2. Cora
Cora
“Princess Cora,” my friend and a royal in her own right, Princess Isabel says, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed.
She’s been dancing, too. Isabel takes a tiny step back and curtsies to me, and I curtsy back.
We’re both princesses and of the same rank, so it’s a shallow bob more than anything.
With the warmth of the smile on my face, I quickly embrace her in a tight hug.
Isabel hugs me back. A few ladies passing by comment on what good friends we must be, and they’re right.
We are good friends, and I treasure Isabel.
She’s one of the only people in this ballroom who knows what it’s like to wonder who you’ll be married off to.
We would lie awake at night wondering about our marriages and their arrangements.
Which alliance would be formed and for which benefit to the kingdom.
Very few in our shoes are able to give their opinion on a match, though that opinion might not be honored if there are more pressing problems to be solved.
For the kingdom, it’s a spectacle and celebration. For us…well I’ve had plenty of nightmares about being unloved for the remainder of my life because I’m shackled to the crown. Growing up, we used to have a plan…an escape, just in case. Those stories come back to me now in the evenings.
“Cora,” she says brightly and lets go of me, though she takes my hands in hers.
The hum of chatter surrounds us but I can still hear her.
Isabel has long, dark hair that falls down her back in waves when she lets it loose, though tonight she has it all up in a gorgeous, pinned style that’s popular with married women.
A gold tiara glitters in her hair. “Did I scare you?”
“No! I was lost in thought,” I answer and offer her a smile.
“In the middle of a dance?” Isabel’s dark eyes sparkle with laughter. “Were you lost in thought about a duke? Did he capture your imagination with his plans to build the best warships the world has ever seen?”
“The dance was over!” I laugh too, but more out of relief. I thought for a moment that the man on the balcony standing in those shadows saw the thoughts on my face and came down to the ballroom to—
“You’re doing it again!” Isabel scolds. “Are you so interested in warships?”
“He didn’t say anything about warships,” I tell her, and shake my head to clear away the thoughts I can’t have while I’m at my own birthday ball. “Let’s find a drink. Where is your husband?”
Isabel points. I can’t see much through the crowd, but I know she’s pointing in the direction of a quieter sitting area off the ballroom where the men like to gather and talk when they’re not dancing.
“Didn’t you see us?” Isabel asks. “We must’ve passed each other ten times at least during the last few dances.”
“I—”
“You were thinking of something naughty,” she teases, and hooks her arm through mine. “Tell me what it is. Do you have a suitor?”
A furious blush heats my cheeks. I wish I could tell her, but my throat gets tight. It certainly wouldn’t be right to do so in this room.
“No,” I say quickly. “I’m too warm. Let’s find a drink and…and get some air.”
Princess Isabel takes charge, nodding briskly at everyone who compliments us.
She has a way of moving through the crowd of guests that makes it seem as if she is on an urgent errand without ever walking too quickly—or God forbid, running—that people would feel obligated to follow and help us.
I know she’s wearing her high-heeled sage-dyed leather boots under her gorgeous dark sage gown just by the sound of the click on the cobblestone.
Her brooch adds a decadence to the otherwise simple linen gown.
And yet, with its gold embroidered edges, and the manner in which her hair has been kept back with a delicate pin, she reeks of luxury and wealth.
It doesn’t take her long to be offered a tray of champagne. Isabel puts a chilled glass in my hand, thanks the cupbearer, and whisks me away again.
With her, I feel peace that I haven’t felt in quite some time. Peace, and now giddiness with a glass goblet detailed with silver. The base is heavy with the metal, but the feel of it in one hand and her hand in the other is exactly what I needed.
We move in the opposite direction from the room where the men tend to gather.
The ballroom glitters around us. The lit candle chandeliers reflect in the large cathedral windows, without a single smudge to ruin the illusion that there are dozens of chandeliers extending into the evening.
The wall hangings have been changed out to match the color of my gown and accented the silver of my tiara.
The musicians play with their harps, fiddles, and lute on a raised stage, bows flashing in time with the music, and it all looks a bit like a painting.
I think of myself on the dance floor, frozen in paint, captured in a moment where I would appear to be dancing, but I wouldn’t. I would be completely still, unmoving, a smile permanently on my lips. A sadness settles deep in my chest. Will it be my last true bit of happiness etched in a canvas?
I’m relieved when Isabel pushes open a discreet door between two sets of tall windows and we are outside on the terrace.
I take a deep breath of the warm summer air. We cross the terrace and lean against the carved stone railing, as breathless as if we’d run.
Isabel laughs. Her voice echoes over the royal gardens. The green fields are large and sprawling, with hedges and fountains and many blooming beds of the most beautiful flowers to be found in all the kingdom. A couple moves down one of the paths farther ahead and disappears into the shadows.
