The Princess and a Test of Power (The Classical Kingdoms Collection #3)

Chapter 1

Scraps

Lady Freya stared morosely at the scraps of paper piled in front of her. Oh, how she had hoped one of them might make sense… That one of them might bear the slightest hint of legible words.

Instead of the strong, confident strokes of ink she had hoped to see, however, every single scrap of paper was covered in unreadable scratches that looked more like chickens had clawed them onto the paper than the work of a pen. Not a single one was intelligible.

But then again, she sighed to herself, pushing away from the desk as she stood, she had known better than to get her hopes up.

Twenty-three young women had come to the ball–the same ball that was still going on downstairs even now.

The ball she should be hosting now, as this was its final night.

Slowly, she walked through the large mahogany door and out onto the balcony, where she leaned against the balustrade, looking down over the ballroom.

The musicians still played, and couples twirled across the floor.

But where the scene had held hope and possibilities just an hour before, now she felt nothing but disappointment.

If only they would all go home.

Her brother seemed to share her sentiment, she thought with a sigh. He was already missing from the scene, and it was yet a few hours until midnight.

“Nothing?”

Freya turned to see her husband walking toward her. She went to him and let him wrap his arms around her as she leaned into his strong chest, allowing him to absorb her exhaustion, even if only for a minute or two.

“Nothing.” She shook her head before turning to look down at the ballroom again. “I mean, I knew better than to expect too much, but…”

“But it was our last hope,” her husband said, resting his cheek against her hair.

In spite of herself, Freya smiled. Our last hope.

Despite Oliver’s family and home being firmly fixed in his heart and soul, he had fully adopted her own family and their problems as his own.

He counted himself among those most dedicated to helping her brother and her kingdom find a solution to the problems that plagued them–and that with each passing day threatened more heavily to bring them to their knees.

“None had red hair,” Freya said, reluctantly straightening and going over to the balustrade once more. “I knew it the moment the last of them arrived. None could be the princess. And yet, I’d hoped…” Her voice caught in her throat.

A third pair of footsteps made them turn to see Phillip striding toward them. He stopped a few feet away and looked at her, his brown eyes wide.

Questioning.

“I’m sorry,” Freya said with a sad smile. She meant to say more, but she didn’t have to. Her little brother simply let out a gusty breath before turning to look down at the dancers as well.

Freya went to stand by his side. “Don’t give up, though,” she said. “We’ll find another way. It will only take–”

But Phillip was already walking away. He didn’t stomp, of course.

He was a prince, after all, and illness or no illness, he had thus far been able to maintain some sense of decorum.

But he was wearing thin after too many promises and dreams had been dashed against the ground, one after another.

Just like Freya, he was running out of hope.

Just like they were running out of time.

And now, every single one would have to be sent home questioning what the purpose of this ball was at all.

Many of the girls would probably complain of the crown prince’s arrogance, saying he’d not spoken a single word to any of them.

Likely, thanks to the many noble gossips, Phillip’s character, which was already in question, due to his heavy seclusion, would be tarnished even more.

Freya would have to impress upon each one how little the crown appreciated gossip before they left the next morning.

Please, Freya prayed to the Maker as her husband pulled her into his arms again. Please do something. Fast.