…
In the morning, as the rain hammers against the window, I dress my sisters, putting them in their second-best gowns that I’ve made for them. When the twins twirl in front of the full-length mirror, gasping over how pretty they look, from their embroidered hoods to the bells at their ankles, I can’t help but smile, even though I still wish I’d merited an invitation. Today is all about them, and I make sure my girls feel beautiful, important, and worthy of royalty. No one will be able to take their eyes off the twins from the moment they walk into the room.
Before we leave, Father gathers us to him. He’s too weak to join us; his stiff hip throbs even more painfully during rainstorms. The girls kneel before him, smiling with tears in their eyes.
“I give you both my blessing,” he says, his voice worn with age. My heart hitches in my throat as he looks at them with adoration. They are, after all, mirror images of Mother. Father is alone, and we are all he has left. He is letting half of his family go, giving them away to an unknown future beyond his protection. But he smiles bravely, and I know he’s as proud of them as I am.
“It’ll be all right, Aren,” he consoles as the twins gather their rain cloaks for the trek to the town square. The bells at their ankles ring out with each step. “Either one would make an excellent princess and will surely bring her sister to court.”
“It’s a dream come true,” I say as my heart seizes with a non-specific sadness.
The three of us start trudging through the downpour. I walk ahead, laying out planks for the girls to step on, to make sure their skirts don’t collect mud as they proceed from our house to the center of town. It’s easily an hour to the hall at our pace. I strain my back picking up the plank that’s left behind and setting it in front of them again.
“Aren, you’re soaked. Let us just walk in the mud! No one’s going to look at the hems of our skirts,” says Ophelia, distressed.
“Yes, or let us help, at least,” adds Sonja, reaching down to give me a hand.
I swat it away. “Don’t ruin those dresses I made,” I tell them, heaving the next plank. “You both must look perfect. That’s my job. You do yours, and I’ll do mine.”
They figure it’s worthless to argue. Instead, they take care to lift their skirts a little higher, so that my hard work is worth it. When we arrive at the town hall, I’m soaked to the bone, my back aches, and I have splinters all over my hands. We make it just in time.
I follow as they walk past the armed guards flanking the entrance. My breath comes quicker, my chest tight with anticipation, with the weight of what this moment means for our family.
“I’ll watch from the back of the hall,” I say. A little thing like not receiving an invitation isn’t going to keep me from this important moment in my sisters’ lives. “Here, hand me your rain cloaks and umbrellas,” I say, leaving the planks outside. I’m as wet as a drowned rat, and my boots are caked in mud, but my girls look as if they floated in on the wind, their dresses pristine and smiles beaming as radiant as the sun.
“You must be the Bellamore twins,” greets a man in royal livery with a slight bow. “Please, follow me.”
I put my sisters’ things away in the cloak closet. Then I kick the mud off my boots as well as I can before slipping into the large room.
I hesitate at the back of the crowd. The marquis will surely be here, and my stomach churns with dread. This is his worst nightmare—a Bellamore twin winning the prince’s heart over one of his own flesh and blood.
But the town hall is bustling with so many people, it’s easy to disappear into the crowd. In addition to the more prominent citizens of Evandale, including most of the Chamber of Commerce clustered around the marquis, there are courtiers from the Loegrian capital in attendance. The air buzzes with speculation as everyone waits for the prince to arrive.
I look up at the podium, scanning the faces of the dignitaries, but I don’t see him anywhere. He’s probably planned some grand entrance, in typical royal fashion. My teeth clack and shoulders shiver as the chill of the rain seeps into my boots. I stick to the shadows at the back of the room, embarrassed I’m in such a state compared to everyone else in their lush—and dry—velvets and furs.
At last, the ceremony begins. Lord Jared, the prince’s companion, moves into the center of the raised platform at the front of the room, smiling at everyone. I can see why Ophelia is attracted to him. He radiates confidence, smooth and suave. I spot Sonja and Ophelia seated in cushioned chairs on the right side of the room, in front of the stage. There are only the two of them, I notice, and none of the other young ladies who threw their hats into the marry-the-prince ring, which bodes well. The twins lean their heads toward each other.
Hardly better than gossiping schoolgirls.
I stifle a smile. Some things never change.
“Welcome, everyone,” Lord Jared begins. “Thank you for joining us on a very special day…” He gestures to the storm outside, and it gets a laugh. I’ve heard most of Loegria doesn’t share the Alarician sentiment about rain, how it brings good luck to people who rely on it. “When we arrived in Evandale to find Prince Dietan a wife, I was skeptical at first. After all, Evandale is far from our court in Lundenwic. But I have come to see the beauty in this land.”
There is an appreciative murmur.
“We of Loegria are fortunate to share borders and trade with the kingdom of Alarice, and it is with great pleasure that the prince has gathered you all today to witness this most auspicious announcement.”
So, a bride has indeed been chosen.
I steel myself to hear the news while the crowd buzzes with anticipation. Who will it be? Perhaps it’s Sonja, since Lord Jared has been so obviously enamored of Ophelia, and Dietan seems to value his friend enough to stand aside for Jared. Yes, the prince has definitely picked Sonja, who is leaning forward, her lips parted.
Oh, Sonja.I’m happy for her. She’ll make a fine Loegrian princess. She is spry and sweet and will make Alarice proud. As promised, I’ll dance at her wedding with a happy heart—even as the same ungovernable heart begins to sink into my stomach.
I turn my attention back to Lord Jared, who is scanning the crowd. Whereisthe prince? Why isn’t he at the podium? Perhaps Lord Jared will announce the engagement and bring Dietan and Sonja up to the stage together?
Lord Jared suddenly looks apprehensive. He coughs. “Forgive me. I find I am a bit nervous.” He looks at his hands, then back up at the crowd, as if he is summoning the right words. “Ophelia Bellamore.” Jared extends his hand toward her. “Will you come join me, please?”
A gasp works its way through the room. Oh, it’s Ophelia after all. The prince is going to marry Ophelia. Everyone is staring at her, even Sonja, who’s helping her unsteady sister to her feet.
