“As to the first, I have not heard of his family name, and he is not in our circle. He is not one ofus,” Her mother scoffed. “Some of the lesser nobility were in attendance that night, as you well know. As to the second, you are an Ashcroft. And with that title comes certain responsibilities, both to your ancestors before you and to your children after you! As I said, you are betrothed and can’t be seen speaking to single men. It is unseemly.”
Elizabeth sighed heavily. “And what if I don’t accept the arrangement?”
“You are anAshcroft,” her mother repeated, punctuating their family name. “You must marry well. It would disgrace our family, and we would fall out of favour if you were to break your engagement.”
She grimaced. “I don't even know Duke Howard well,” Elizabeth said weakly, desperately trying another angle. “He is just as much a stranger to me as that man.”
“That is easily remedied! He is coming for dinner tomorrow night. You’ll have plenty of time to get better acquainted.” Her mother’s eyes were earnest.
Elizabeth tried not to let horror colour her features.
***
Seated at the table, Elizabeth smoothed the large peach dress over her knees—the baggiest and least revealing gown she could find. When it had been delivered months ago, her mother tutted and called it bag-like and unflattering. She was pleased to have found a good use for it and wore the unflattering gown like armour to try and escape the attention of Duke Howard.
Her mother wore a gown better suited to a ballroom than to dinner, and the great hall was set extravagantly, as if they expected the queen to show up. The silverware was polished to a shine, dinner napkins were neatly folded onto each plate, and the crystal goblets set in front of them were their very best, with gold flowers and vines that wrapped around the stems. She sniffed, the air smelled of roast hog. Her father must really want the match to succeed, if he had gone to so much trouble.
She glanced at the midnight blue tapestry on the wall, bearing a white oak tree set above three stars. The sigil of the great Ashcroft House.
The weight of nobility had never felt so heavy.
Soon, Duke Howard arrived wearing a cream tunic bearing a red archer over his breast pocket—the sigil of House Howard. Duke Howard greeted them pompously, nodding at each of them in turn, “Hello, Lord Ashcroft, Lady Ashcroft, Lady Elizabeth.” His eyes rested momentarily on hers before he took his place at the table, sitting between her and her father.
She suppressed a cringe at his nearness. How was she supposed to marry him if his very presence made her uncomfortable?
She smiled politely at the duke and spent the first part of the meal staring at her silverware.
The servants brought out an entire roast hog, a platter of herb roasted potatoes and an aged bottle of Rhodea’s finest wine.
“Excellent wine this,” Duke Howard said, pouring himself a generous measure and saluting her father with his goblet.
Her father nodded, looking pleased, and engaged Duke Howard in a conversation about business matters while she and her mother sat in silence beside them. Nothing but beautiful dolls for their husbands to admire. She was repulsed that this was to be her life, ignored, saying nothing while men spoke at the table.
Feeling depressed, Elizabeth swirled her goblet of wine, then took a sip. She admired the gold vines and flowers that decorated her goblet’s stem, so lifelike that she felt like touching them might crush the petals.
After a while, the conversation turned to the queen’s strained relationship with Faina.
“Did you ever find out about that nasty business at the ball?” her father asked.
Duke Howard patted his mouth with his napkin before replying. “Yes and no.”
Elizabeth kept her posture relaxed, but she listened closely. Across the table, her mother did the same.
“No one has claimed credit for the attack,” Duke Howard said, “but we can all guess who was behind it.”
“I figured as much,” said her father. “Faina is upset, surely, but their king was a fool to shelter so many witches. They harboured them in the hundreds. Faina can’t be surprised that Queen Rowena’s goodwill finally ran out, and she marched in to defend the treaty on magic. They signed it themselves a decade ago.”
“You’ll be interested to hear that the queen’s council has received word there have been messages left on Faina’s walls. In the labour camps and major cities.”
“Oh?” her father asked, leaning forward in his seat.
Duke Howard nodded. “Always the same message: ‘Prince Thalias will return and save us all.’”
Elizabeth whipped her head around to look at the duke. Prince Thalias was dead. As was his elder brother. Both princes had died in the war last summer.
Rhodea had invaded Faina for breaking the treaty, and the Fainans—a peaceful farming people—had fallen swiftly to Rhodean blades. The Fainan king and queen had been forced to surrender and swear allegiance to the Rhodean crown to stop the fighting.
In the aftermath, Queen Rowena had proclaimed that the gods had spoken, and their victory was a sign that trusting witches only led to wrath and ruin. The queen had offered her condolences for the loss of their two sons, and in a gesture of good faith, allowed the Fainan royals to keep their crowns and their palace. Now, Faina was more or less free, so long as the kingdom paid Rhodean taxes.
