Cinda Chima - The Demon King

She was in profile, captured in cold hard metal—her graceful neck extended, her hair swept back from her face and caught into a coronet. No doubt proud and haughty as her mother, Queen Marianna.

No, Han thought sarcastically. It’s far too much trouble to come into the highlands to hunt. We’ll just have the deer delivered, even if it means setting fire to the mountain.

A princess wouldn’t have to worry about keeping a roof over her head, about where her next meal was coming from, or if she was going to be cornered and beaten in the street.

A princess would have nothing at all to worry about.

Raisa hurried down the corridor, her dancing slippers whispering over the marble floors. She’d intended to return to her chambers and change clothes, but was at a loss for what to put on. Her clan leggings and tunic were filthy dirty. She had no play clothes anymore, and anyway, this new solemn Amon in his dress uniform seemed to call for something more formal. But what if he’d changed into breeches and shirt? She’d feel foolish in her gown.

Hold on. She was the princess heir, come from a dance. Why should she feel foolish at all? What was the matter with her?

Magret was waiting up, nursing a cup of tea, her graying hair taken down and plaited. “You’re back earlier than I expected, Your Highness,” she said, rising and dipping a curtsy. “I thought it would go later.”

“It will. I’m going to see Amon now,” Raisa said, sitting in front of her mirror and removing the circlet. She’d leave the gown on, she decided, but take down her hair. Then she’d…

“Now?” Magret stared at her. “At this hour?”

Raisa blinked up at her. “Well. Yes.” And when Magret continued to frown, added, “What?”

“You can’t go off meeting a young man on your own in the middle of the night!”

What didn’t Magret understand? “It’s Amon . We used to stay out overnight all the time. Remember when Cook found us under the baker’s table at sunrise? We wanted to be ready when the cinnamon buns came out of the oven.” Raisa tugged a brush through her resistant hair, thinking Amon would never fit under the baker’s table now. Not with those long legs.

“You’ll not go out without a chaperone at this hour,” Magret said stubbornly.

“I already said I’d meet him,” Raisa said, plaiting her hair into a loose braid. “No one will know, anyway.”

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