Chapter Ten
Aren
The next evening brings a knock on the door.
For a brief, panicked moment I worry that our neighbor, old Mr. Singh, has fallen again, but instead, it’s a messenger.
A royal one, too—never thought I’d see one of those at my doorstep.
Her uniform is immaculate—a pressed jacket and a cap bearing the insignia of the royal brigade of messengers.
“Letters for Miss Ophelia Bellamore and Miss Sonja Bellamore,” she says, holding out two identical pieces of parchment, each folded and sealed with wax.
I stare at the letters, numb, before mechanically reaching out for them.
They bear the Loegrian royal crest, and delivered at this late hour, they look to be of great consequence.
I thank the messenger before turning on one heel to face the girls.
Ophelia and Sonja are sitting with Father near the fireplace, curiosity brightening their faces.
“I think these are for you,” I say, holding each letter out to its respective recipient. The twins practically leap into the air to grab them.
“Oh!” Sonja cries, staring at the royal seal. “The announcement, it’s really happening, isn’t it?”
“You don’t even know what it says.” I stoke the logs in the fireplace, making sure Father is comfortable. He takes my hand and squeezes it. It’s hard to believe it could come so easily, our salvation. I’m unsure of how to feel or what to do next, my heart racing and sweat beading on my forehead.
“Remember our plan, Sonja,” Ophelia says. “Whatever happens, we stay together.”
Sonja nods. “There must be a place for both of us at court, or neither of us goes.” Then they giggle and hug each other.
I want to be happy for my girls, but at the same time, the weight of those two letters—the heavy parchment, the royal seal, their names gracefully calligraphed on the envelopes—dredges up that familiar feeling of always looking in from the outside.
Ophelia and Sonja look at each other, mustering their courage, before opening the letters together. They both jump up with excitement as they begin to read.
“Well, what does it say?” I feel hope bubbling in my chest, their infectious joy pushing aside my own lingering disappointment.
“We’re both invited to an audience with the royal entourage tomorrow afternoon,” Ophelia says, handing me her letter while Sonja clutches hers like it’s worth its weight in gold. “There’s going to be an announcement!”
I didn’t expect it to happen so soon, despite what the prince said last night. I thought Dietan hadn’t shown any interest in the choices paraded before him. His companions, Jared and Marcus, seemed far more interested in my sisters than he did, but I suppose royals behave differently.
It strikes me as odd that my father and I were not invited to the announcement along with the twins. Surely the family of the prince’s soon-to-be betrothed should be invited to witness a prince’s proposal. I don’t allow myself to think that it’s because he chose a different girl.
A sharp pang of regret hits me like cold water, but I push it aside.
My sisters’ futures and my freedom are the goal.
So why am I about to cry, like the feeling of being on the outside is too much this time?
I lift my chin. I’m much too sensible for all this.
I want to be there to witness the start of my girls’ happily ever after, that’s all.
“One of you has definitely caught the prince’s eye,” I say reassuringly, looking to Father, who nods in agreement.
Sonja sniffs. “He’s hardly said a word to me except to ask about you, Aren.”
“He asked about me? When?”
Ophelia nods. “He came by yesterday afternoon, but you were at the Beak. He wanted to make sure you were fine.”
“We told him you’re always working,” Sonja says. “Did you happen to see him last night?”
I shrug, even as my cheeks heat. The girls don’t notice. They’ve gone back to rereading their letters.
Ophelia smiles dreamily as she always does. Sonja fans herself with the invitation. I feel a rush of protectiveness. They both look so young and innocent, and the world is a cruel place. Hopefully, they will never know exactly how cruel it can be.
I set aside my own strange sadness and embrace them both like I did when they were little, planting kisses on the crowns of their golden heads, where a real crown will soon sit.
“I’m proud of you both,” I tell them, a sob in my throat. “Come, let’s get to bed so you can look your best for tomorrow.”
But long into the night, when the only sounds are my sisters’ deep breathing and Father’s occasional snore, I lie awake, trying to convince myself that I’ll be happy when I’m all alone.
I’ll have my freedom. Isn’t that what I’ve always wanted?
To travel the world, with no responsibilities, no husband, and no one to tell me what to do. So why can’t I sleep?
