CHAPTER ONE

Princess Andromeda stood on the very edge of a ledge three-quarters of the way up the cliff above the Royal Palace of her mother, Queen Cassiopeia of Acadia, holding out her arms to the wind. The same wind flattened her tunic against her body, and sent strands of her hair flying about her face as they escaped from the knot at the back of her neck. She raised her face to the sun, closing her eyes.

I wish I had wings—I used to dream about flying when I was little. It would be so glorious to simply step off this rock and fly, to escape the dreariness of being a Princess, with the din of "musts" and "must-nots," day in and day out, from governesses, tutors, her mother's ladies and, of course, her mother.

Especially the "must-nots."

There was an almighty number of "must-nts." You mustn't laugh too loudly. You mustn't speak your opinion unless it's asked for. You mustn't talk to anyone below the rank of noble, unless it's to give an order. You mustn't be seen reading in public. You mustn't frown in public. You mustn't smile at anyone below the rank of a noble, and you mustn't smile at any young men, ever. You mustn't let anyone call you "Andie," nor refer to yourself by that name. You mustn't be seen moving at anything other than a graceful walk…the list was endless. It seemed that all she ever heard was what she shouldn't be doing. No one ever told her what she could do—aside from look decorative, wearing the serenely stupid gaze of a statue. No one ever came to her and said, "Princess, there is a task you and you alone can perform." One "must" along those lines would have been countered with a hundred distasteful "must-nots"—but one never came.

Surely that had never been her mother's lot. Cassiopeia had begun her life as Crown Princess and then Queen with responsibilities. In no small part because her husband, at least according to gossip, had been so good at avoiding them. That was why the old King, Andie's grandfather, had handpicked her out of the daughters of his nobles. He had wanted a girl with ambition, since his own son clearly had none, and a girl who would see that things got done.

Who ever would be foolish enough to envy the lot of a Princess with all of that hanging over their head? Nothing but restrictions without responsibilities. I'm less free than a slave, and not allowed to do anything that has any meaning to it.

She took a deep breath of the sea-scented air, and sighed it out again. At least her mother was not going to be plaguing her with one of her unannounced inspections this afternoon, inspections that inevitably ended in well-mannered murmurings of disappointment and the appointment of a new governess. Queen Cassiopeia was holding a very, very private audience with the Captains of the Acadian Merchant Fleet, followed by another with the foreign merchants who plied Acadian waters, and the meetings were expected to last all day and well into the night. Trade was the lifeblood of Acadia. Without trade, this Kingdom would probably die. Anything that threatened trade and the taxes it brought in, threatened Acadia as surely as an army. Despite her mother's being asked, begged, by her daughter to be allowed to attend, Andie had been told to "run along." Under any other circumstances, she would have been happy about the freedom from her governess's supervision and the opportunity to get out in fresh air and to make a raid on the library. But being treated like a child put a bitter taste on the treat.

She pushed at the stiff wires crossing the bridge of her nose, part of a contrivance called "oculars," making sure they were firmly on her face, then curled the wires of the side-pieces securely around the backs of her ears. They were a bit of a nuisance, but she loved them, because without them, she'd be half blind. The Royal Guard's own Magician had made them for her when he'd realized, watching her try to hold a book right up against her tiny nose as a child, that she was terribly nearsighted. He'd been pleased enough to do so, though the Queen had been less than happy the first time she saw her daughter scampering about with the wire-and-glass-lenses contraption perched on her face. "It's unnatural!" she had complained. "It looks like a cheap mask! What need has a Princess to see clearly, anyway?"

She had finally given in only when it was made demonstrably clear that Andie's never-ending series of bruising falls came to an abrupt end once she could see where she was going.

Not that her mother cared if I she fell, except that all the bruises were an embarrassment to her. Andie sighed again. I can never please her, no matter what I do, so I wish she'd just get used to that and make use of what I actually can do.

Queen Cassiopeia wanted a pink-and-white, sugarplum Princess, a lovely daughter who as a child would have been all frills and giggles, big blue eyes and golden curls, and as an adult (or nearly, anyway) would be the younger image of herself, immaculately groomed, impeccably gowned, graceful, lovely—not to mention quiet, pliant, uncomplaining and unthinking. A marriage pawn, who wouldn't argue about anything, or ask awkward questions, or want to do anything except to look as beautiful as possible. There had been nibbles of marriages over the years, but nothing ever came of them. Cassiopeia had enough ambition for two; she didn't see the need of it in her daughter.

Andie gave herself a mental slap. Maybe not unthinking. But—certainly more obedient than Andie was. And assuredly much prettier, much neater and much more concerned with her personal appearance than Andie could ever bring herself to be. So far as her mother was concerned, looks were one more weapon in the arsenal of a determined woman.

Copyright © 2006 by Mercedes Lackey.