My eyes widened and I shot my father a desperate look, trying to signal my panic. “Father… Dad…”
A tremor ran through him his eyes instantly bloodshot. He straightened up, his voice strained but firm. “Your Majesty, forgive my impertinence, but my daughter is… unruly. This union is simply not possible.”
The King’s pleasant facade cracked. “The Crown Prince and the Lord Marshal are the finest young men in this kingdom,” he said, his tone turning
to ice. “If neither is good enough for your daughter, Lord Valerius, who exactly did you have in mind for her?”
Panic made my father reckless. “My daughter is… slow. I had already arranged a betrothal for her, you see.”
A cold, humorless laugh escaped the King’s lips. “Don’t play games with me. You were given a choice and you refused it. Very well. I shall choose for you. She will marry my son, the Crown Prince. She will be his Princess.”
Defeated, my father could only prostrate himself in thanks before being dismissed.
When it was Trista’s turn, she and the Prince exchanged secretive, longing glances. She, too, chose the Prince, though she would only be his offici- almistress, a Lady of the Court. Her father, the Lord Justiciar, was ecstatic. “A blessing from the heavens! My daughter must serve the Prince well in his household.”
Only the Lord Marshal, Gideon, cast one last, mournful look at Trista before striding away, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
The news that I, Cassia Valerius, and Lady Trista were to be married to the Prince on the same day spread through Aethelgard like wildfire, fanni- ng the flames of gossip. Not that any of the noble ladies ever wanted to associate with me; they all flocked around Trista like moths to a flame. She had the reputation, the grace. She could recite some mournful poem and earn a roomful of applause.
As for me? My parents always said, “Why bother with
polare? These are chills for entertainers. Our daughter has no need for them
12:33
As for me? My parents always said, “Why bother with lutes and watercolors? Those are skills for entertainers. Our daughter has no need for them. “So, just like my brother, I was branded one of the capital’s “gilded fools.”
On the way home, the whispers were impossible to ignore.
“Look, there’s Cassia Valerius, dripping with gold again. Does she intend to wear the entire treasury on her person? So vulgar.”
“What does she know of elegance? She’s just a spoiled brat
queen.”
With a rich father. Look at her, trailing a half–dozen servants. You’d think she was a
“Even the Queen isn’t that ostentatious. A shame, really. With that character, she might become a princess, but she’ll never be a queen.”
“The Prince prefers women of substance. He would never fall for an empty–headed doll like her.”
Every time I stepped outside, it was the same story. I knew my reputation was in the gutter, but I refused to be shamed for my fashion. And what
of their beloved Trista? The woman was about to marry the Crown Prince and she still wandered around in a plain white linen dress and a simple
silver pin. It was pathetic, yet the capital’s elite praised it as the height of sophisticated minimalism.
Leaving the palace, I had muttered loud enough for her to hear, “Dressed in white like that. Is she attending a wedding or a funeral?”
Her retort, delivered in that sickeningly sweet tone of hers, came swiftly. “I love this white gown as I love a pure soul. It is a constant reminder to
remain true to oneself, untainted by the gaudy trends of the world.”
This was going to be unbearable. The thought of sharing a roof with that master of passive–aggression made me lose my appetite.
