“Do we have to go, Mama?” Margaret whined, plopping onto the sofa behind her.
Her mother gave her a flat look. “Yes, we do. His Majesty has personally invited us tonight.”
Margaret sighed. “But the prince has grown so insufferable. He thinks he can just boss me around as he likes.”
“He can, Margaret. He’s the Prince of Anatalia, and its future king.” Her mother grabbed her shawl from the back of the couch. “And you had better start being more receptive if you want him to keep his attention on you.”
“But I don’t.”
“Well you should,” her mother snapped. “Do you know how many other girls have been trying to get his attention, and you’ve just been shoved into his view? You could be the queen one day!”
“I don’t want to be the queen, Mama,” Margaret told her. “I want to find someone who appreciates Dorcia as much as I do and would be happy to be there instead of here.”
Her mother rolled her eyes. “Would you forget Charles already? He’s a commoner, and he isn’t for you.”
“That was unkind, Mama.” Margaret looked away from her. “You married Papa when he was a commoner.”
“That was different. Your father was a merchant with a promising company, and I was in the same class. You are the daughter of a count and need to marry within your rank or higher. You have a duty to this family.”
Margaret remained quiet, still not looking at her mother.
“Now, get in the carriage before I command Hanson to put you in it himself.” Her mother walked away, heels clicking angrily against the hardwood floors.
Margaret dragged herself off the sofa with a groan. “I still don’t want to go.”
“I don’t care. You’re almost seventeen and marriageable—start acting like it.”
Margaret scowled over her wine. Prince Gareth was well into his drinks by the time the dinner started and flat-out drunk by the time the meal ended. “Come with me,” he slurred, grabbing Margaret’s arm and pulling her to her feet.
“Where are we going?” She dug her feet into the floor, but it was futile. He was too strong and continued pulling her along.
He grinned. “You’ll see. I want to show you something.”
Margaret reluctantly followed him; she’d end up tripping if she didn’t. “What is it?”
“It’s a sup—” he hiccupped “—surprise!”
Dread curled in her stomach. “I’m not sure—”
“You’ll love it; it’s a secret.”
Margaret looked over her shoulder to see if there was anyone she could call upon for help if things went in a direction she was uncomfortable with. The servants passing them refused to make eye contact with her for more than a second, quickly looking down until they had passed. Her stomach curled. No one would help her. He dragged her into a library she’d never been in before—which was odd as she thought she’d been in all the palace had to offer—and let go of her arm. He searched the farthest wall, pulling books off left and right.
“What are you doing?” Margaret cried, looking at the scattered books.
“I’m looking for the trigger,” he said as if it were obvious.
“What?”
“To move the bookcase!”
Margaret furrowed her brows. “I don’t think the palace has—”
“Aha!” Gareth grinned as the bookcase opened. “See?”
She went to the opening and looked inside. “Where does it go?”
“Come on.” He grabbed a candelabra off one of the tables before he grabbed her arm and led her down the corridor. The walls were rough carved stones, the crags easily deep enough to bloody her arms if she tripped. It smelled of mildew, and somewhere far off, the sound of water dripping echoed.
They traveled for what felt like forever, Margaret having to constantly duck spider webs. “I don’t know if I like this.”
“I found this a while back,” Gareth explained. “It was quite the find, if I say so myself.”
Margaret felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. “I don’t feel comfortable, Your Highness. I want to go back.”
“We’re almost there.” Gareth looked at her over his shoulder and sloppily smiled. “Almost no one knows what I’m going to show you. Aren’t you excited, Margaret?”
A chill ran down her spine. “No.”
Gareth paused only a moment before continuing on. “No matter. What I want to show you is just around the corner.”
Margaret sighed. “Your Highness, please, I want to go back.”
“Wait here.” Gareth let go of her arm. “I’ll be right back.” He opened a door and went through, closing it behind him.
“Your Highness!” Margaret cried when the dark enveloped her. “Please, come back!”
She clung to the wall, the darkness making her feel like she could not stand up straight. Her breath came faster. Margaret closed her eyes. If her eyes were closed, it was only a normal dark, not the oppressive, frightening dark surrounding her.
“Gareth?” Margaret called out timidly. “Please come back!” She opened her eyes and noticed light coming from the bottom of the doors. She walked toward it, clinging to the craggy walls in case she tripped over something.
They opened, and light washed over Margaret.
“Come on, then,” Gareth said, exasperated. “Stop whining like a baby.”
Margaret launched herself at the prince, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle. “Don’t leave me like that!”
“I was gone only a few seconds.” Gareth wrapped his arms around her, his fingers pressing tightly into her back. “You’re all right.”
“Can we go into the light, please?”
Gareth led Margaret into the secret room by the hand, closing the door behind them. The room was piled with books, furniture, and things that Margaret could not identify.
“What is this place?” Margaret asked, moving toward the piles of books.
“It’s the Triburn room,” Gareth told her. “My great-great-grandfather had this room built after he conquered Anatalia.”
“Triburn? I don’t think I know that name.” Margaret picked up one of the books. The leather was cracked with age, and the date on the book was several hundred years old.
“You wouldn’t have. My great-great-grandfather had every book with their name in it burned or collected, every portrait destroyed, and every member of the family killed.”
Margaret fumbled with the book in her hands. “I beg your pardon?” She looked at him with wide eyes.
“The Triburns stole our throne,” Gareth said, his eyes dark, “so we took it back and made sure they could never usurp us again.”
Margaret looked around the room again. It was far more ominous now than it had been seconds before. Now it was a mausoleum for the long dead’s possessions. “Why are you telling me this?”
Gareth stepped closer to Margaret, cupping her cheek in his large hand. He stroked her cheek, smiling at her before saying, “Because, Lady Margaret, I want you to know what our family does to families who displease us.”
