The Princess in the Opal Mask by Jenny Lundquist Read Free Book Online Page A

garden’s wall, the only eyes that see me are made of stone.
    A weak spring sun shines upon my mother’s statue, and I try to find within her stone face some resemblance to myself. There is no law in Galandria, with its rich history of strong queens, decreeing the crown must pass to the firstborn son. No law saying that I, as the eldest, cannot be the crown princess of Galandria and one day have my own statue in this garden, right next to my mother’s. Yet I have always known, from the time such thoughts could enter my head, that my brother Andrei would one day rule Galandria. That the next statue to grace the Queen’s Garden will be of Andrei’s wife.
    A breeze stirs up, sending blossoms swirling from the apple trees, and for a moment it seems my mother’s statue weeps pink flower petals. Her lips are pressed together. Her hair is coiled on her head, her chin is raised, and her arms are at her sides. She looks strong, as though she could stare down an entire army by the sheer force of her will.
    I see nothing of myself in her.

    I t is several minutes later, when I am staring at the empty space where a statue of me will never be, that I hear something behind me. I turn, and see Lord Murcendor approaching. He wears a thick emerald green robe identifying him as a member of the Guardian Council.
    Lord Murcendor’s appearance is oft-putting to many. His sleek dark hair, pale face, and grave manner make others uneasy. But they do not know him like I do. As the Guardian of the Opal Mines, and therefore the protector of Galandria’s wealth, the safety of the Andewyn family rests heavily upon his shoulders.
    “You called for me, Your Highness?”
    “Please do not call me that,” I say. “Not today.”
    “Very well, Wilha.” He pauses. “The last time I saw you, you were sitting here as well.”
    “I have a training session with Patric soon,” I reply, touching the lightweight red velvet mask I am allowed to wear during our lessons. “Besides,” I motion to my mother’s statue, “I wanted to look at her while I still could.”
    “I see.” Lord Murcendor settles himself on the bench next to me. “Your father told you then?”
    I nod, and the tears I have been holding back the last few days start escaping. Lord Murcendor waits patiently for me, as he always does. “Father says I serve Galandria by marrying the Kyrenican crown prince,” I say when I regain my composure.
    “The Kyrenicans are dogs,” he retorts, and I read the anger in his eyes. “Their rightful place is under Galandria’s boot.”
    I turn to him. “Please, can you not change his mind?”
    “You overestimate my influence, Wilha. It is Lord Royce who has your father’s ear on this matter, and as usual he will only tell the king what he wants to hear. And what your father wants to hear, like many kings, is that he is right. During our sessions in the Guardians’ Chambers, Lord Quinlan made an excellent case for declaring war and the wealth it could bring us. But your father is a fool. He is so keen to avoid a war—a war I believe we have every assurance of winning—because he and Lord Royce are too cowardly to risk going into battle. I alone argued your case and told him it was madness to hand you over to our enemy without any regard for your safety or happiness. You are the Glory of Galandria. It kills me to see so great a treasure as you pass into the hands of such despicable men.”
    I look away from his fiery gaze. I know he means well, but his words bring no comfort. The Glory of Galandria is the same thing as The Masked Princess . A nonperson.
    I swallow. “I have been dreaming again.”
    For years I have been plagued with nightmares. Right after Rinna died, I used to dream that all the boys and girls in Allegria would surround me. They would slap and grab at me, and when one of them would succeed in pulling off my mask, they all promptly fell to the ground, dead.
    Or I would dream that I was playing by the banks of the Eleanor