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“Oh, dear,” said Cynthia. “I can start at the beginning. Pay attention. Natural philosophy began in ancient Greece, although it wasn’t until Aristotle posited the categorization of objects based on shared traits rather than—”
“Might we just… Can we simply dance? In silence?” the prince begged. “Perhaps we can play a game, wherein every time we’re together, we see how long we can maintain the silence between us.”
“I don’t like games,” said Cynthia. “And it’s much easier to perform mathematical equations aloud.”
He grimaced. “You shall certainly be a… unique… princess.”
“I don’t like royalty, either,” Cynthia said cheerfully. “Or primogeniture.”
To her surprise, the prince looked wistful rather than appalled at this.
“It’s probably heresy to admit that I feel the same,” he said with a crooked smile. “When the Cispadane Republic unveiled its tricolor flag symbolizing the unification of Italy, I was elated. Some other prince would be tapped to lead, and I could become a regular mortal.”
“Really?” Cynthia was intrigued despite herself. “A royal prince felt that way?”
“Viscerally.” His expression turned grim. “Imagine my reaction when Napoleon fell, and the Congress of Vienna restored the prior system of independent governments. Instead of one hegemony to rule them all, we were back to Habsburgs and separatists, each with their own set of thrones and heirs.”
“Run away,” she suggested. “Don’t take a bride at all.”
“I have responsibilities,” he said simply. “And I would never disappoint my father. He’s the one who announced the ridiculous contest for me to acquire the continent’s prettiest bride. I shall win it, because that is what sons and princes do. It’s what my people want.”
“Why not find a bride that you want?”
He tilted his head and regarded her with intensity. “To my surprise, I think I might have done just that.”
Oh, shite. Cynthia should have kept to bats and algebra.
Prince Azzurro wasn’t as bad as she’d first thought. Perhaps there was nothing bad about him at all. But she still did not want him.
“I like you more than anticipated, too,” she admitted. “Which is why I’m about to tell you the truth: I don’t want to marry you. I shall not marry you.”
“I’ll change your mind,” he promised. “I’ll install footholds for your bats if I must. At least they’re not furry.”
“I also have magpies,” she muttered. “Very feathery. Every sparkling gem in the castle will disappear by morning.”
The orchestra finished the set. Prince Azzurro tucked Cynthia’s hand around his elbow. “Come. I’ll return you to Lady Tremaine, so that she can hear the good news from me, first. I’m determined to make you my bride. I’ve arranged fireworks for midnight. Join me on the parquet, and we’ll do the official announcement then, arm-in-arm.”
No. None of that.
“I told you,” she said. “I won’t be your wife.”
“And I told you—”
She wrenched free from his grasp and launched herself into the crowd, losing a shoe in the process. He tried to chase her, but without his footmen, the unwed debutantes converged, allowing Cynthia safe passage whilst they swarmed around the handsome prince.
There, in the back of the ballroom, was the open garden door leading far away from royal matrimony and certain despair.
All Cynthia could think about was escape…
And Ammalia.
Chapter Eleven
Ammalia hid deep within the garden, her back against the rough bark of a wide tree. She’d slipped away the moment her brother took Cynthia’s hand. No—that wasn’t quite true. She’d sat there, in deepening horror, until Cynthia smiled her dawning-sunlight smile at Zurri and fluttered her eyelashes the way all women inevitably did when in the presence of Ammalia’s irresistibly charming brother.
Sadness had filled her, a deep hollow ache, kneading her insides until she could barely breathe. She needed more than fresh air. She needed to see anything at all—or nothing at all—so long as whatever was before her eyes, was anything but Cynthia smiling happily at Zurri.
With everyone’s attention on the radiant couple, it had been simple to slip out through the rear door undetected. Ammalia had dropped heavily and unceremoniously onto a fallen log amongst the flowers, and then when that still seemed too close, she’d stood and moved deeper among the trees and the bushes, until she could no longer see the light spilling from the open ballroom door.
