Prologue

The most frustrating thing about Princess Anastasia, Circe had discovered over the last two years, was that she didn’t have any idea how lucky she was.

She was the only child of King Arthur and Queen Marion, the acknowledged heir to the Kingdom of Rockfall. Her kingdom was not inherently opposed to a woman taking the throne and ruling in her own right, and there were no suggestions she should marry a good man and let him rule the kingdom in her name. She was young and beautiful, with long dark hair, a pale face and a well-developed body that had the poets writing sonnets to her beauty, sonnets that were not in any way exaggerated by crawlers hoping for Royal patronage. Her beauty owed nothing to the magic flowing through her veins, nor a small collection of cosmetics the castle staff kept on hand for older and far less secure aristocratic woman. The Princess truly was a lucky girl.

She was also lazy.

She had the very best of tutors, from a father who ruled his kingdom with a combination of a firm hand and practical politicking to experts in everything from magic to reading, writing, and numbers. She was very far from stupid, and she could learn a great deal about anything that interested her with remarkable speed, but she had little interest in making use of the resources around her to broaden her mind. Her father found it hard to convince her to attend court, her tutors found it harder still to make her pay mind to her lessons. She had mastered the basics - she could read and write and few would deny her calligraphy was the equal of her father’s - but showed no interest in learning more. She spent more time riding her horse than she did behind a desk, learning the skills she would need when her father passed on and left her the kingdom.

Circe found it outrageous. She had climbed out of the gutter through a combination of magic, ruthlessness, and sheer dumb luck. If she hadn’t found someone willing to school her in magic, and so many other skills denied to a lowborn guttersnipe, she knew it was unlikely she would have survived to reach adulthood. She had made a devil’s bargain, trading her body and her mind for lessons the Princess was offered for free, and it was hard not to feel anger and resentment at how the Princess disdained the learning that would likely save her life. She had so many opportunities and she declined them all, to her own detriment. The Princess was too intolerant to pay attention to politics, but Circe was not. Her father was holding the kingdom together through sheer force of will and bloody mindedness. It was unclear if his daughter could master the arts of government in time to take the helm when he died. Circe would not have cared to put money on it. Rockfall was in for some rough times.

The worst thing of all, she reflected in the privacy of her own mind, was that it was hard to hate Princess Anastasia.

The Princess was lazy, and intolerant, but she wasn’t a bad person. Circe had seen aristocratic girls and women treat their maids like slaves, lashing out at them physically or verbally every time they were even slightly displeased. She had heard tales of far worse, from young women who took service the households of the great and the good to maidens who found themselves seduced and then abandoned by their aristocratic paramours, and compared to many others life in the Princess’s tiny household was surprisingly pleasant. If Circe had been a genuine Lady’s Maid, she would have lit incense in thanks for such a caring mistress.

And if Circe had been less driven to attain power, by any means necessary, she might have had second thoughts about what she intended to do.

It would have been easier, in some ways, if her mistress had been truly unpleasant. Circe would have had no qualms about displacing a horrible person, and anyone who noticed the swap would likely keep their mouth shut for fear of the original returning. She knew better than to allow sympathy, or even guilt, to distract her - she had already gone too far to stop now - but it was still a little harder than it should have been to take the final step. She told herself that she was doing the Princess a favour, giving Anastasia the sort of lesson her parents should have given her a long time ago, but Circe doubted Anastasia would feel the same way. The hell of it was that Circe herself would have been delighted, if someone had made her the same offer.

But the Princess did not know how lucky she truly was.

The bell rang. Circe stood, brushing down her dress. It was time.

Hardly anyone noticed her as she made her way to the Princess’s chambers. She had always taken care to dress as drably as possible, to make no attempt to exploit her position as the Princess’s maid, to do as little as possible to draw attention to herself. A handful of castle servants, more observant than their masters, had wondered at her willingness to remain in the shadows, but none had realised the truth. Being unseen gave one a kind of freedom, a freedom she had ruthlessly exploited. It had taken months of effort to subvert the castle wards, to allow herself a degree of access and control that would have shocked the court wizard if he ever realised what she had done, but it was about to pay off.

She stopped outside the door and centred herself. Once she stepped inside, she was committed. She could still stop herself …

No. That wasn’t possible. She had committed herself long ago.

And now it was time to make the final move and reap her reward.

Chapter One

“I don’t want to hear any more,” Princess Anastasia said, firmly.”I’ve had quite enough.”

The Royal Tutor blinked owlishly at her. He was younger than most tutors, with an air of grim determination that was oddly subverted by the way his tutoring robes hung oddly around his body. The appearance of an elderly man of letters, a person of great knowledge and practical wisdom, was difficult for a young man to project, no matter how well he knew his material. He’d yet to master the skill of making his lessons interesting, no matter how boring the subject matter, and it cost him. There were few other ways to keep a young woman of noble blood, let alone a princess, focusing on her work.

