Her father smiled, moving in front of her to answer on her behalf. “Yes, we’re very pleased.”
Duchess Prescott looked at her in concern, and her mother swooped in before she could open her mouth. “Yes, we are thrilled to have Lizzy engaged! This all happened so suddenly too! Isn’t that right, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth had nothing nice to say, so instead she said, “Mother, I wish to be excused.”
Her mother smiled warmly as another couple approached, swiftly becoming engaged in another bout of congratulations. Taking her leave, Elizabeth ducked her head, and fled to the gardens.
How could her parents marry her off without even consulting her? And tohimno less! She wrinkled her nose in disgust.
The gardens looked unusually somber tonight, mirroring her mood. Twilight had settled over the grounds, dulling the usually bright, cheerful colours of the gardens into shadowed hues. Lanterns hung around the walkways of the garden, illuminating everything with soft light. The fresh air was cool on her face, and she breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of roses, feeling relieved to have escaped the party.
She found a secluded bench in the gardens and sat down heavily, between the rose and vine-covered trellises. A trimmed hedge obscured her hideout from the main pathway, making her almost invisible to passersby.
Her noble birth and her family name had condemned her. Older bachelors were still sought after, while older maids were the shame of any wealthy family. The double standard had never made her angrier than in this very moment. She clenched her hands in her lap, white-knuckled.
Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly cold. Goosebumps rippled across her arms.
There was a faint rustling in the bushes. She hoped it was Charlotte, coming to see where she had gone.
It wasn't.
It was the man cloaked in black.
Elizabeth blinked in surprise.
He swept a flowering vine to the side and entered her sanctuary.
The moonlight highlighted his olive skin and glinted off his dark hair—he must hail from somewhere else in Asteria, Rhodean men had lighter features. He had broad shoulders like the queen’s guards and a dark beard that covered most of his jaw. His large and slightly curved nose was a touch too large for traditional good looks, but it fit his face well.
His gaze was directed above her right shoulder, as if he didn’t want to meet her eyes. “Hello, Lady Elizabeth. I’ve been looking for you.”
Her eyes widened. “Whatever for? Do I know you?”
He sat down next to her with a frown, crossed his arms over his chest, and fixed his attention on the wall ahead. “I hear you’re having a bad day.”
She considered trying to explain an ounce of what she was feeling to this stranger, and against her will, she felt her eyes start to burn. She blinked the tears away, refusing to let them fall.
“Ah, it’s not that bad,” he said, handing her his handkerchief.
Accepting the handkerchief, she dabbed at her eyes. Elizabeth sniffled and felt rather pathetic. She hated appearing weak. Clearing her throat, she straightened, primly folded his handkerchief, and tried to hand it back to him.
“You can keep it,” he said, still looking resolutely ahead.
Elizabeth stiffened and insisted, offering it back once more. She would not keep this stranger's handkerchief. The man didn’t move a muscle or even have the decency to look at her.
“It could always be worse, you know,” the man said, amusement clear in his voice.
“Look at me,” she ordered. “Look at me and tell me exactly how it can be worse.”
His eyes lifted to hers, and true fear rose in her chest.
His eyes flickered like silver fire. They were the absence of colour entirely. The grays and whites danced like a circle of barely contained flame. No human had eyes like that.
She felt their pull and instantly felt like she was drowning. And to her horror, she couldn’t move an inch.
It dawned on Elizabeth how exposed she was in her low-cut gown and was without a chaperone. He leaned ever closer to her, and every instinct screamed at her to run.
Her fingers curled at her sides, digging into her palms, and the sharp pain gave her enough awareness to wrench herself from his gaze and jolt herself to her feet.
