Chapter Two
Aren
“Ow.” I suck my pricked finger and taste blood. There isn’t enough light where I’m kneeling by my sister’s petticoats. I’m working so fast and with such force that the needle went straight through my thumbnail. All I need now is to bleed all over the silk that cost a month’s wages.
Yesterday, I managed to get my hands on some rare mulberry silk, and I conjured two dresses for my sisters overnight.
I only had enough to buy a precious eight yards, so I had to get creative, embellishing what I could with embroidery and scraps of lace from our mother’s trousseau.
They look stunning, if I do say so myself.
“You okay?” Sonja asks.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” I tell her, holding my finger away from the fabric as I finish stitching the hem. “You’re going to look perfect, even if I have to lose a thumb.”
“Don’t even joke,” Sonja says, bending down to tie a scrap of cotton around my finger.
My eyes are sore from squinting in candlelight, the tips of my fingers ache, and I’ve poked more holes in them than a pincushion, but I’m determined to make the two of them shine.
I notice Sonja pout at her reflection in the full-length mirror.
As I watch her fluff her hair, it strikes me just how grown up the twins look.
So mature, so beautiful. Where did the time go?
I blinked and suddenly they’re grown women, not snot-nosed kids anymore.
Sonja and Ophelia are eighteen now, seven years my junior.
They take after Mother—drop-dead gorgeous, with swanlike necks and golden hair. I often joke I was switched at birth, since I don’t look anything like them. I’d believe it if I hadn’t inherited Father’s striking nose, which suits his weathered face far more than mine.
“The prince of Loegria!” Ophelia sighs from the bed, her gown already perfectly fitted to her body. She cups her chin in her hands as she stares out the window. “Can you imagine? Here in Evandale? What do you think he looks like?”
“Hopefully handsome,” says Sonja.
“What kind of prince would he be if he wasn’t handsome?” I say mildly, not that I care in the least what he looks like.
“Not any kind of a prince at all,” Sonja says.
Either of them would make a fine princess, unlike me.
My sisters are everything that a man of royal background would find attractive in a wife—Sonja, a graceful dancer and Ophelia with a gift for watercolors and singing.
Me, on the other hand, I can only sing drinking songs and dance the jigs to go with them.
It’s my job to see my sisters properly settled and looked after.
They are my heart’s treasures. I raised them, after all.
Our mother died when they had just started walking and I was nine years old.
While Father managed the Raven’s Beak, I was the one who cooked for the girls, cleaned up after them, nursed them when they were sick, and taught them the best I could.
When Father fell ill and I had to take over the tavern as well as care for the twins, I did both without much complaint.
I’d give anything for my sisters, even if this isn’t the life I imagined for myself.
I turn my eyes back to my work, catching sight of my ragged nails, my hands reddened and rough from years of manual labor. “Done,” I say, taking a pin from my teeth and placing it back in the tin. “Phi, come here so I can get a look at the two of you.”
Ophelia does as she’s told, skipping away from the bed to stand next to Sonja so they can inspect their gowns in the tall mirror.
They both gasp at each other’s appearance. My heart pounds with uncontrollable pride.
“Harvest Mother, we look incredible,” Sonja says, running her hands up and down her sides.
I stand behind them, admiring my work and my sisters’ beauty. A lifetime of caring for them has certainly perfected my talent with a needle and thread. But another type of admiration—bittersweet and nostalgic—stirs within me, and I force back the tears that start to sting the corner of my eyes.
“You’ll definitely catch the prince’s eye like this,” I say, putting an arm around each of them. “One of you has to, or he’s mad.”
I’m going to win this prince for them, I swear. If he’s got to choose a bride from Alarice, here are the loveliest girls in all the land. I pick nervously at the bandages on my fingers.
“Oh, Aren,” Ophelia says, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Thank you so much.”
Their smiles, bright and dazzling, light up the room.
If the prince falls in love with one of my sisters, then surely the other will capture the attention of some other lord in his retinue. And then, finally, someone other than me will be responsible for them. Two birds, one hefty stone.
As much as I love my girls with all my heart, they’re grown now, and I’m ready to take care of just myself for a change—to finally live the life I’ve dreamed about.
This time last year, Father promised me the Raven’s Beak Tavern. He said the day the girls are each well married, he’ll give me the deed to the bar and I can do with it as I wish. I can sell the whole thing and leave Evandale for good, travel the world as I dream of doing.
Sometimes, late at night, I imagine the kind of life I could’ve had if I’d been born far away from Evandale. Maybe I’d be a scholar. Or a sailor. An adventurer who journeys far and wide, sees the world, shapes a life with each passing day, not knowing what the next will bring.
But that’s just a fantasy. I’m the responsible daughter, the one who never gets in trouble, who always sets a good example because that’s one fewer problem for Father to deal with.
I catch a glimpse of myself standing behind them and sigh. I’m ruining the scene simply by being in the same frame, especially in this drab muslin dress, so I step back and let them have all the glory.
…
Not even an hour later, commotion erupts outside our window, and we look out to see a gilded carriage rolling past, bobbling slightly on the bumpy dirt road.
“Is it him?” Sonja asks, running to the window. “He’s here already?”
“A day early,” I note.
“He must really want a bride,” Ophelia says, joining us at the window.
The impressive carriage trundles by, flanked by soldiers on horseback, and my heart clenches. A prince such as he would surely appreciate a bride who doesn’t have a potty mouth, who takes impeccable care of her hair and clothes, and whose loftiest goal is pleasing her powerful husband.
Sonja and Ophelia are the most perfect choices in Evandale.