“But Your Highness …”

“You are dismissed,” Anastasia said. She picked up the textbook, the latest – and probably already outdated – tome on political developments since the end of the Necromantic Wars and passed it to him. “I’ll send for you when I am ready to resume the lessons.”

The tutor bowed, moving far more spryly than most of his peers could hope, and backed out of the chamber. Anastasia watched him go, somehow resisting the urge to point out that his wig was crooked, on the verge of falling off. Whoever had designed the poor man’s robes had a great deal to answer for, particularly the insistence that their wearers should either dye their hair grey or wear a grey wig. It might give an elderly man a sense of dignity, but it made a young man seem a fool, a child wearing his father’s clothes. They just didn’t suit him.

She sank back into her chair, feeling a twinge of envy. The tutor – it dawned on her, not for the first time, that she honestly didn’t recall the young man’s name – had chosen his life, devoting himself to studying politics, the New Learning, magitech and a dozen other subjects that interested him, even though he had little hope of ever practicing them personally. Her future was fixed, as sure as the sun rose in the east and sank in the west. She was the Crown Princess of Rockfall and she would be Queen, when her father passed into the realm of the dead. There was no competition, no sibling or cousin who might make a bid for the throne themselves. She would be Queen. There was no point in trying to pretend otherwise.

And I can’t even pass it on to someone else, she thought, numbly. It is my fate.

She rang the bell and leaned back in her chair, waiting. Patsy materialised a moment later, entering the room so silently it was hard to notice her until she announced herself. Anastasia almost envied her maid’s talent for remaining unnoticed, her dress and demeanour so subtle that she was often invisible in a crowd, without even a hint of magic. She had no interest in building a power base of her own, exploiting her position as the Princess’s personal maid to enrich herself or even find a good husband from the lower ranking aristocrats or merchants. It was hard, sometimes, to describe her. She was so bland and boring, carrying out her duties without drawing attention to herself, that Anastasia had to think to recall the colour of her maid’s eyes. Her outfit was just … bland.

“Your Highness,” Patsy said, dropping a neat little curtsy. She hadn’t adopted the modern custom of showing too much flesh, or even wearing something that drew attention to her curves without showing anything below the neckline. “What can I do for you?”

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Anastasia stood, brushing down her dress. “I feel like going for a ride,” she said, shortly. If she left now, she’d be well away from the castle by the time her next tutor arrived. “Send someone to alert the stablemaster, then help me get into my riding clothes.”

Patsy raised an eyebrow. “You have an appointment with the Court Wizard at eleven bells, then lunch with your mother at one …”

“I’m sure they’ll get on just fine without me,” Anastasia said, waspishly. The Court Wizard expected her to memorise volumes of magical theory before he taught her more than the basics, her mother veered between lecturing Anastasia on her duties and moaning about events in Alluvia. It might be Patsy’s duty to remind her, but Anastasia had no intention of going. “My mother hasn’t had a single new thing to say for years.”

“As you command, Your Highness.” Patsy turned to the door, opened it to summon a messenger boy, and sent him on his way with a few short words. “Do you intend to ride far?”

“Far enough not to be found,” Anastasia said. She strode into her bedroom, cursing the fashion that made it hard to get out of a dress without help. “It’s going to be one of those days.”

Her maid made no comment as she helped Anastasia to undress, then presented her with a set of riding clothes. They were so much more convenient – breeches, a jacket, boots – that she had determined she’d wear them all the time, when she was Queen. The dresses might show off her family’s wealth and power, just in case one of the courtiers had forgotten where he was, but they were uncomfortable and irritating. It wasn’t as if anyone was likely to forget she was the princess. Her face adorned the wall of everyone who was anyone, who wanted to be. She’d certainly sat for enough portraits over the years.

She stood, studying herself in the mirror. Long dark ringlets of hair framed a tinted olive face, dark eyes and lips that drew the eyes of everyone in the room. Everyone said she was beautiful and she knew for a fact they were telling the truth, although it would be a rare courtier indeed who suggested their princess was anything less than stunningly beautiful. Rockfall had fewer courtiers trying to outdo their peers by singing the praises of the Royal Family, if Queen Marion was to be believed, but … Anastasia shook her head. Her father had cautioned her to be wary of taking such crawlers seriously. They would change their tune in a heartbeat if they felt it wise.

“You need a cloak, Your Highness,” Patsy said. She’d changed too, into a riding outfit that was as drab as her regular dress. “And you should take your amulet.”

