Dreamwalker's Bride - Chapter 57

On the advice of my attorney, I refuse to answer
Anaisa had tried to stay behind in the chambers when the princess was summoned by a knock at the door, but the spoiled woman refused.

“I might need something while we’re there, a drink or a fan.” Sapphira glared at her. “You can’t just stay here.”

“If I’m to be your double, wouldn’t you want to keep me a secret–” Anaisa tried again, whispering.

“It would be more suspicious if Father found out I have a new maid but did not bring her now. Meals, I never bring servants along, but during the day there is always a maid or two with me. Besides, you look different enough with the makeup and hairstyle. No one will be looking at you at all. Father probably just wants to chastise me for being too difficult with the dressmaker. Come, now.” The Princess walked confidently and flung the door open.

“Please–” Anaisa cringed as Sapphira strode forward, leaving no room for argument. It looked like she was going to see the king today.

The guard who had knocked to inform the princess of her father’s requirement looked relieved that the spoiled woman was coming willingly.

Anaisa felt bad for the man, who looked as if he had run the whole way. It must be urgent.

She bit the inside of her cheek and ducked her head as the guard swiftly led the way. The princess walked regally, head held high and haughty as she strode through the passages. The guard nearly jogged, constantly glancing over his shoulder to make sure the princess was following.

Sweat born of nervousness beaded on Anaisa’s brow. The note Trace found had mentioned a double… would Anaisa be caught up in the plot? She desperately hoped not. She dabbed at the perspiration with the edge of her sleeve, hoping the makeup applied by Sapphira would not smear and look obvious.

Reaching up, she tucked her hair more thoroughly beneath the scarf, trying to make sure no strands stood out.

The guard paused at a large double-doorway, and Sapphira strode past him without a second glance. Anaisa hesitantly followed, trying to remember how a maid was to act.

Unfortunately, she’d been getting more ‘princess’ lessons than ‘servant’ lessons, so she wasn’t entirely sure of the protocol. Was it the same as in her own mansion? Maybe she should have stayed outside with the guard, but it would draw a lot of attention to turn back now.

Besides, Sapphira was bossy enough, she would have told Anaisa to stay put if that’s what she had wanted. Right?

The princess greeted her father while the poor excuse for a servant furtively took in the sights of the room. The ceiling was high and painstakingly painted with scenes of great battles being won. The carpet was more subtle, bearing heraldic symbolism from kings of old. The throne was almost as grand as the man sitting on it.

King Harold.

She’d never beheld her monarch so closely before, and she was awestruck. He was imposing and grand, with a blond beard that reached halfway down his chest. The crown on his head was something she could stare at for hours with perfect fascination, so detailed and intricate was the jewel work.

“Is that maid behind you the one?” She caught the king’s last words and her heart took off like it was in a race.

“That’s ridiculous, Father,” Princess Sapphira stomped her foot like a spoiled child, and Anaisa gasped. Would she not be whipped for such insolence? Her own father would always beat her for less, and he wasn’t a king. “Do I look like a silly, humble servant to you?”

Anaisa dropped her eyes, lest the irritation in them alert everyone to her offense. Servants were never supposed to show that they were insulted, she knew that much.

“Daughter, do not toy with me,” Her father warned. “Your new look is very distinctive; I’ve only seen a handful of women with that particular hair color, so if your maid has it as well, she is of a figure that could easily be mistaken for you at a distance, with the right clothing.”

“You think every woman in the world could look like me if they have the same hair color?” Sapphira stomped her foot again. “Is my beauty not extraordinary, Father? Is my face so common that anyone could replace me, so long as their hair looks like mine?”

“Maid, come forward.” The king was clearly done talking to his daughter.

Terrified beyond measure–would someone be beheaded just for looking too much like the princess?–Anaisa glanced at the young royal, who had merely crossed her arms and pouted.

“I said come forward,” King Harold commanded more firmly, and Anaisa jumped, taking a few steps closer to the throne. She nearly tripped when her eyes met Trace’s.

In all her awe of the grand throne room, she hadn’t realized he was there. His gaze was as readable as it always was for her. He was nervous. Worried, even.

Were things not going well so far?

King Harold stood and strode forward, down the steps of the dais and towards Anaisa. She flinched away from him, and he seemed to soften slightly as he leaned down and looked into her face. She averted her gaze, desperate not to be recognized. Surely he wouldn’t remember her from the mass of debutantes that were once brought to the palace for a special dinner, but he had just told his daughter there were only a handful of redheads he’d ever seen.

“Who are you?” The king leaned forward and asked her gently.

“I’m called Annie,” She whispered, glad she’d not given her full name when the palace interview had occurred. Surely the king wouldn’t remember the second daughter of a disgraced Count?

He examined her face closely, glancing beyond her shoulder at his own daughter. “Take down your hair.”

Almost of their own volition, Anaisa’s hands swiftly obeyed, even as her mouth struggled to find the words.

“Who are your parents?” He asked sternly.