would immobilize her–in the most humiliating manner–if she tried to attack the maids. She thought she could break through the wards, if she had her magic, but her keeper had been very careful. She’d been forced to drink potions to keep her magic suppressed every day.
She glared at the maid as the young woman placed the tray on the bedside table, then curtseyed. She wanted the girl to flinch, even though it was unmannerly of her. But the maid showed no reaction, save for pointing a finger at a glass. Alassa grimaced as she reached for it, knowing that–again–there was no choice. If she didn’t drink the potion willingly, she’d be forced to drink anyway. She’d had that lesson hammered into her too.
“Very good, Your Highness,” the maid said, as Alassa swallowed the potion in one gulp. “I will be back for the tray when you’ve finished your meal.”
Alassa scowled at her retreating back, taking a drink of mead to wash away the taste of the potion. It tasted fundamentally wrong. She’d tried a few tricks, when she’d started, to make it look as though she’d drunk the potion, but nothing had worked. It was clear proof, as if she’d needed any, that she was under constant observation. The wards would allow their mistress to spy on her captive at any moment if she wished. They might even be clever enough to alert her if Alassa did something dangerous.
Damn it, Alassa thought.
The food was good, but she could only pick at it–listlessly–as she sat back on her bed. She was trapped, her body and brain already turning to mush. The servants were practically treating her like a baby, someone who couldn’t even get dressed on her own. Whitehall had taught her that she didn’t need servants to dress herself, but now…it was hard to muster the energy to do anything. She couldn’t help wondering if there was more to the potion she’d been fed than she thought. She’d always been an energetic girl.
But not for long, if I don’t get out of here soon, she thought. She could practically feel herself wasting away as her world shrank to the suite’s four walls. Jade…where are you?
Prologue II
THERE WAS A SMALL ARMY OF guards on the streets.
Sir Roger of the Greenwood kept his face under tight control as his horse cantered up the High Street, his guardsmen following at a distance. He hadn’t expected cheering crowds–it wasn’t as if he’d won a great victory in the last six months–but the sullen atmosphere pervading the city was worrying. There was hardly anyone on the city’s streets, save for the guards. The shops were open, but deserted; the temples were open, yet few people seemed to be going to pray. Alexis seemed to be holding its collective breath, waiting for something to happen.
Perhaps something has already happened, he thought, grimly. He’d heard hundreds of rumors, but each one had been crazier than the last. It feels as if we’re about to go to war.
A twinge of unease ran down his spine as he cantered over the drawbridge and into the courtyard, the amulet around his neck growing warm as it sensed the wards surrounding the castle. He had no magic himself–and he didn’t entirely trust those who did–but he took it for granted. King Randor appeared to have strengthened his defenses, physical and magical, more than ever before. There were hundreds of guards within eyeshot, some of them watching him as though they thought him a potential threat. Roger’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t fool enough to think the guards would respect his rank if the king had ordered them to be suspicious of everyone who entered the castle.
He jumped off his horse as he saw a familiar–and unwelcome–face making its way towards him. Viscount Nightingale, Master of the King’s Bedchamber… somehow, slimier than ever before. The only thing that kept him alive, Roger knew, was the king’s favor, a favor that would inevitably be lost one day. The bastard had so many enemies that the only real question was which one of them would get to him first.