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CHAPTER ONE
March, 1858
In the capital city of St. Edys
Wesloria
THEYSAIDTHATPrincess Amelia fell in love with a footman.
“Anotherone?” her sister asked with dismay.
Amelia hadn’t actually fallen inlovewith him, but even if she had, she could hardly be blamed, given how bitterly cold and long the Weslorian winter had been. What was she to do, stuck inside Rohalan Palace with nothing to do on days that saw only a few hours of sun? While winds had howled and rain had poured, Amelia had passed days in front of large blazing hearths, as it was too cold to venture very far from them. And on those days, when she couldn’t read another word, or eat another bite, or engage in another dreadfully dull conversation, she looked for games to play. But who was there to join her but a lady-in-waiting and a footman or two?
Anyway, did it really matter now? The last footman had been sent off to Astasia Castle, and spring was upon them, and everything was glittery and green and filled with bright sunshine.
But her sister, Justine, the Queen of Wesloria, said, “I can’t look at you right now,” and had turned her head. “Kissingfootmen,” she repeated, as if mystified by it, as if she and Amelia hadn’t spent a good portion of their teenaged years fantasizing about that very thing.
When her lady-in-waiting, Lordonna, whispered to her that the footman had confessed to the head butler, who had in turn confessed to the prince consort, Amelia had expected there to be somehow-could-yousandyou-shouldn’t-havesandpromise-me-Ameliasand was fully prepared to promise. She clung to the hope that when she had apologized enough and swore it would not,couldnot happen again, that they would all move on to something far more diverting: the upcoming social season. There would be balls and galas and Amelia was so ready,soready for something new and different, something other than dark, cold rooms. She needed light and outdoors and the warmth of the sun. She needed laughter and gaiety. She needed attention, she needed life. She was withering away without it.
She’d carried her great anticipation into her sister’s privy chamber...but her hope had been immediately dashed when she saw who all was gathered.
Justine was seated with her hands gripped tightly in her lap. That was a sure sign of her sister’s nerves—which, in fairness, had vastly improved since she’d assumed the throne, but which, in fairness, could still bedevil her. Amelia had never suffered from nerves, thank the saints—boredom was her cross to bear. She was too restless, too full of a compelling need to seek adventure. Everyone talked about Justine’s nerves and how crowds distressed her. But no one ever spoke about how distressing it could feel to Amelia when there was very little to do.
Behind her sister stood her very handsome husband, the prince consort, betrayer of sisters-in-law, William Douglas of Scotland. He winced sympathetically when he looked at her, which Amelia did not take to be the best of signs.
“Amelia, darling. What have youdone?”
That nettled tone belonged to none other than her mother, the Dowager Queen Agnes. She was seated at an easel beside a young man who wore a painter’s smock. Her mother was not painting, but she was gesturing at the canvas and speaking quietly to the gentleman about what needed to be added to the scene. It was a peculiar talent of the dowager queen, to paint by proxy. If one did not have a talent for art, did one merely commandeer the talent from someone else? Amelia would say no, but no one listened to her.
Her mother was glaring at her. Another ill portent.
The other person in the room was Dante Robuchard, the prime minister. He was standing at the window, pretending to gaze out at the grounds surrounding Rohalan Palace. He’d barely hung on to his political office after a called vote last autumn. Since then, he’d been ever present around Justine, almost as if he believed if he so much as stepped out of the room, someone might quickly call another vote. If Amelia knew how to do those sorts of things, she would.
Taken as a whole, these four individuals were enough to cause Amelia to wish for a tonic. And yet it was the fifth person in the room that made her feel seasick. That person stood before the hearth, hands held over the fire for warmth. And when she turned, she beamed a smile at Amelia and warbled, “Your Royal Highness! How good it is to see you well after all this time!” She sank into a very deep but crooked curtsy.
“No,” Amelia whispered.
Lady Lila Aleksander. Thematchmaker. The same woman who had been employed to make a match for Justine three years ago and then had proceeded to oversee a disaster of epic proportions. Not that Amelia had a single complaint about William—well, other than he could be trusted to tell Justineeverything—but she had taken issue with several of the candidates presented to Justine before she’d realized that her true love had been standing before her the entire time in William. But none of the others had been suitable for a future queen.
“How long has it been?” Lady Aleksander asked with great cheer.
“It’s been three years since Justine was coronated,” Amelia’s mother said.
“And it’s been one and a half years since Amelia had the affair with the soldier,” Justine added.
“It was hardly an affair,” Amelia sniffed. But it had most definitely been an affair.
Justine ignored her. She continued, “And six months since her first flirtation with a footman, but a mere three weeks since her second!That’show long it has been.”
“All right,” Amelia said, her hands going to her waist. “I think we all get your point, Jussie.”
“I see you’ve been well occupied, Your Royal Highness,” Lady Aleksander chirped. “In all that time, were there no proper suitors for you hand?”
“Proper?” Amelia had to mull that over. What did that mean, exactly? Proper in Robuchard’s view? Or her own? “I rather liked one or two of them.”
“Unfortunately, their alliances did not suit the monarchy.” Robuchard had decided to join the fray, and his tone suggested that Amelia’s failure to secure a match was the worst thing to ever happen to Wesloria. And what did he mean, ‘did not suit the monarchy’? What tripe was that?
“Some things simply cannot be overlooked,” he added, supposedly to explain his tripe, as if the gentlemen in question had been treasonous assassins.
