Chapter 4
Genevieve
My body stiffens as I see Mother and Father’s somber expression greeting me at my rooms. They never have reason to come to my private quarters—not unless something is wrong.
“What has happened?” My voice betrays me; the nervous rush of what could be coming hits like a wave.
There are only a few weeks left before I receive my blueblood gift.
Nearly twenty years old, and already I’ve felt a heaviness beyond my years since Kieran’s departure.
The day he betrayed me—leaving without explanation—was the day my heart threatened to shatter.
“May we come in?” Father asks gently, and how could I deny him when he’s treating me like spun sugar, all delicate fragility.
“Yes, just… what is the matter?” I ask, leading them to the soft settee in my sitting room.
Mother’s face reveals nothing, but Father looks on the verge of breaking himself as he takes the chair across from me.
“We received news—tragic news,” Mother says. Her tone carries a softness so foreign to the Queen of Naseria.
“What? Please, just tell me.”
She nods before continuing. “Kieran and his father have both perished in an accident.”
My heart thuds against my chest, breath trapped inside me as I fight to inhale against the restraints of my corset. I try to speak, but all that escapes is a keening cry—a sound I didn’t know I was capable of making.
“H-how? Where?” The words slip from me before the crashing weight of their meaning hits.
Kieran is dead. He’s never coming back to me.
The ballroom is resplendent tonight. Crystal chandeliers cast a luminous glow over the room, and every available space bursts with spring blooms—peonies and ranunculus, early season roses and cherry blossoms fill the corners with vivid color.
As I walk down the marble stairs into the radiant ballroom, polite applause echoes through the room as everyone bows.
So much for anonymity. The attention keeps me steady on the steps, and my younger sisters follow behind.
We each chose dresses inspired by birds for the masquerade.
Marielle wears brilliant shades of yellow to represent the warbler.
Her mask, encrusted with yellow topaz, is adorned with soft yellow plumes.
The bright, cheerful colors match her ebullient spirit.
Of the three of us, she’s the one who sparkles with bold grace.
Despite her vibrant attire, I catch a glimpse of tiredness beneath her eyes before we don our masks, as if she’s once again struggling to sleep well.
Astoria chose a more muted palette: the pale greys and blues of the heron.
Her soft silk gown cascades around her, a subtle beauty that suits my sister, who would prefer nothing more than to blend into the backdrop.
Her mask has been fitted to accommodate her spectacles, concealing them perfectly.
She’d never want the compliment, but I whispered how beautiful she looked before we took to the stairs.
I chose to match Prince Leland as a pair of swans.
My white bodice is cut just low enough to reveal the top of my full bust, the lace overlay exposing the delicate ties of my corset in the back.
The skirt is fashioned from thin strips of lace, gathered in thick bundles to imitate a swan’s feathers as it glides across the water.
My hands are gloved in white silk that reaches past my elbows, leaving only a hint of bare skin at my upper arms. A pearl-and-feather mask conceals my face, and for once, I feel beautiful and mysterious.
Mother and Father are already seated at their thrones, each guest presented to them despite the supposed anonymity of the evening. There is a giddy eagerness in the air, as there always is during a ball, and I can’t help but feel emboldened by the atmosphere.
Mari and Astoria come to my side, each linking an arm through mine, their silk gloves brushing the bare skin of my upper arms.
“Do you see Prince Leland?” Mari asks.
I shake my head, scanning the crowd. Masks of every color and shape conceal the faces that bow to me. Of course, everyone knows who I am. My hair gives me away, even with the white mask. I recognize some of my dearest friends, including Lady Clementine.
“Most likely he and Queen Kalise are being inundated by courtiers seeking their favor and attention. It isn’t often we host another monarch,” I say as a servant offers us glasses of sparkling wine from a glittering tray.
We each take one eagerly, and as I take my first sip, I spot the tall, stately figure of Leland’s friend, General Pryor.
His dark skin and long white hair makes him stand out even amongst the dazzling crowd, despite his navy evening wear and blue-black mask.
He looks decidedly Icelantican in a sea of Naserians.
I tug my sisters along, knowing that Leland will be nearby.
But he isn’t speaking with Leland. He’s deep in conversation with a large, muscular man with olive skin and black hair—but it’s his eyes that make me gasp.