“I don’t understand where this is coming from, Your Highness.” Margaret’s voice shook as she backed away. “Our families get along very well.”
“I want to make sure it stays that way.” Gareth turned from her. “When families get too powerful, they tend to set their eyes higher than they should. Usually on the throne.”
“Your Highness,” Margaret started, “all my father wants in life is to run his business, care for his family, and ensure his people are safe.”
“The king’s people.”
“I’m sorry?”
“They aren’t your father’s people. He goes on and on about ‘his people,’ but they aren’t his. They’re ours,” Gareth seethed. “He only has his position because we gave it to him.”
“I must disagree, Your Highness.” Margaret furrowed her brow. What was she doing, arguing with him? It was too late now; she had to finish what she started. “My father bought the land from other peers long before His Majesty was kind enough to grant my father a title. The land is his, and the title gives him the duty of caring for the people who reside on that land.”
“It is Anatalian soil, Lady Margaret. Purchased or not, we can take it from him at any point, and it will be our right as the royal family.”
Margaret’s mouth formed a flat line. “Your Highness, I think we should return to our parents.”
“Yes, and you can let your mother know she can stop pushing you on me,” Gareth said. “Yours is not a family that will ever marry into royalty. She should know her place, and so should you.” He motioned to the room. “Or else this is what will happen.”
“I assure you, Your Highness, death would have to be threatened before I would marry into this family.”
Margaret barreled down the steps. “Mama!” she yelled. “Mama, is he here yet?”
“Not yet.” Excitement brightened her mother’s eyes. “He won’t be here for a few hours yet.”
Margaret groaned. It had been forever since she’d seen her father. He’d been gone for almost three years with the war effort and hadn’t been able to come home, because it was unsafe to travel. They had received his letter out of the blue that he was coming home and would be there by the end of Marmonat. And finally, it was the end of the month.
“Can’t we go out to the gates of the city to wait for him?” Margaret asked.
“No, Margaret. He’s going to want to rest when he gets home and sees us, not listen to your prattle all the way home.”
She groaned again, throwing herself on a couch.
“Stop acting like a child, Margaret,” her mother snapped. “No one appreciates it.”
Margaret rolled her eyes. “I’m not acting like a child, Mama.”
“Aren’t you?” She snapped her book closed. “You’re throwing yourself on the furniture, you’re whining, and you’re rolling your eyes. That sounds childish to me.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Margaret looked away. “I’m just anxious to see Papa.”
“I am too,” she said softly.
Margaret shot to her feet when she heard horseshoes on the cobblestones. “He’s here!” She picked up her skirts and ran to the door. She threw open the door and stepped outside, shielding her eyes from the sun.
Her father was sliding from his horse, his clothes rumpled and dusty. Bags hung heavily under his eyes, and his hair was messy. He turned when Margaret called out for him, and a smile spread across his face. He bounded up the steps and took Margaret in his arms and spun her around. “My God, you’ve grown!”
“You’ve been gone a while.” She buried her face into his chest.
He took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “Let me have a look at you.” He looked her over, studying her face for a long while. “You look exactly like your mother when she was your age.”
“His Majesty has said on many occasions how similar we look,” Margaret told him with a smile.
Her father was about to reply when her mother walked through the door. He let go of Margaret and pulled his wife into a tight embrace. “I missed you both so much.”
“We’ve missed you too, Papa.”
“Let’s get you inside.” Her mother’s voice was thick. “You look tired.”
“The horse—”
“I’ll go tell Hanson to take care of him,” Margaret said. “Go and rest.”
Margaret sat curled into her father’s side. He had an arm wrapped around her, holding her close.
“So the war is almost over?” her mother asked.
“It won’t be more than a month or two before it’s all finished. Salatia is all but beaten, and our armies are putting down small rebellions rather than waging battles against armies,” her father told them. “I don’t think Salatia expected Frasisca, Radovan, and Mekhor to join the fight. Glessic adamantly refused to join either side, but especially not ours. Salatia was surrounded on all sides by the end.”
“Then, why did it take so long?” her mother asked.
“Radovan and Mekhor didn’t join until the last few months,” her father said. “I don’t think they wanted to, but they were starting to hurt from the length of the war.”
“Either way, it’ll be over soon, and we can all go back to normal.” Margaret shifted, sweeping hair away from her face. “I can hardly wait to stop hearing about how frightened all the ladies of the court are.”
He looked down at her. “Weren’t you frightened?”
Margaret shook her head. “Anatalia has the best army in the world. There’s no way we would have lost to Salatia. They don’t even train their soldiers!”
“I hope you at least showed your peers some support,” he said.
Margaret nodded. “I didn’t tell them how silly they were being, at least.”
He sighed. “At least you did that.”
Margaret stood between her mother and father in the great hall of the palace. The peers had been called for a meeting by the royal family. She looked around curiously. The other nobles whispered to each other, obviously wondering what they were there for. There’d been no gossip circulating as to why the meeting had been called, which was anomalous.
She was uncomfortable with this lack of knowledge. Margaret did not like surprises, especially not when the royal family was concerned, after Prince Gareth had surprised her with the Triburn room.
The royal family came into the front of the room, and the peers bowed or curtsied to them. King Sorren lifted a hand to release them from their positions. “Thank you for coming. We have some news that should please everyone here greatly.”
The peers started to whisper again, and the king lifted his hand again to silence them. “My lords, my ladies, I am pleased to announce that the war with Salatia is over.” He grinned. “We have won!”
A cheer erupted in the room.
Margaret smiled, looking around at all the happy faces. It was nice to see unadulterated joy for the first time in years. She was happy too; she would not have to spend her time worried about a war and what that might mean for her family.
“There will be a feast this evening,” King Sorren said, “along with every night this week, in celebration of our victory.”