Page 14 of Of Masks and Fury

Every step toward my father’s office with Victor pacing behind me felt like I was walking to my execution.

I catalogued everything as I moved through the castle. Two guards stationed at the library entrance when there had never been one. New locks on the armory door, heavier than before. A patrolpassing through the east corridor when that route was usually empty at this time of the morning.

My father was fortifying his castle. The question was, against who?

The closer I got to his office, the more obstacles appeared. A checkpoint at the main corridor junction, guards who’d never been there before, demanding to know my destination. I smiled and explained I was summoned.

Another patrol forced me to step aside and wait as they passed, their eyes lingering on me longer than necessary.

At the final turn before my father’s wing, I found the hallway completely blocked. Six guards in full armor stood in formation, checking even a servant with a duster in her hand.

“State your business,” the captain said when I approached.

This wasn’t routine security. Did my father want me to feel the weight of his power before I even reached his door? All of this could be designed to remind me that I was in his domain now, subject to his will.

Or he was paranoid about something.

“Princess Amarissa,” Victor said from behind me, his voice carrying an edge. “Summoned by His Majesty.”

I’d never seen these guards before, and I knew everyone. New hires, then.

The guard’s eyes swept over me before he stepped aside. “Pass.”

By the time I reached my father’s office door, my palms were damp and my breath came shallow.

Outside his office, I pressed my hand against my belly, trying to calm the nausea rising up my throat. I had to be ready for whatever waited beyond this door.

After sucking in a deep breath and releasing it, I knocked.

“Enter,” he called out.

The office was exactly as I remembered. Dark wood paneling, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, his massive desk dominating the room like a throne. The door to his adjacent parlor was partly open, and I heard someone moving in the room beyond. Sometimes his advisors would wait there while he dealt with whatever issue was at hand.

Me, this morning.

My father sat at the desk, his head bent over papers as he wrote something in his precise, controlled hand.

He didn’t look up.

I stood in the shaft of sunlight streaming through the window behind him, trying not to feel exposed and vulnerable, while he made me wait. Each second stretched for eternity, the silence broken only by the scratch of his pencil on paper.

My gaze caught on an extra chair positioned across from his desk. Someone else may have been here before me. Or was coming. His advisors always stood; none had ever been invited to sit.

Who else did he expect here today?

Dread hit me like a fist to the gut. Had he arranged a marriage? Was I about to meet some lord’s son, a political alliance wrapped in smiles and lies?

Finally, my father set down his pencil and looked up.

“Amarissa.” He rose and strode around me, assessing me from every angle like a predator with its next kill.

I kept my spine straight and my gaze forward, even as every instinct screamed at me to run.

He completed his circle and settled into his chair again, the power dynamic clear. Him, comfortable and in control. Me, standing, exposed, and waiting for him to dictate whatever it was he’d called me here for.

“As I mentioned last night, I’ve made arrangements for your security,” he said, steepling his fingers in front of his chest. “Victor was adequate for a temporary measure, but I need someone more permanent, a person with the right skills to ensure any impulsive episodes on your part are halted.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. “Father, I don’t need?—”