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The windows are opened just a crack, enough for a breeze to hit my clammy face. “Excuse me,” I say, scooting back my chair and standing slowly. “I’m feeling a little tired. I think I’ll go lie down for a bit. Rest up for tonight.” I smile at my mother and our guests.
Lady Davenport’s daughters look like eccentric porcelain dolls in their bold colored gowns— sitting across from me, hardly moving, talking, or doing much of anything the entire lunch. They barely twitch in response to me getting up to leave.
I want to ask if they’re part of the traveling festivals, but stop myself. Come see the human dolls! Complete with unflinching precision, unblinking tenacity, and a spirit of halting dullness.
A princess is always polite.My aunt’s words ring through me. If ever there was a time I wish I could speak my mind it’s now, just to see the look of confusion on their faces when I ask.
“Oh dear, are you feeling alright?” My mother stands and puts her cold hand against my forehead. My own fingers lace through hers, pulling her hand from my face. I cradle that hand between mine, only allowing a brief moment of concern to reach my eyes.
I catch her gaze with my own, which is fairly easy now that we are almost the same height. “I’m ok, Mother. Truly.” I look straight in her eyes and their emptiness, void of everything but a single spark as she stares back. “I’m just going to take a nap, and maybe a quick walk around the gardens before tonight. I promise I will be there right on time for you and Father.”
Her eyes glaze over at the mention of tonight. The fact that my mother can’t openly grieve in her own home is infuriating. Who cares if there are people around we barely know. I might even be excited to be queen, in a small way, if I didn’t feel like everything was one big secret hiding behind fake smiles.
Mother finally snaps back to our present company. “Yes, yes. Well. Go rest, my little dove.”
I turn to leave, giving a brief curtsy to the frozen puppets, and a peck on the cheek to my aunt.
“See you tonight, sweet girl,” Lady Margaret whispers to me.
“Maybe you could wear the green dress tonight. You know how much Roan loves green,” my mother calls to me as I make my exit. My lips purse at the comment. Thankfully, my back is to the room and no one can see.
It’s not that I don’t like Roan. In fact, he might be the only person not walking around in a shell of skin and bone, at least since he’s become Captain.
I know today will be hard for him. It will be hard for all of us. But the thought of dressing in order to please or be desired by him— it’s strange. Actually, it’s completely bizarre. He was like another brother to me when we were children. And after my own died, he became even more so. I don’t know why my parents betrothed us, other than their weak attempt at keeping my brother’s memory alive.
Before Roan, I had been betrothed to Lady Davenport’s son, the lively yet severe woman that was just sitting across from me. I’m surprised she has kept such great relations with my parents after what I assume was a great slight to her family. It must have taken great lengths to break that promise with the Davenport’s. And my parents motives, as far as I know, were only born from grief.
Everyone says Roan and I will grow to love one another in time, but I already love him. I love him like you do your favorite blanket, or a treasured spot in the garden. The excitement to see him is my excitement for normalcy, for a real conversation, for someone who won’t look at me like I’m made of glass. But love? I suppose I’ve never really been in love in a romantic way, so I don’t know what that would feel like. Perhaps Ilovelove him, and I don’t even realize. Or maybe I’ll be doomed to see him as a second brother for the rest of my life.
There are worse things, I suppose. At least we will like each other. At least we enjoy each other’s company. Probably more so than I ever would have the Davenport’s son. And who knows— maybe everyone is right, and there will come a time where we romantically care for one another.
I make my way down the white columned corridor of the throne room and out to the connected hallways, pausing when I exit through the doors. If I turn left, I will end up at the ballrooms, both upper and lower. They are beautiful and over-the-top extravagant.
The Isolde Ballroom, named after my great-grandmother Queen Isolde, is my favorite. It’s on the second floor and always has fresh flowers adorning each table, even when there’s no imminent party. The smell of roses, lilies, peonies, and hydrangea connect me to this woman I never had the privilege of meeting. My aunt has told me stories of her goodness— of how kind and funny she was, always smelling of mint and whatever flower was in bloom. I long to have known such a woman, to be part of the legacy of the great women in our family.
“Princess Adalena,” a low voice says behind me. One of the four guards stationed outside the throne room takes a step forward, bowing at the hip as I turn to face him. “Is everything ok?”
His long dark hair is pulled back, tied low behind his neck, his equally dark eyes meeting my own. He’s actually quite handsome, his knit brows and pursed lips accentuating his perfect jawline and strong face.
“Yes, yes. I’m fine. Just thinking,” I say, trying not to sound too breathy in response to his smoldering concern. I do my best at a kind smile and wave a flimsy hand through the air to dismiss my odd behavior.
“Would you like me to escort you somewhere? I would feel better knowing you’ve arrived safely,” the guard says.
Rarely has a guard in the palace spoken to me, let alone offered to escort me when he has no assignment to do so. And such a handsome one to boot. I’m taken back by the thoughtful suggestion, internally at war with this outspoken guard in front of me and the usual stoic behavior of these men, who so clearly aren’t just statued soldiers, only coming to life when called upon. And because it feels strange for him to have proposed he leave his commissioned post to walk me. If I had asked, they would be required to be my convoy until I said otherwise, the only orders trumping my own being those of my mother, father, and aunt Margaret.
You’re being weird to the handsome guard, Lena.
“I appreciate it, sir…” I pause, waiting for him to fill in the sentence with his name.
“Aldren. Parker Aldren.” He gives me another bow.
“Well, thank you, Parker Aldren. I feel optimistic that I’ll make it to my destination in one piece.”
“Of course, Princess.” Another bow from the dapper guard. How tiring it must be, bowing three hundred times to the same person each day.
I turn the corner, away from the Palace Guards, only to bump straight into Roan.
“Princess,” he says, bowing slightly.
