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“I’d like this one to have some rose quartz in it as well,” I said to the seamstress. “In fact, I want all of the dresses to have something rose quartz.”
She frowned at me. “I don’t think that will match.”
“I want every gown and dress to have something rose quartz.” I was firm. I didn’t want there to be any confusion about what I wanted.
It was a small but significant act of rebellion, a way to infuse a bit of my own identity into the whirlwind of tradition and expectation. Rose quartz was more than just a gemstone. It was a symbol of unconditional love.
My great grandmother had introduced me to the beauty of rose quartz when I was a child. She used to leave little pieces of it in random spots around the palace for me to find, each one a reminder of the love and warmth she had always showered upon me. My great grandmother had been my favorite person in the world, a source of wisdom, comfort, and unwavering support.
“Of course,” she said with a tight smile.
“Maybe around the sleeve or even at the waist. It doesn’t have to be elaborate but I need to know it’s there. I need to be able to see it.”
“I will do what I can.”
I reached down and held the small rose quartz pendant that had once belonged to my great grandmother. I held it in my hand, feeling the smooth, cool surface against my skin. It was a connection to her, a reminder that even in the midst of all this chaos, I carried a piece of her love with me. I tried to imagine what she would tell me in this situation. She would tell me to remember my duty to my family. But she would also smile and tell me it was going to be okay.
After the fitting, I was ushered to the waiting limo and taken to my next appointment. It was the one I was dreading the most.
I was off to the salon to undergo hair removal. I drank wine on the ride over. It felt like something I needed to be drunk for. I wondered if they gave pain killers before they ripped my hair out. Was I really expected to endure the process stone-cold sober?
As I walked into the salon, the familiar scent of floral perfume and burning wax filled my nostrils. I was greeted by a smiling aesthetician who led me to a private room and instructed me to undress and lie face down on the table. The anticipation of the pain was almost worse than the pain itself.
As she began to spread the hot wax on my skin, I clenched my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut. The stinging sensation was unbearable, but I didn’t want to show any weakness. I was a princess, after all, and princesses didn’t cry over something as trivial as hair removal.
I wasn’t sure why I needed to go through all this trouble to catch a man. He had to marry me. It was already arranged. If he wanted me to be a hairless human, I expected him to do the same. In fact, I might just have my father put that in the contract.
After the brutal hour at the salon, it was off to lunch. My day was packed. Every minute scheduled. It was not what I was used to. I was more accustomed to having my day to myself. I was getting a chance to walk in Nora’s shoes and I didn’t really like it. I was beginning to understand why she ran away.
Lunch with my family was an exercise in enduring the relentless talk of Wed season. As I sat at the table, my father cleared his throat, a signal that he had something to share.
“Emilie,” he began with his tone very serious. “I wanted to inform you that the Ashford family has agreed to the match once again, but this time, with you.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the news. It was a reflexive response, a way to shield myself from the overwhelming weight of tradition and expectation. But I remained silent, not deeming it necessary to respond.
My father, however, was undeterred by my lack of enthusiasm. He launched into a detailed monologue about the Ashford family, their history, their assets, and their standing in the Golden Society. He spoke about the importance of this match for our family’s reputation and the stability of our kingdom.
While I pretended not to care about what he was saying, I couldn’t help but listen closely. It was a skill I had honed over the years, a way to navigate the intricacies of royal life while preserving my own sense of self.
The truth was, I knew how important the marriage was. I was living in a palace that was hundreds of years old and in desperate need of updating. But the idea of being married off like a pawn in a political game, even if it was for the sake of tradition, was a bitter pill to swallow.
As my father continued to extol the virtues of the Ashford family and the significance of this match, my mind wandered. I thought about the life I had envisioned for myself, one where I could pursue my passions, my education, and chart my own path.
But Wed season had a way of disrupting even the best-laid plans, and now I was faced with a future that had been decided for me.
In the midst of my musings, I realized that my father had finally stopped talking, and my parents were looking at me expectantly.
“Fine,” I said, shrugging.
“You should be happy they’ve agreed to accept you in place of Nora,” my father said.
“Magnus,” my mother scolded.
“I didn’t mean it like you aren’t as beautiful or special. I just meant—”
“I get it,” I stopped him. “I’m the second born. Nora has always been the one they’ve all wanted.”
“That’s not true,” he said.
