Of Masks and Fury (Kingdom of Shattered Vows #2)

CHAPTER ONE ISI

CHAPTER ONE

ISI

The horse beneath me had gone lame two days ago.

I’d left it at a farmstead with enough coin for its care, then continued on foot, my pack growing heavier with each step that took me farther from Trew and closer to the gilded cage I’d once called home.

Five days since I’d slipped from his bed while he slept.

Five days since I’d read Commander Thorne’s letter and learned the truth that shattered everything. My sister Addie was alive.

My boots had rubbed blisters on both heels by the end of the first day.

By the second, the blisters had burst, weeping fluid and making every step feel like I was walking on hot coals.

I’d wrapped them in strips torn from a spare tunic, but the fabric was soaked through now, and the leather chafed with each step.

The physical pain was almost a relief. It gave me something to focus on besides the hollow ache in my chest where my heart used to be.

I paused at the crest of a hill, breathing hard, and pulled the letter from beneath my tunic.

The paper had gone soft from constant handling, the creases nearly worn through.

My unshed tears blurred Commander Thorne’s precise handwriting.

I stared at those seven words I’d memorized within seconds of reading them.

Addie’s alive.

She’s in your father’s dungeon.

My fingers trembled as I refolded the letter, tucking it back inside my shirt.

Why had Thorne written “your father’s dungeon” instead of just “the dungeon”?

The extra words felt deliberate. A warning, maybe?

Or a reminder that the man who’d imprisoned my sister was the same one who’d raised me, who’d whipped my back for showing compassion, and who’d taught me that love was only another word for control.

My body now knew the difference between touch meant to control and touch meant to cherish.

I missed Trew so much it hurt. His scars, his smile. I’d left him a note. Four lines that couldn’t possibly contain everything I needed to say.

Trew,

There’s something I have to do, and I’m asking you to trust me while I do it. To wait for me. To still love me when I come back and hold out my arms.

I love you. I’ll always love you.

I promise I’ll return to you soon.

Would he understand or would he wake, find me gone, and think I’d chosen something else instead of him?

Before leaving, I’d stood beside his bed, memorizing the curve of his jaw in the firelight, the soft, satisfied expression on his face. Three more minutes. That’s all I would’ve needed to be lost forever, to choose him over everything else and damn the consequences.

But then I’d imagined Addie’s ghost in the corner, her vacant eyes, her dark curls matted with gore. The image that had haunted me since the Day of Mercy ball.

Except she wasn’t dead. She was alive, and suffering, and I’d been falling in love while she rotted in our father’s dungeon.

Pherin soared in close and landed on my shoulder, peeping as she settled against my neck. Her tiny claws pricked through the fabric. I wore Trew’s tunic because I couldn’t bear to go without some part of him touching my skin.

“Tired?” I asked her, stroking her downy head with one finger.

Need rest. She sent a wave of concern through our bond. We were both worn out. Hungry. Hurting.

“Soon. We’re close now.” I adjusted my pack, biting back a wince as the straps dug into shoulders already bruised from days of carrying it. “Another few hours, maybe less.”

Pherin bumped her head against my cheek, the gesture so gentle it made my throat tighten.

She’d been my constant companion during this nightmare journey, keeping watch while I slept in ditches and abandoned barns, showing me where to find berries and nuts when my rations ran low, and pressing her warm little body against my neck when I woke up gasping from dreams of Trew calling my name.

The old Amarissa would’ve sent a guard to investigate Thorne’s claims. The princess I used to be would’ve asked permission before doing anything like this. She would’ve consulted her father, then sat back and waited for someone else to fix it.

But Isi, the woman who’d survived the Rite of Bonds, had killed an assassin with her bare hands. She’d bonded with a minxpip who could turn into a deadly firecat, and she’d fallen in love with a rebel king. Now she walked into danger alone.

Because some things were worth the risk.

Some people were worth sacrificing everything.

The journey since leaving was a blur of hiding and moving, always moving. I’d traveled at night when possible, catching what sleep I could during daylight.

My magic had kept me alive. The power I’d once feared now flowed through me as naturally as breathing. I’d used it to purify stream water, warm my body through freezing nights, and ease the worst of the pain in my blistered feet. Small magics, but mine.

I reached into my other pocket, closing my fingers around the small striped stone Trew had left on my pillow one morning. A white band spiraled around the center of the black stone polished by an ancient river.

“This one’s special,” he’d told me once, that devastating smile playing across his lips. “Every time you look at it, I want you to remember that some things may seem impossible until they’re not. Like a princess and a rebel king.”

I’d kissed him, poured everything I felt into it until we were both breathless.

He’d groaned against my mouth, his hands fisting in my hair like he couldn’t get close enough. “You’re going to ruin me, Princess.”

“Good, because you’ve already ruined me,” I’d whispered back.

Now I clutched the stone, telling myself that what we had was real, that I would find my way back to him.

If he’d forgive me.

If he’d wait.

If I survived what was coming.

A shadow passed overhead, and I froze, my heart roaring up into my throat as I scanned the sky. Just a crow, not a cinderhawk. Not Gavelle tracking me for Trew.

He’d find the note. He’d read it, and then he’d spend approximately ten minutes deciding to come after me anyway, because that was who he was.

If he rode for Caldrith, my father would know within hours that I hadn’t returned alone.

Everything I was about to do depended on appearing to be exactly what I was: a daughter who’d run away and thought better of it.

Trew’s shadow at my back would destroy that story before I told it.

Stay put, I thought, as if he could hear me across the distance. Just this once, trust me enough to stay put.

The landscape started to change, becoming familiar in a way that made my belly clench. I knew these hills and roads. I’d ridden through here as a child, my younger self laughing as Addie raced ahead on her own mount.

Fates, we’d been so young and naive. We’d thought our father loved us and that being a princess meant safety.

We’d been wrong about all of it.

I crested another rise and Caldrith Castle gleamed in the distance, its white stone towers turned pink by the late-day sun. Once, this sight would’ve filled me with comfort and the knowledge that I was nearly home.

Now all I felt was the weight of the mask I’d have to wear again.

My father’s dutiful daughter. The obedient princess. The Lady of Mercy who presided over executions and called it kindness.

I’d worn that mask for sixteen years. I knew its contours, its weight, and the way it chafed and suffocated and slowly eroded whoever hid beneath it.

But the silent princess no longer swallowed her rage.

Now a warrior, she’d learned to wield it, which meant thinking like her father before she walked through his gates.

He’d have questions. He always had questions, soft-voiced and delivered in a way to lull before he struck like a viper. He’d catch me mid-breath while he smiled.

I’d need a story. Enough truth to be convincing, with none of the parts that mattered. Grateful daughter. Compliant princess. Someone who was eager to come home. If I seemed too polished, he’d see the seams. Too broken, and he’d smell opportunity.

And I still hadn’t ruled out that Thorne’s letter was bait.

With Pherin bobbing on my shoulder, I started up the hill toward the gate.

I’d rescue my sister, and we’d flee to Syllavar and Trew. Simple. Impossible.

But I’d learned impossible things had a way of becoming real when you were desperate enough.

The two guards at the gate snapped to attention as I approached, their eyes widening in recognition. A scowl took over the older one’s face while the other twitched but remained at attention.

I lifted my chin and let the mask settle into place, becoming my father’s daughter once more.

“Send word to the King Cyril,” I said, my voice steady despite my racing heart. “Tell him that Princess Amarissa has returned.”