“I thought you were hot for the prince.”
“He’s all right, I suppose,” Ophelia says.
“You suppose? I thought you’d be sitting on his lap by now. He’s easily the most handsome man here.”
Ophelia turns to me with an amused smile on her face. “Oh, so you noticed.”
“Noticed what?”
“How handsome Prince Dietan is,” she teases.
I groan. “Looks aren’t everything.” Beautiful people tend to coast through life, vain and shallow, oblivious to the suffering around them. My sisters are the exceptions that prove the rule. “Maybe he’s nice to look at, but that’s all there is.”
“Then why do you want me to marry him if you dislike him so much?” Ophelia asks.
I roll my eyes. “Because once you’re a princess—once you’re the queen—you’ll be safe. You’ll have everything you could ever want.”I have many servants in my employ, the prince said this morning. “You won’t have to do a day’s work in your life,” I say.
“But what if I don’t want to be a princess?”
It’s hard not to laugh. “Everyone wants to be a princess.” I gesture to the crowd. “Didn’t you see the line of maidens long enough to reach the capital?”
Ophelia stares at me for a long moment, her eyes hardening and her lips pressing into a flat line. “Harvest Mother, what is it? Do you want me to be happy, or do you think it’s a sucker’s game to marry a prince?”
“Those two things are not mutually exclusive.”
“You know, you’re awfully judgmental for someone who pretends not to be.”
Her intuition catches me off guard, even if she is wrong. My heart settles, and I take a moment to gather my thoughts. “I just want what’s best for you two. I want you and Sonja to find some security. You’re the prettiest girls in all of Evandale, and the nicest, and you both deserve the best.”
“And Lord Jared is nobody?” Ophelia asks indignantly. “I’d argue Lord Jared could make any girl happy, if not happier than that prince.”
I sigh. Ophelia was always the obstinate one.
“You’ve helped me make up my mind. I’ll remind him about that dance now,” Ophelia says. She gets to her feet and walks up the stairs to the stage. Dietan and Jared stand and turn to her. I’m too far away to hear what Ophelia says to Jared as she curtsies, but to my supreme surprise, Jared grins, takes her hand, and kisses it. It seems that the prince, too, is taken by surprise, because he glances between the two of them before his eyes find mine.
Caught!I turn away and pretend I wasn’t watching, for all the good that’ll do me. I try to find Sonja, but Sonja has stopped dancing and is talking with the young general instead. Her hands are clasped in front of her, and she’s twisting her hips side to side as she smiles and laughs with him.
Now it’s Marcus’s turn to grin. It’s strange to see the gruff soldier cracking a smile like that. Hold on—is everyone falling for the wrong person? Neither of my sisters are flirting with the prince. This wasn’t the plan. I know I shouldn’t be upset that they might find happiness elsewhere, especially with lords and generals, but I’m annoyed that I’ve spent so much time and money making them look like royalty only to watch them settle for less.
Ophelia and Jared leave the stage together, talking and smiling. Jared leans his mouth close to her ear and even puts a hand on her lower back to help her down the steps. The two of them seem totally enamored.
I expect the prince to look shocked or angry, but he’s grinning, too, leaning back in his chair and watching them with fondness. Why isn’t he jealous? Has a different girl caught his eye? He looks more than happy to let his men entertain the two most beautiful women in town.
The golden prince catches me staring again, and I force my gaze away just as the marquis’s red-nosed face invades my personal space. Gross. I turn back to face the stage to dissuade this creep from moving closer.
“Aren,” he growls.
“My lord.” I sigh. What does this asshole want now? I pick up my drink to take a sip, but the marquis puts a hand over the cup, forcing me to set it back down on the table. His wrinkled hand is pallid, his fingers a sickly blue. I can smell the liquor on him and recoil from the acidic stench.
“What were you doing? With the prince.” His eyes are glassy and distant, no doubt thanks to the amount of ale he’s drunk, but they remain cold, like a snake’s.
“Simply doing my duty by presenting my sisters to the prince,” I say, hoping my lips form a smile and not a grimace.
“Not your sisters—you,” he spits. “You make a mockery of Evandale by stealing attention from the real candidates.”
Now I understand what he really wants. The ale has truly turned the man’s brain to rot if he thinks the prince is at all interested in me. I sit up straighter and put my hands on my hips. “Are you truly threatened byme?” I press a mocking hand to my chest, forcing a laugh even as heat rises in my cheeks. “Because the prince isn’t interested in anyone from your family?” I ask, even as I feel sympathy for those girls. Even if they have little ambition of becoming princesses, marriage to the prince would be their ticket out of the Breadalbane house and far, far away from the marquis. It’s common knowledge he beats them with his belt at the tiniest provocation.
“I simply believe the prince deserves finer stock than your family,” he sneers. “All you’re good for is a roll in the hay.”
