Page 3 of Falling for His Cousin’s Betrothed

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Laila wasn’t surprised that her father’s death was imminent, but it was upsetting, nevertheless. She recalled how he’d, in months past, gone on more than one expedition to find her after one of her childish escape missions. How she’d rebelled against his wishes, she thought to herself with a twinge of regret as she held his hand quietly at his bedside. Her stepmother was in the room but Laila ignored her.

“I think he needs his rest. Don’t you?” asked her stepmother as she knelt forward, her long, sweeping plaid scarf brushing Laila’s cheek.

“I think he’s had far enough rest. The man is simply dying. Can’t you tell?” she asked, snippy.

“It would behoove you to say your goodbyes now, Laila. Leave me to honor him in private,” she added with a sneer.

Laila shook her head then let go of her father’s hand. She stood up, took a deep breath, then walked to the large oak door that led to the hall. As soon as she entered the somber light of the castle doorway, her father drew his last breath.

It was only a matter of days before her stepmother, aptly named Lyall after the canine wolf, herself, declared that all funeral arrangements would be taken up at the High Castle. Laila, not wanting to argue with Lyall, acquiesced. What did it matter now? His name was good, no matter the details of the burial, and she knew that to spar with Lyall would only spell trouble. She tucked her chin into her neck after the news and walked, stoically, to her chambers. How peculiar, she thought, tearfully, that the game of hide-and-seek from yesteryear was no longer part of her repertoire. She was now, instead, a fatherless child, too old for the innocence that had previously marked her days.

* * *

“Where did it all go wrong?” asked Laila to herself as she dressed for the funeral. Her mother had been so kind, generous, and thoughtful. When she left her father, life as she knew it was forever altered. Lyall wasn’t nearly half the woman that Laila’s mother was. In fact, Lyall was almost too much to handle with her highfalutin ways and her condescending attitude. It came as little surprise, then, to hear her declare, only three days after the funeral, that she was going to marry someone else.

“Marriage?” asked Laila. Her face spoke a thousand words. How could this bitter, cold woman even think of marriage? After all, Laila’s father had only passed away days prior. Before Lyall could add any details to her announcement, Laila pushed herself away from the table and fled, tearfully, from the room for her chambers.

“What a dishonor!” she cried into her pillow. Her father had been such an upright and respected man; it simply didn’t make sense to her that Lyall would wish to degrade his honor, his lineage, by swiftly taking it upon herself to find a new husband. Yet what can I do about any of it? thought Laila. There was nobody to stand in Lyall’s way, and it would be far too exhausting to take it upon herself to even think of doing so. She lay down on her bed and closed her eyes, wishing that it was all just a terrible, intrusive dream. Then she rolled over onto her side, wrapped her arms in a linen throw, and drifted off to a fitful yet needed sleep.