Anastasia snorted, but reached for the amulet and placed it around her neck. Patsy was right. The golden design was surprisingly simple, compared to the jewellery showered on her by everyone who wanted to buy her favour, but the charms woven into the metal were designed to protect her against almost any threat, at least long enough to buy her time to escape. Her father wouldn’t be pleased if she left the castle without it, and she didn’t want to upset him. She loved her father. And yet, he never had enough time for her.

“We’ll go down the back stairs,” Anastasia said. “We wouldn’t want to be stopped along the way.”

“No, Your Highness,” Patsy agreed. “That would be most inconvenient.”

There was a faint hint of sarcasm in her voice. Anastasia ignored it. Patsy’s job was to do as she was told, while serving as a maid, chaperone and woman-of-all-work. Anastasia knew little about Patsy and that was how it should be. She did her job well and that was all that mattered. She certainly didn’t have the kind of relatives or connections that would press her to take advantage of her position, or try to influence their princess. Anastasia wasn’t looking forward to assuming the throne. She would have to take the young ladies of the kingdom as her handmaidens then, enduring their presence in her most private moments. Her mother had often complained about the custom and Anastasia didn’t blame her. She had little privacy of her own too.

The back stairs were supposed to be secret, although Anastasia was fairly sure everyone knew they existed even if they didn’t have access. Her skin prickled as they stepped through a handful of wards, designed to keep out intruders, and walked down the thin stairs to the bottom. The stables, located at the rear of the castle, teemed with activity, young boys mucking out the stalls while the stablemaster strode from steed to steed, checking their work with a gimlet eye. He showed no hint of surprise as he saw her, merely bowing low and motioning for two of the newer stableboys to bow too. Anastasia pretended not to notice their hesitation, then uncertainty over how deeply they should bow. She hadn’t enjoyed her etiquette lessons either.

“Champion and Lady are ready, My Lady,” the stablemaster said. “I’ve taken the liberty of adding a picnic to your saddlebags.”

“Thank you,” Anastasia said. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy it.”

She allowed the man to lead her to the final stall, Patsy trailing behind her like a shadow. Her horse looked pleased to see her, whinnying as Anastasia put her arms around his neck and gave him a hug. A sudden pang of guilt shot through her – she’d been too busy to come down and see him – and she made a promise to herself that she’d make sure to rub him down and muck out his stall personally, when they returned. It was good for bonding with her steed, her father had said, and besides, it would provide a good excuse for being late for dinner. Or taking her meal alone, in her chambers. Eating in front of the entire court, every eye on her, was never pleasant. And right now, she didn’t have the power to make up for the inconvenience.

“Come on,” she said, to Patsy. She didn’t wait for assistance, merely scrambled into the saddle and took the reins. “We have to be on the move.”

Patsy’s face didn’t change, but Anastasia had the impression the normally imperturbable maid was irked as she clambered onto Lady. Patsy could ride reasonably well, yet she was no horsewoman and clearly wasn’t particularly comfortable on horseback. Lady was as tame as any horse could be, the kind of beast small children would be seated on to learn the basics before they graduated to more frisky steeds, but Patsy had never quite reached the point where she could try a better horse. Anastasia wouldn’t have begrudged her the lessons, if she’d wanted to improve her horsemanship, yet … she shook her head, dismissing the thought. Patsy was her maid. She could easily remain behind …

But I have to be chaperoned, Anastasia thought, with a flicker of irritation. Her mother’s prudish insistence on maintaining her reputation at all times, on ensuring her virtue could not be questioned let alone drawn into disrepute, was just … irritating. No one questioned her father’s conduct, no one raised their eyebrows if he had private meetings … she told herself, not for the first time, that things would be different when she took the throne. I’ll do whatever I want and to hell with anyone who says me nay.

She put the thought out of her mind as Champion trotted out of the stable and through the rear gate, the guards bowing or doffing their hats as she passed. The cold air slapped her across the face, shaking away the lethargy of a morning spent being bored to death by tutors who never used one word when a dozen could do. Lady followed, Patsy so quiet it was easy to forget she was there. Anastasia felt a flicker of dark amusement as they cantered through the streets of Caithness and out into the Royal Forest. The sense of sudden freedom was overwhelming. It would be easy, she told herself, to dig in her spurs and make a run for Rumbling Bridge, the nearest pass through the mountains that surrounded Rockfall, protecting the kingdom from her larger and more powerful neighbours. Or even to just lose herself in the forest. It would feel good to make a choice for herself, even if it were a poor one.

