Scrub. Rinse. Repeat.
The water in the porcelain basin was crystal clear, yet in my eyes, it remained stained a deep crimson. I scrubbed the skin of my hands with a coarse-bristled brush until they were raw and stinging. The scent of iron and rot from the dungeon seemed to have seeped into my very pores, settling beneath my perfectly manicured nails.
"Your Highness? You might hurt yourself."
Mara, my personal maid, broke my trance. I flinched, dropping the brush into the water. My breath hitched as I stared at my reflection in the silver-framed vanity mirror. My face was pallid, and faint dark circles shadowed my eyes. The remnants of the night still haunted me.
"I am fine," I replied flatly, lifting my hands from the basin. "Dry them."
Mara moved quickly with a warm silk towel. She did not ask why I was bathing at four in the morning, or why there were mud stains on the hem of the nightgown I had tossed into the laundry pile. In this palace, the longest-living servants were those who were the most blind.
"Which gown will Your Highness wear for the Council meeting this morning? The sapphire blue or..."
"Gold," I interrupted. "Bring out the tightest whalebone corset and the gold brocade gown with the high collar. I need armor today, Mara. Not clothes."
Fifteen minutes later, I stood before the tall mirror once again. The transformation was complete. The woman who had trembled while cleaning the wounds of a monster in the cellar had vanished. Before me stood Crown Princess Alora: cold, elegant, and untouchable. The gold gown hugged my curves with painful precision, its high collar hiding the wild thumping of the pulse in my neck.
"Tighten the laces again," I commanded as Mara pulled the corset strings at my back.
"But, Your Highness, it will be hard to breathe..."
"That is exactly the point," I hissed softly. "Pain keeps me conscious. Pull."
Mara obeyed. My ribs felt as if they were being crushed, forcing my back into a posture of perfect, haughty arrogance.
"Perfect," I muttered, applying a blood-red lip tint. It was the only color capable of masking my pallor. "Come. The old wolves of the Council are waiting."
The Aethelgard Council Chamber was the definition of intimidating luxury. The ceilings were three stories high, painted with frescoes of gods punishing sinners. A long table of polished black mahogany dominated the room, surrounded by twelve red velvet chairs.
Eleven chairs were occupied by ministers. They were old men with bulging bellies and sharp eyes that constantly searched for weakness. The single chair at the far end, the King's throne adorned with a golden lion, sat empty.
I stepped inside. The sound of my heels echoed off the marble floor, sharp as the strike of a judge's gavel. Their conversation ceased instantly. Eleven pairs of eyes fixed on me. Not with respect, but with hunger.
"Princess Alora." Lord Hareth, the Prime Minister who possessed the face of a vulture, rose slowly. He did not bow nearly low enough. "We expected the presence of His Majesty King Eamon. His absence is becoming... concerning."
I took my seat in the chair to the right of the empty throne, smoothing my skirts with practiced calm. "My father is feeling unwell. The winter flu has struck him early. He has entrusted the conduct of this meeting to me."
"The flu," Lord Vane snorted from the end of the table, his fingers tapping the surface impatiently. "A very convenient flu, considering what happened last night."
My heart struck the wall of my corset with an extra thud. "What do you mean, Lord Vane?"
Lord Vane threw a stack of reports into the center of the table. The papers slid across the wood and stopped directly in front of my hands.
"Three farms in the western sector reported in this morning. Five of their best dairy cows are dead. Not stolen, Princess. Torn apart. Their organs were scattered, yet the meat was left untouched." Lord Vane stared at me intensely. "That is not the behavior of a common beast. That is a slaughter for sport."
I looked at the report without touching it. I knew. Of course, I knew. I was the one who had cleaned the blood of those cows from my father's skin three hours ago.
"Wild wolves are aggressive as winter approaches," I answered, my voice steady and devoid of emotion. "I have already ordered the Captain of the Guard to double patrols in the western sector and set up more torches."
"Torches?" Lord Hareth gave a dry, dismissive chuckle. "The people do not need torches, Your Highness. They need answers. They heard the howl. The sound came from the direction of the palace hills, not the forest."
Silence followed. The air in the room grew thin. Hareth had just crossed an invisible line.
I looked Hareth straight in the eye. I channeled a small amount, just a sliver, of the aura I inherited from my father's blood. My gaze sharpened.
"Are you accusing us of something, Prime Minister?" I asked softly, yet the tone was lethal. "Are you implying that our palace security is so weak that we allow monsters to roam the King's backyard?"
Hareth blinked, visibly shaken by the intensity of my stare. He cleared his throat, tugging at a collar that had suddenly become too tight. "No... that was not my meaning, Princess. It is just that... rumors are spreading wild. The people are beginning to speak of a curse."
"Rumors are poison for the foolish," I cut him off sharply. "And the Council's duty is to calm the people, not to fan their fears with superstition."
I stood up, signaling the end of the discussion. "We will provide double compensation for the farmers who lost their livestock. Use the royal private treasury if necessary. Is there anything else?"
The ministers exchanged looks, dissatisfied but not daring to argue further.
"The matter of the marriage," Lord Vane said suddenly, stopping me from leaving. "Prince Alaric's delegation. The latest letter said they would arrive in three days. Is the welcoming preparation finished? We need the trade alliance with Vaelen, Princess. We cannot afford a mistake."
I clenched my hands at my sides, my nails digging into my palms. "Everything is ready. The guest rooms in the east wing have been prepared. The banquet menu has been approved. You have no need to wor—"
A long, heavy blast of a trumpet cut me off. The sound did not come from within the room, but from the main gate tower. It was not the trumpet for a change of guard. It was the signal for the arrival of royalty.
I froze. Lord Hareth and the other ministers rushed to the large window overlooking the main road.
"By the Gods..." Lord Hareth muttered. "Look at that banner."
I forced my feet to the window, though every instinct in my body screamed at me to run and hide. From this height, I could see the path leading to the palace gates.
A cavalry troop was moving in. Their numbers were few, perhaps only twenty riders, but their aura dominated the misty morning. Massive black warhorses, armor shimmering in the morning sun, and at the very front was a man in a navy blue cloak and silver armor that dazzled the eyes.
The banner they carried whipped in the wind. A Silver Eagle clutching a snake. The crest of the Kingdom of Vaelen. The mark of the Hunter.
"He is here," I whispered, my voice nearly swallowed by the wind. "Why is he here now?"
Lord Vane turned to me with a face of panicked enthusiasm. "Princess! Prince Alaric has arrived! Three days early! We must greet him at the gates immediately!"
I swallowed a mouthful of bitter saliva. My father was right. He had not come for a visit. He had come for an ambush.
I watched the man on the horse from afar. Even at this distance, I could feel the danger. He did not look like a prince coming to woo his betrothed. He looked like a wolf who had just found a sheepfold with its doors left wide open.
"Ready your best smiles, gentlemen," I said coldly, turning from the window and adjusting the small crown on my head. "We are going to welcome our royal guest. And pray he does not smell the blood you were speaking of earlier."
I walked out of the room, chin held high. My mask was perfectly in place, but beneath it, my soul was trembling with terror.
The Butcher had arrived at the door.