She gives me a look.
“I canmostlyget myself dressed.” I smile.
“Well, I’m here now.”
She helps me step into the diaphanous gown and pulls it up over my slender hips. While fitted snugly at the waist, it falls in beautiful layers to the ground. It always makes me feel like a princess when I wear it.
At my dressing table, Sera goes to work taming my dark locks into an appropriate evening style. Using a heated wand, she curls some face-framing pieces and smudges kohl on my lids, all while regaling me with her stories about other realms. They’re my favorite—especially the ones about the fae. When the gods walked our realm, they brought tales from other places, and those stories were passed down. By now, I doubt the tales hold even an ounce of truth, as they’ve been retold and embellished, but Sera’s stories are always so vivid, I almost feel like I’m there. Her imagination knows no bounds.
“My work here is done,” she says, stepping back to admire the look.
“You really ought to write a book or something,” I muse. “I never tire of your stories.”
She tsks, brushing a thick strand of blonde hair behind her ear, and waves me off. “I love to read, but that doesn’t qualify me to write, now, does it?”
I shrug, then drop into a curtsy, fluttering my dark, curled lashes. “I meet your approval then?”
She opens her mouth to reply, but her eyes catch on the clock and she blurts out, “You better hurry. Time to go!”
Right as I make it to the bottom of the stairs, my father walks in from the direction of his study.
“Just in time. Barely.” He gives me a once-over and nods his approval before walking to the front door, which our butler swings wide, and Father motions for me to join him.
I follow him to the front courtyard, where my siblings are already lined up. Chessa gives me a dirty look and turns her head away while I take my place next to her.
Erika reaches behind Chess and pokes me in the side. “Cutting it close, aren’t you? I can’t fathom why Father puts up with you, honestly. Your head is always up in the clouds, doing unladylike training or buried in some new piece of needlework.”
“Your jealousy is showing, Erika,” I retort under my breath.
“As if,” she huffs.
I can’t stop the eye roll, even though she’s not looking. My occasional evening training sessions with Father are some of the only times I spend outdoors, unless it’s extremely overcast. With colder weather approaching, those days will be even farther apart. Perhaps I can convince Father to work with me on my sword skills later this evening.
“You’re just mad that Father lets me get away with more than you.”
“That’s just because he’s given up on you,” Erika whispers harshly. “It’s like Chessa said, you’re an old maid.”
“Low blow, sister,” I say with mock sadness, trying to ignore the bite of her words.
The clopping of horses’ hooves draws my attention to the front gate, and I look up. Father turns to face us, giving us one final appraisal.
“Do not embarrass me,” he reiterates, his gaze fixed on Chessa, and I snicker softly.
A breeze whips by, and I shiver. The evenings are getting chillier, and this gown is not meant to be worn outside without a cloak. The sun has just set, the sky a pretty purple as the final rays of sunlight dip below the horizon of the rolling hills that surround us. Glancing toward Father’s vineyards, I can’t help but notice they’re not as abundant as in previous years. The vines look almost sickly, and the scent of ripening grapes is missing. He hasn’t said anything, so perhaps I worry for nothing. Taking a deep breath, I soak in the only amount of sunlight I can tolerate, sad that the dark is so quickly approaching.
A white-and-gold carriage comes up the long drive, and I glance over at my siblings. Even they look impressed. It pulls up in front of us, and a coachman jumps off the back to open the door.
An elegant lady descends, gripping the hand of her coachman, her blonde hair piled high on her head in the latest style. The gravel crunches beneath her jeweled cane topped with a ruby the size of an egg, and her travel clothes are over the top with so many ruffles, she almost looks like a layered cake.
Cake. Ugh. My stomach grumbles. Missing lunch has me starving, but we won’t be eating any time soon if Father wants to give her a tour of the manor first.
“My darling Olivia,” Father says, walking over to kiss her gloved hand. “I hope your travel wasn’t too taxing.”
Our soon-to-be stepmother looks up at the manor, raising a brow. “Your home is so quaint, Cary darling. I had no idea.”
Lovely. She’s going to bethatway. I bite down on my tongue to keep from saying something offensive to this snobby woman.
Father ignores her statement and turns around, sweeping an arm in our direction. “Children, let me introduce you to my soon-to-be wife, Lady Olivia Carlisle.”