Brilliant green, they stir a prickling awareness in me I haven’t felt in nine years.
“What is it?” Astoria whispers, and I shake off the haunting sensation of recognition.
“Nothing. I just nearly slipped,” I reply, finishing my glass of sparkling wine in a quick gulp.
The stranger’s green eyes—flecked with gold—stare back at me from behind a mask of raven feathers and black diamonds. His evening suit shimmers iridescent black, tailored to emphasize his broad, well-built frame. He and General Pryor make sweeping bows, giving us room to join their conversation.
General Pryor speaks in the same measured tone he always carries. “Your Highnesses, may I present Mr. Morris Blackwell?”
The man doesn’t break his penetrating gaze as he takes my gloved hand, drawing it to his lips for a kiss. My heart races, and I struggle to keep from trembling in his grasp.
His eyes.
They’re so familiar to Kieran’s that it’s like seeing a ghost. But in every other way, he’s wrong—too dark, too tall, far too strong to be the boy who once stole my heart and left this world for good. What I can see of his face reveals a sharply defined jaw and angular features.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” I say, keeping my voice light and steady.
“The pleasure is mine, I’m sure, Princess Genevieve.”
Not Kieran’s voice. Not with that faint Icelantican lilt and the deeper timbre I don’t recognize.
He also didn’t call me Gen—the nickname only Kieran ever used for me, despite our vastly different stations in life.
He was never one to care about social status, or the fact that I’m a blueblood princess and he was a redblood gardener’s son.
What am I thinking? Of course it isn’t his voice.
Kieran has been dead for nine years. My mind can’t help but drift back to the last time I saw him—to the hurt in his eyes. I did that to him. I was the reason he left. I chose the crown over him, betrayed him for my kingdom, and then he left me, breaking my heart in the process.
I pull my gaze from Mr. Blackwell as I see a flash of white approaching.
“Ah! There you all are! Princess Genevieve, I see you’ve met Mr. Blackwell.
” Prince Leland’s smile gleams behind his white, pearl-encrusted mask—the twin to my own—and I force a smile as I make room for my intended.
I continue to feel a current of emotion rush through me, especially as I notice the man still watching me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.
Leland leans close, his gloved hand brushing my bare shoulder. “The music is about to begin. Queen Penelope requested that I bring you to her. We’re to begin the first dance with your mother and father, as well as Queen Kalise and Prince Gabriel.”
“Of course. Excuse us,” I say to the others, and Leland takes my hand, offering his arm to escort me. His touch isn’t unwelcome—it’s simply there. Glove to glove, in the most proper manner.
“I hope your day was good?” Leland asks, reminding me that we haven’t seen each other since yesterday afternoon.
“It was, thank you for asking.” A good day only if one enjoys the endless process of gown fittings, hair styling, and having little time to oneself. “How was your first full day in Naseria?”
“Splendid! General Pryor, Mr. Blackwell, and I had the pleasure of making use of your well-stocked lake. King Hugo and your brothers were excellent hosts, and we all left with a full creel of fish.”
“You must be quite the fisherman, then. I’m happy you had the opportunity to enjoy our lake. My father loves nothing more than to host a day of fishing. Do you often fish in Icelantica?”
We make our way past guests dressed in their finest, the chandeliers scattering light across the crowd. We’re nearly to the dais where the three monarchs wait.
“Unfortunately, not as often as I’d like. Our lakes stay frozen for seven months of the year, and I’m often too busy to find the time for ice fishing.”
This surprises me. “I know you’ve mentioned your duties to Icelantica, but are you busy most days?”
I think of my own father—the way he always made time for us as children, even when our mother couldn’t.
How he still spends his days entertaining guests or visiting shop owners in Crawford.
He’s always socializing, always sharing his warm smiles at redbloods and bluebloods alike, even when Mother is buried in endless meetings.
“My sister utilizes my skills—and my gift—often in her court. She is very private and prefers that I take a more active role in the kingdom.”
I glance at the woman seated beside my mother. Her back is rigid, her visible features drawn in a harsh line. She looks utterly unapproachable, and I can see why she depends on Leland to rule.
“What will she do without you in Icelantica?”
Leland’s gaze shifts to his sister. “It will be difficult for her, but I think it will also give her the opportunity to become the ruler I know she can be.”