“You’re twenty-three,” Blossom argues. “More than old enough to leave this palace and start a life of your own.”
My brows shoot up.
“With a prince,” she adds curtly.
I want to scream. “You know you’re already the new heir, Blossom. You don’t need to ship us off with foreign princes to win Father’s favour.”
“How dare you?” Hurt nips at her tone. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, the pressure that’s on me now. I never wanted to take over Amaryllis’s responsibilities, but I’mtrying my best to make it work. And I would hope you could understand that?—”
“Oh I understand perfectly well.” I snap. “You want to please Father, and you thought you could use this party to marry a few of us off.”
“You’re not listening!”
“That’s what the gold dresses are for, right?” I jab my finger at her ugly gown. “You need us all in gold so the princes know who’s up for grabs.”
Blossom’s voice lowers. “You can hardly complain about the gowns when you have wrapped yourself up quite nicely for the princes yourself. Here I am trying to keep this event dignified by putting you all in appropriate gowns, when you turn up looking like you’ve just wandered out of a whorehouse.”
Unease prickles over me as I suddenly remember we’re in the middle of a ballroom. A small crowd of visiting suitors has formed around us. They pass looks and hushed whispers between them.
I’d probably feel small if I wasn’t so furious.
“Dahlia, I’m sorry. That was too far. I shouldn’t have?—”
“Oh no, you absolutely should have.” I force a smile and brush the silky skirt of my dress. “You’re right, and I’msosorry for ruining your dignified event. Please don’t let me disturb your night anymore.”
“Dahlia…”
“Happy birthday, Blossom.” I spin away, blowing her a kiss over my shoulder. The crowd surrounding us clears, but I’m not done yet.
Not even close.
Shoving past a troll-like lord who’s eyeing up Camellia, I march towards the buffet tables laden with cakes and biscuits. I’m not in the mood for chocolate anymore, but the crowds are thinner here, so it’s easier to see what I’m working with.
Downing another glass of wine, I stand on my toes to search the crowds. If Blossom wants me to talk to a prince, I’ll give her what she wants and more. But I bet she won’t like my idea of talking. And maybe Father will hate it so much he’ll never bring another prince into the palace again.
I pause. The thought echoes in my mind.
He’ll never bring another prince into the palace again.
Maybe I don’t need to run away. Maybe all I need to do is something so drastic that Father won’t let me do anything other than hide out in my stables and ride my horses all day.
Sounds tempting… and I’m already wearing the perfect gown.
A few moments pass before my gaze catches on a tall man lingering near the back of the ballroom. His hair is a custard-blond tone and he’s dressed as all stuck-up princes are, in a regal shirt and breeches. But there’s a very un-princely, intense look in his brow, and his eyes are darker than liquorice.
Maybe I am in the mood for sweets, after all.
Grinning, I set off towards him.
3
TAUREN
I’ve never liked parties. Too loud. Too bright. Too many humans.
This one’s especially sickening, with its glittering chandeliers, oversized bow decorations, and jaunty music that’s loud enough to make my ears ring. Apparently, it’s a birthday party for one of King Sol’s precious twelve. Though it feels more like a meat market, with each daughter currently being pursued by at least three powerful men from various kingdoms.
Sol sent out invitations weeks ago:‘Come and meet the illusive twelve dancing princesses and buy one if you’re rich enough.’While he may not have been that explicit in the invitation, you’d be a fool not to read between the lines. Anyone with a crown knows that Sol has a gambling problem, and new palaces don’t come cheap.
