That stops him again. He calls back, over his shoulder, and his voice rises above the downpour. “Trust me, Aren Bellamore, if you were my wife, you’d be the first to know my secret.”
Huh. He knows my name. Of course he does—my family must have told him who I was. It sounds nice on his lips, like a melody. It fills me with unexpected warmth in this cold rain.
The prince might not be the vain, deceitful man I initially thought he was, but my gut still tells me he’s hiding something, something important enough to risk the future king getting eaten by a bear—or worse. The prince is nothing but a liar. Maybe it’s better if he leaves this town without a bride at all. I watch him go, all the way until he disappears into the woods.
Chapter Ten
Aren
The next evening brings a knock on the door. For a brief, panicked moment I worry that our neighbor, old Mr. Singh, has fallen again, but instead, it’s a messenger. A royal one, too—never thought I’d see one of those at my doorstep. Her uniform is immaculate—a pressed jacket and a cap bearing the insignia of the royal brigade of messengers.
“Letters for Miss Ophelia Bellamore and Miss Sonja Bellamore,” she says, holding out two identical pieces of parchment, each folded and sealed with wax.
I stare at the letters, numb, before mechanically reaching out for them. They bear the Loegrian royal crest, and delivered at this late hour, they look to be of great consequence. I thank the messenger before turning on one heel to face the girls. Ophelia and Sonja are sitting with Father near the fireplace, curiosity brightening their faces.
“I think these are for you,” I say, holding each letter out to its respective recipient. The twins practically leap into the air to grab them.
“Oh!” Sonja cries, staring at the royal seal. “The announcement, it’s really happening, isn’t it?”
“You don’t even know what it says.” I stoke the logs in the fireplace, making sure Father is comfortable. He takes my hand and squeezes it. It’s hard to believe it could come so easily, our salvation. I’m unsure of how to feel or what to do next, my heart racing and sweat beading on my forehead.
“Remember our plan, Sonja,” Ophelia says. “Whatever happens, we stay together.”
Sonja nods. “There must be a place for both of us at court, or neither of us goes.” Then they giggle and hug each other.
I want to be happy for my girls, but at the same time, the weight of those two letters—the heavy parchment, the royal seal, their names gracefully calligraphed on the envelopes—dredges up that familiar feeling of always looking in from the outside.
Ophelia and Sonja look at each other, mustering their courage, before opening the letters together. They both jump up with excitement as they begin to read.
“Well, what does it say?” I feel hope bubbling in my chest, their infectious joy pushing aside my own lingering disappointment.
“We’re both invited to an audience with the royal entourage tomorrow afternoon,” Ophelia says, handing me her letter while Sonja clutches hers like it’s worth its weight in gold. “There’s going to be an announcement!”
I didn’t expect it to happen so soon, despite what the prince said last night. I thought Dietan hadn’t shown any interest in the choices paraded before him. His companions, Jared and Marcus, seemed far more interested in my sisters than he did, but I suppose royals behave differently.
It strikes me as odd that my father and I were not invited to the announcement along with the twins. Surely the family of the prince’s soon-to-be betrothed should be invited to witness a prince’s proposal. I don’t allow myself to think that it’s because he chose a different girl.
A sharp pang of regret hits me like cold water, but I push it aside. My sisters’ futures and my freedom are the goal. So why am I about to cry, like the feeling of being on the outside is too much this time? I lift my chin. I’m much too sensible for all this. I want to be there to witness the start of my girls’ happily ever after, that’s all.
“One of you has definitely caught the prince’s eye,” I say reassuringly, looking to Father, who nods in agreement.
Sonja sniffs. “He’s hardly said a word to me except to ask about you, Aren.”
“He asked about me? When?”
Ophelia nods. “He came by yesterday afternoon, but you were at the Beak. He wanted to make sure you were fine.”
“We told him you’re always working,” Sonja says. “Did you happen to see him last night?”
I shrug, even as my cheeks heat. The girls don’t notice. They’ve gone back to rereading their letters.
Ophelia smiles dreamily as she always does. Sonja fans herself with the invitation. I feel a rush of protectiveness. They both look so young and innocent, and the world is a cruel place. Hopefully, they will never know exactly how cruel it can be.
I set aside my own strange sadness and embrace them both like I did when they were little, planting kisses on the crowns of their golden heads, where a real crown will soon sit.
“I’m proud of you both,” I tell them, a sob in my throat. “Come, let’s get to bed so you can look your best for tomorrow.”
But long into the night, when the only sounds are my sisters’ deep breathing and Father’s occasional snore, I lie awake, trying to convince myself that I’ll be happy when I’m all alone. I’ll have my freedom. Isn’t that what I’ve always wanted? To travel the world, with no responsibilities, no husband, and no one to tell me what to do. So why can’t I sleep?