…
In the morning, as the rain hammers against the window, I dress my sisters, putting them in their second-best gowns that I’ve made for them.
When the twins twirl in front of the full-length mirror, gasping over how pretty they look, from their embroidered hoods to the bells at their ankles, I can’t help but smile, even though I still wish I’d merited an invitation.
Today is all about them, and I make sure my girls feel beautiful, important, and worthy of royalty.
No one will be able to take their eyes off the twins from the moment they walk into the room.
Before we leave, Father gathers us to him. He’s too weak to join us; his stiff hip throbs even more painfully during rainstorms. The girls kneel before him, smiling with tears in their eyes.
“I give you both my blessing,” he says, his voice worn with age.
My heart hitches in my throat as he looks at them with adoration.
They are, after all, mirror images of Mother.
Father is alone, and we are all he has left.
He is letting half of his family go, giving them away to an unknown future beyond his protection.
But he smiles bravely, and I know he’s as proud of them as I am.
“It’ll be all right, Aren,” he consoles as the twins gather their rain cloaks for the trek to the town square. The bells at their ankles ring out with each step. “Either one would make an excellent princess and will surely bring her sister to court.”
“It’s a dream come true,” I say as my heart seizes with a non-specific sadness.
The three of us start trudging through the downpour.
I walk ahead, laying out planks for the girls to step on, to make sure their skirts don’t collect mud as they proceed from our house to the center of town.
It’s easily an hour to the hall at our pace.
I strain my back picking up the plank that’s left behind and setting it in front of them again.
“Aren, you’re soaked. Let us just walk in the mud! No one’s going to look at the hems of our skirts,” says Ophelia, distressed.
“Yes, or let us help, at least,” adds Sonja, reaching down to give me a hand.
I swat it away. “Don’t ruin those dresses I made,” I tell them, heaving the next plank. “You both must look perfect. That’s my job. You do yours, and I’ll do mine.”
They figure it’s worthless to argue. Instead, they take care to lift their skirts a little higher, so that my hard work is worth it. When we arrive at the town hall, I’m soaked to the bone, my back aches, and I have splinters all over my hands. We make it just in time.
I follow as they walk past the armed guards flanking the entrance. My breath comes quicker, my chest tight with anticipation, with the weight of what this moment means for our family.
“I’ll watch from the back of the hall,” I say.
A little thing like not receiving an invitation isn’t going to keep me from this important moment in my sisters’ lives.
“Here, hand me your rain cloaks and umbrellas,” I say, leaving the planks outside.
I’m as wet as a drowned rat, and my boots are caked in mud, but my girls look as if they floated in on the wind, their dresses pristine and smiles beaming as radiant as the sun.
“You must be the Bellamore twins,” greets a man in royal livery with a slight bow. “Please, follow me.”
I put my sisters’ things away in the cloak closet. Then I kick the mud off my boots as well as I can before slipping into the large room.
I hesitate at the back of the crowd. The marquis will surely be here, and my stomach churns with dread. This is his worst nightmare—a Bellamore twin winning the prince’s heart over one of his own flesh and blood.
But the town hall is bustling with so many people, it’s easy to disappear into the crowd.
In addition to the more prominent citizens of Evandale, including most of the Chamber of Commerce clustered around the marquis, there are courtiers from the Loegrian capital in attendance.
The air buzzes with speculation as everyone waits for the prince to arrive.
I look up at the podium, scanning the faces of the dignitaries, but I don’t see him anywhere.
He’s probably planned some grand entrance, in typical royal fashion.
My teeth clack and shoulders shiver as the chill of the rain seeps into my boots.
I stick to the shadows at the back of the room, embarrassed I’m in such a state compared to everyone else in their lush—and dry—velvets and furs.
At last, the ceremony begins. Lord Jared, the prince’s companion, moves into the center of the raised platform at the front of the room, smiling at everyone.
I can see why Ophelia is attracted to him.
He radiates confidence, smooth and suave.
I spot Sonja and Ophelia seated in cushioned chairs on the right side of the room, in front of the stage.
There are only the two of them, I notice, and none of the other young ladies who threw their hats into the marry-the-prince ring, which bodes well.
The twins lean their heads toward each other.
Hardly better than gossiping schoolgirls.