Stella
“I’ll come with you, but I have some conditions,” Bolin said.
“Which are?” Eric asked.
Bolin faced me and held out his palm. “The first one: get on my horse. You’re limping.”
I didn’t argue and let him help me mount the dusty mare. Her tail flicked side to side, but she stood still while I threw a shaky leg over the saddle. Warmth from Bolin’s seat lingered.
The relief of no longer standing made me almost cry.
Eric removed my shoes, taking most of my discomfort with the cursed things.
“Thank you,” I sighed.
Bolin eyed the blood staining my socks.
“Broken blisters,” I explained. They still stung, and my heels ached, but the pain was reduced so much.
It’s easy to take walking for granted until something makes it hurt.
He frowned, but refrained from scolding me, though I could tell he was biting his tongue.
“And your other condition?” Eric asked.
“When we get there, you follow everything I suggest without question.”
“What if…” I began.
He shushed me. “I’ll explain why we should do things once we’re in a nonpublic place. But after we enter Damai, you must obey at once.”
I gnawed on my lower lip, then nodded my head in acceptance.
Eric scowled.
“Say you’ll do it so we can find supper. Besides, keeping your feet, fingers, tongue, or other various body parts for listening to him sounds like a win to me.”
Eric’s forehead creased, and I feared he might use the time blip magic again.
“Don’t,” I plead, hoping he grasped my full meaning. “We need them.”
His nostrils flared, but his shoulders slumped as he accepted he’d lost this argument. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”
If he reset the hour, I’d throw a bloody shoe at him.
But he didn’t.
Patrick smiled at me while the other two walked ahead.
Deidre
Prince Lorenzo returned a week after Fernando suggested we rearrange my betrothal to his brother instead of me. I refused to speak with him. While I considered sending another letter to my father, I wanted to fix this on my own.
I stayed in my rooms, taking my meals there and refusing to see the royal family. My handmaidens, Paisley, Anya, and Sloan, read books from home, paced our interconnected chambers, and discussed what I should do.
I was beyond frustrated. Despite my attraction to the younger prince, I was meant to become queen. My father wouldn’t accept less.
A guard knocked, interrupting my tangled thoughts. “The king requests your presence in the royal study.”
I huffed. “Tell him I’m not coming.”
There was a brief silence, followed by, “he demands it.”
I rolled my eyes and glanced at my friends. Anya stood to go with me. Sloane crossed her arms.
“You’re the future queen. Remember that.”
I nodded even as panic laced my veins. “For my people,” I murmured, finding strength in my duty to keep an essential alliance.
Moments later, we perched on a small settee in the same room where King Sartorius lost his composure with me. This time, Fernando sat behind the desk, a large document in his hands. Prince Lorenzo was seated in an ornate chair to my right. I concentrated on repressing the tremors running through my limbs. At least it wasn’t so dark. The open curtains let sunlight stream inside.
I noticed that the rugs on the floor were a plum hue instead of black, like I thought last time. The guard that brought us took a position next to the wall.
Fernando began, “Is it true that you are fond of my intended wife?”
I blinked rapidly. This wasn’t what I expected.
“Only as a future brother-in-law should,” Lorenzo replied. “What is this about?”
The king waved the parchment before putting it down with an impish grin. “I’m breaking my engagement.”
My handmaiden sat deathly still beside me. I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. His expression didn’t match his words, and it made every muscle tense.
Lorenzo glanced at me with wide eyes, then focused on his older sibling. “Why? I don’t understand. You brought her all the way from the Northern Clans just to break the alliance between her people and ours? Are you mad?”
Fernando interlaced his fingers over the papers on his desk and leaned forward. “She’s fifteen.”
“I’m eighteen!” I shouted.
Anya plastered her palm over her mouth. I wished she’d say something, do anything to support me instead of sitting there like a decorative pillow.
A guard stepped out of the dim corner beside the window, where the heavy curtains blocked the light. I recognized him. Rocco. He was by Fernando’s side most of the time.
He stared at Anya as he strode to the desk. “Princess Daiyu is fifteen, and has not yet reached womanhood.”
I grabbed my handmaiden’s forearm and clung on to her for dear life. They couldn’t know that, even if he suspected. I never admitted it to anyone. Only those who changed our bedsheets would know.
“This gives me a solid reason to annul the betrothal,” Fernando declared.
“Lies!” My accusation came out as a whimper.
Why was he doing this? He promised me he’d protect me! Yet here he was, humiliating me in the presence of my handmaiden and his brother.
Prince Lorenzo stood, his face pinched with anger. He took a deep breath and smoothed over his expression. “May we speak in private? She doesn’t deserve this.”
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