AllFreeNovel
Share Us
When just one other girl is left to be announced before me, I pull the clip that holds my hair up free. My long strands fall in loose curls by my waist, and I untie the binding of my cloak. I am pulling all the cards tonight, hoping one of my attributes makes me stand out from the crowd in a good way.
The herald comes back for me and stops in his tracks. He stares wide-eyed like I am a monster who’s been let loose in the night, ready to destroy everything he loves.
He doesn't extend his hand to escort me to the ballroom as he had with the other girls. He clasps them behind his back and stutters, "Thh... this way, Miss."
"Khiara Hargrove, niece to Sutherland Hargrove of Divale Manor in the Western lands of Arcane." A new herald announces in a clear, booming voice. His eyes widen as I step forward, clearly having paid no attention to me until this moment, and my heart races in anticipation.
This is my chance.
My one shot to make people see me as more than a feared Cerise.
Two large, white-stained cedar doors are pulled open as my name and a noticeable lack of title is announced. I assumed the herald would give me the dignity of addingladyonto my name, but no. He read my card exactly as it was written.
I should have known. Servants are nothing more than soldiers who wield different weapons. Brooms instead of swords. Musty uniforms instead of armor. I was foolish to assume the herald would do anything more than he was ordered—read a piece of paper.
All eyes fall on me when I step into the ballroom, and silence sweeps through the grand space like a plague in the night. Even the band stops playing.
To be the niece of no one important on forgotten land means nothing to these people. I am surrounded by ladies and lords, dukes, and duchesses. Everyone who is or wants to be important is in this ballroom, and I’m inconsequential.
But to be a Cerise in the king’s castle… Well, that makes me someone worth looking at.
I hold my head high despite my nerves rolling my stomach into a knot. Theclick-click-clickof my heels against the tile floor is loud in the deafening silence. I’m sure every guest and servant can hear me coming.
I scan the vast expanse of the ballroom, purposely avoiding looking at the royal family or making eye contact with any of the guests. Despite the space being large and filled with people who would likely see me dead, the room feels almost cozy.
The walls are papered in a deep burgundy with golden patterns weaving from the floor to the ceiling, offset by large pillars carved into stone. Light from candles and gas lamps cast a warm glow, giving the room an inviting and majestic feel. There’s a table with food to my left—that I plan to make my place of residence for the rest of this evening—and servers flit about flutes of wine on small silver trays.
The path created for the ladies grows wider with each step I take. It’s hard not to notice the guests inching toward each other and away from me, while the royal guard noticeably steps closer, and not feel like an animal on the verge of being caged.
A string quartet sits on a platform on the right side of the room, and I wish they would play something. I’d give anything to hear their music over my thoughts because everything inside me is urging me to flee.
Near the center of the room, I finally allow myself to look at King Travers. He’s a pompous man, adorned in deep hues of purple with a brown fur cloak draped over his shoulders. He holds a golden goblet of wine in one hand and flicks the wrist of his other every time he wants a grape put into his mouth. He looks bored sitting on his gilded throne, and I doubt he’s glanced at me or any of the other girls since being announced.
My gaze strays to his left, to the infamous Prince Sebastian, a man who’s been in hiding since the death of Queen Aemi two years ago, and I trip over myself. It takes me a moment to find my footing and keep myself upright, but the world as I know it has already tilted on its axis.
I recognize the strong curves of the prince’s jaw.
I’ve seen those lips lift into the dangerously tempting smile that beckons me to come closer.
I’ve shamefully dreamt about running my fingers through that messy mop of brown hair that is tousled yet somehow strikingly styled at the same time.
Bash, my soldier from the woods, the man who took Ezra to safety and promised to keep him safe, is Prince Sebastian. I blink once, hoping my eyes are playing tricks on me.
It’s not possible that I rode through the woods with the Prince of Arcane last night. If I knew who he was, I wouldn’t have held him tight and let the smell of cedar and smoke wrap around my senses. I would have forbidden my mind from dreaming of that smile and the goofy way thoseblue eyes lit up while trying to earn my attention. And I absolutely would have never allowed my heart to race with excitement at the thought of seeing him tonight when I thought he was more than a member of the royal guard.
Bash can not be the prince.
He can’t.
I won’t allow it.
Yet, as I gather the layers of my skirt and curtsey before the Crown, I can’t deny that it’s him.
I wobble, half thrown by the awkward position of squatting like a debutant and partly by my swaying balance. I understand why the other girls stayed away from the wine. Simultaneously staying upright and bent over in heels and a dress is challenging. “Your Majesties.”
I don’t make eye contact with Bash. I mean Prince Sebastian. His Majesty Jr? What will I even call him? Ugh. I am so angry, and I don’t even know why. Bash didn't have to tell me who he was. He is the Prince of Arcane, for stars’ sake, he doesn't have to do anything.
But to straight up lie about his identity…
