Page 17 of Crowned In Sin

Chapter 7

Cora

Alice and Blanche have never been more energized. They call several of the other maidens of the castle to form a team to assess all my available gowns, then they inform the palace seamstress that none of them will do. I must have at least three new gowns, and I must have them right away. The princes could begin arriving tomorrow.

All the while, I smile as I should. They read my nervousness as a fear of rejection. But my God, I don’t know what awaits me and I’m terrified of it all.

I only wish to be on my own now. And what…what will the man in the shadows think?

“When do they arrive again?” The question pulls me from my thoughts.

“The guard who brought me the news said they would be arriving within the week,” I answer from my place on a low pedestal in the seamstress’s studio. I’m still wearing a gown that was made just this spring. I think it suits me perfectly well, and I see no need to keep the seamstress up all night because a prince might arrive in the morning. “Surely, it isn’t so urgent?”

“Tomorrow would be within the week,” Blanche says with a sternness, her eyes wide and serious. “We must be prepared, Princess.”

“I see nothing wrong with this gown.”

Alice, Blanche, and the palace seamstress all gather at the pedestal to peer at me in the mirror. I have seen enough of myself in this gown and five others, so I examine their expressions. They’re all looking at me more critically than they did when we were preparing for the ball, and this time it feels personal, as if they are judging me instead of the gown.

I hate it all. I will choose no one. I’ve decided in this very moment. I shall be a queen of her own making.

As if hearing my thoughts, they all shake their heads in disapproval at the same time, and Alice takes my hand to help me down from the pedestal so that they can try new fabrics. My stomach sinks and I ring my fingers.

“I do not want anyone losing sleep over this,” I order, loud enough that none of them can claim not to have heard me. “It is only a prince,” I insist. “He will like me just as well in this gown as he will in any other.”

“Yes, Princess,” Alice says, but I sense that she is planning to disregard me—or at least push the limit of my instructions.

They all murmur their agreement, and that’s when I know they’re planning to ignore me. Even the palace seamstress, who always followed my mother’s instructions to the letter.

Within a minute, I’m back on the pedestal again. A quiet fury taking hold. But I do as I’m requested, for the sake of the crown and my father’s wishes.

Alice and Blanche—and the palace seamstress, who I know stays up all night to finish a new gown that is meant to look regal but not constricting, formal without being too formal, fit for tea or a walk in the garden—turn out to be right.

The first prince arrives the next morning. I’m not even finished eating breakfast. The biscuit was halfway in my mouth when the news came. How dare the bastard already interrupt my life.

He has to wait even longer after that for Alice and Blanche—and the palace seamstress, who comes to supervise them putting the gown on, though it’s far lighter and less complicated than the one I wore to the ball—to dress me and make sure my hair is perfect and my cheeks are demurely blushed and a light scent has been sprayed near me but not directly on my skin.

Then I meet my father at the top of the grand staircase and walk down on his arm to…

A prince who turned eighteen just last week and seems to be far more terrified of me than I could ever be of him. His hands shake when he bows to me, and he rushes through his formal greeting before he pinches his lips shut. He has to be prodded by his mother to make conversation over tea.

There is nothing wrong with him. Truly! It is only that he’s…young. He seems far younger than eighteen, and though he is the eldest son in his kingdom, he has clearly not gotten used to the idea that he will one day need to marry. I get the impression that he has not even gotten used to the idea that he will be king one day.

I am nineteen. I know I should not judge him for the fact that he is not much younger than me. But those are not the hands that touched me and made me come. That is not the man who gave me so much of what I wanted. I do not even see how this young prince could become that man.

He is polite though, and we share a few laughs, but there is no banter or chemistry between us and when I point that out, he seems relieved.

It doesn’t go as my father had hoped. The prince and his mother, the queen, make excuses and do not stay the night.

* * *

More princes arrive, one after the other. Where the hell have they come from?

I don’t know why they have all chosen this moment to descend on me when there was not even a whisper of interest. It’s more irritating than anything, although I do feel…complimented in a way. There is interest in my hand and surely that is something to be proud of.

I lie in bed at night, unable to make sense of it. I should be overjoyed. I should be happier than I have ever been. Not terrified of what is to come.

But the only man I can think about is the man from the shadows. The man who came to me and did exactly what I told him to do.