Seventeen

This could only end badly. A polite ambassador who did his best to charm her spelled trouble for her and for himself, Margareta knew. Her father couldn't possibly have meant for her to work closely with him as his assistant. Why, the ambassador wouldn't last the week. She'd already seen that look in his eyes that told her he was under her spell, and not only was he less boorish away from the dance floor, but she could feel her heart softening toward him. If she hardened her heart to him like any other man, he might stand a chance. But if she let him win her over, maybe even try to seduce her a little, the ambassador was a dead man, and whatever king he served would want to know why.

And whatever he thought about the matter, Margareta knew that her father was no longer capable of leading the island to war, let alone victory.

Margareta didn't often question her father any more, and not just because she maintained her vow of silence. She'd seen him deteriorate from the strong man she remembered, revered and feared as a child, to a shadow of himself. Oh, some days, like at the Harvest Festival, he covered his thinning hair with a horsehair wig and dressed to outshine even the richest merchants. But others...Margareta sighed.

Her father had taken to his bed today, much the worse for last night's wine, and he refused to see anyone. Margareta was the exception, for no one could keep her out. Not even her father on days like this.

The moment he saw her, he sat up, leaving his bedcap on the pillow. "Have they returned? Do you bring word?" he asked eagerly.

Margareta shook her head. No, her brothers had not returned. She hadn't yet broken the curse.

His face crumpled. Some days he dissolved into tears, but today wasn't one of them. Instead, his face twisted into a snarl. "Bring them back. You must bring them back. Without my sons, the isle will be defenceless against all those kings who fancy my island. Not least of all that sneaky ambassador who's rooting around for his king. He'll never get what he's looking for. See that you help him with the books, for the sooner he's off the island, the better. You'll take care of him, won't you?"

Margareta's heart sank. When her father was having a bad day like this one, she could refuse him nothing. So she nodded dutifully, praying that the ambassador would leave before he came to harm.