Champion neighed as she pulled on the reins, commanding him to slow and turn. The castle rose up above the city, the largest structure in the kingdom. Caithness was small by the standards of many other kingdoms, but it was still large enough for her. She felt a twinge of bitter regret as she spied a handful of caravans making their way down the Northern Road, carrying trade goods through the passes and in and out of the city. The kingdom was far more progressive than most when it came to women’s rights, and there were plenty of female traders travelling from kingdom to kingdom, but she was trapped. She would spend the rest of her life in Rockfall, both ruler and prisoner of her kingdom. Lady trotted up, Patsy seated uncomfortably on her back, and Anastasia gritted her teeth. Her maid didn’t know how lucky she was. She could leave her post at any moment and find somewhere better, somewhere more suited to her talents.

“Your father is expecting you to read the latest trade agreements this evening,” Patsy reminded her. “We have to be back for dinner.”

Anastasia shook her head, curtly. The king was supposed to be the ruler of the kingdom, but Parliament did much of the work while he sat on his throne and looked regal. Anastasia didn’t pretend to understand how her father could spend so much time in committees, chairing meetings and letting everyone have their say; she wondered, sometimes, why he wasn’t the absolute monarch she knew him to be. Her mother didn’t help, grumbling about her father’s willingness to compromise rather than lay down the law. She had come from a kingdom where the king had lost his grip and faced an outright rebellion, one that had cost him his head. It didn’t help that far too many people wondered what sort of political ideas she’d brought with her …

“You also have to receive a messenger from a foreign suitor, asking for your hand in marriage,” Patsy continued. “He’s supposed to arrive, spontaneously, this evening.”

“This must be an entirely new definition of the word spontaneous,” Anastasia muttered, sourly. The bards had hundreds of songs about princes who left their kingdoms to play at being suitors to a princess, winning their hearts by coming hundreds of miles to press their suits in person, but the real world was rarely so obliging. Any spontaneous visit was planned in advance and no one thought otherwise, save perhaps children too young to realise the truth. A prince turning up in disguise, without warning, would be a major scandal. “Do you think his portrait will look like the reality?”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” Patsy said.

“Parliament will have its say,” Anastasia said. It was true. She couldn’t be allowed to make such a choice for herself, not when the kingdom was at stake. “And so will my father.”

She turned her horse and galloped onwards, cantering to her favourite part of the woods. A small lake, so well hidden within the trees that she could pretend she was truly alone. She knew better than to believe it, but … anyone within the Royal Forest without permission would be careful to remain unnoticed, not when a poacher could have his hand cut off for trespassing. Or worse. She pulled Champion to a halt and scrambled off his back, leaving him to nibble the grass as she stepped towards the lake. The horse was too well trained to run off, not unless something happened to her. Lady arrived a moment later, Patsy dropping herself to the ground with a thud. Anastasia didn’t turn. Her maid might not be a good horsewoman, but it was difficult to imagine anything putting her down for long.

The thought faded as she stared over the lake. It was oddly quiet, the normal sound of birds flying through the trees and small rodents darting through the undergrowth almost inaudible. A twinge of unease ran down Anastasia’s spine, banished almost at once. It was a cold day and most of the forest’s wildlife would be nesting, trying to stay warm. She lifted her eyes to the distant mountains, noting the snow on the peaks. It had been a long time since she’d been so far from Caithness, and she’d never be allowed to travel beyond the mountains.

Patsy came up behind her. “A Crown for your thoughts, My Lady?”

Anastasia surprised herself by answering the question. “I’m trapped in a gilded cage.”

There was a hint of … something … in Patsy’s voice. “There are many who would wish to be in your place, My Lady.”

Anastasia blinked. It was rare for anyone to reprove her, let alone scold her. She was the Princess. No one could ever forget that, not even her mother. Certainly not a Lady’s Maid who could be dismissed at any moment, without so much as bothering with an excuse. Anastasia had dismissed maids before. She could certainly do it again.

“You can have it, if you like,” she said, snarkily. It wasn’t going to happen and they both knew it. Anastasia could no more surrender her birthright than she could cut her own throat. “It’s not a blessing.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Patsy said, her voice tinged with dark amusement. “I believe I shall.”

Anastasia turned, quickly. Patsy looked different, in a manner Anastasia couldn’t quite place. She looked … as if she wasn’t trying to be unnoticed, unnoticeable, any longer. Her stance was firmer, drawing attention to her in a manner she normally shunned … she looked, suddenly, very dangerous. Anastasia’s father had a regal presence, one that made it very hard for anyone to disobey his commands; Patsy, now, had a presence of her own. The shock was so great it was hard for Anastasia to think clearly, let alone speak. Her thoughts were spinning helplessly. Everything was just … wrong.

“I …”

Patsy jabbed a finger at Anastasia. Her entire body froze.