It reminds me of the man on the balcony. The thud of my heart in my chest is nearly unbearable. With a sip of champagne, I swallow down the unwanted feelings.
“Well?” Isabel raises her glass. “To your nineteenth birthday.”
“To being nineteen.” I clink my glass against hers, and we drink. The champagne is sweet and bubbly and sends more energy racing through me.
“I thought you’d fallen for one of your dance partners,” Isabel says when we have caught our breath. “You hardly looked away from them.”
“They weren’t mine. They were chosen by my father.”
“As suitors?”
I shake my head. “It was the same as last year. They were not present for my interest. They were…acceptable for my father, I suppose.”
A small frown crosses her face causing a wrinkle to settle between her brows.
“What?” I question.
Isabel takes a sip of champagne, buying herself a few moments to think. “I had only thought—since another year has passed—that your father would be more interested in finding you a prince.”
“He did mention it.”
“Did he?” she asks nearly comically. “My younger sister is nearly sixteen and my father has already begun taking court.” She pauses and studies my expression. I don’t know what to say to be honest. Perhaps he does not wish to give me away. Perhaps we want the same.
“When we danced together to open the ball. He said this would be the year he would make arrangements for me.”
Isabel cocks her head, seeming to read something in my expression. “And now you don’t want arrangements made?”
It’s my turn to sip my champagne and gather myself.
Damn this goblet, I wish it held more. There’s a chance it was excitement over the ball, and being surrounded by so many people, and dancing back to back with—was it four men?
five?—dancing for long enough to make my head spin.
There’s a chance I caught a glimpse of that person on the balcony and let my imagination run wild.
There’s a chance I let my thoughts get away with me.
But it’s quiet out here apart from the natural sounds of the evening. A couple of guards stand silently at the far ends, not close enough to hear what Isabel and I are saying. The champagne is crisp on my tongue. It’s not my favorite kind, and maybe that’s what makes it clear what I want.
“That’s not it,” I tell Isabel. “I wanted… I want to be married. I want the next part of my life to begin. I’ve wanted that since last year, only no one took notice.”
“Cora!” Isabel’s eyes widen in shock.
Quickly I explained, “No one approached my father. No one seemed to show any interest in me. For a while, I thought it was because there was something wrong with me—something no one was willing to tell me.”
“There is nothing wrong with you.”
“I know… I know that now. But I also know more. I want more. I crave to be truly desired.”
“You would have more, if you were married. You would have the new life you want. You would have more freedom—”
A soft laugh echoes in the distance from the garden. No people are in sight, so the couple I saw when we came out must have hidden themselves away to flirt or kiss or even touch where there are no prying eyes.
I lower my voice to respond. “Maybe,” I allow. “But maybe I wouldn’t. If my father chose a man who turned out to be controlling, or who wanted me to be a queen who was seen and not heard, I wouldn’t be free.”
“Your father will choose carefully,” Isabel says. “You are his only daughter. But in order to choose, he must have choices.”
“And what am I to do about that?” I wave my free hand at the garden. “Do you see them, lining up to kiss my hand? No! He’s had all the time in the world to find options.”
“With the right suitor, I think you would be much happier, in many ways. Not least of all, you would not have to spend so much time worrying about it.”
“That’s true.” More champagne. I can’t have too much, because it’s not proper for a princess to be seen under the influence of drink.
It’s warming me, along with the night air, and taking the sharper edges off my feelings.
“I just don’t see it happening. We can’t cast a magic spell and have the perfect prince appear,” I murmur.
“Something must be done. The king doesn’t have all the time in the world,” Isabel muses. “He is getting older. It is best if you are married soon.”
“I know.” My mood sobers. I do not like to think of the day when he will pass.
It was hard enough losing my mother, and she was gone too soon.
“So it seems he’s put us both in a difficult spot.
He can’t be seen to rush any marriage negotiations, and he can’t be seen to linger too long, which he already might’ve done. He can’t be seen to beg for offers—”
“Oh, that’s hardly how it would seem!”
“So I say, why do I need a husband at all? I will be queen whether or not there is a man on my arm!”
“Yes,” Isabel laughs again. “But there is another side of the coin! Some in the land prefer to look upon a king.”
“That’s because they’re right bastards,” I say boldly, and we both dissolve into giggles. Once again that warmth flows through me as we rest our backs side by side along the stone castle wall. Just like we’ve done since we were children.
Isabel is not so much older than I am, and for this small bit of time us, it’s as if we’re both children again who still think of marriage as a game to be played, where the most important thing is deciding what fabrics we’ll have our gowns made out of and who will be our ladies in the ceremony and what songs shall be played first at the ball afterward.
Before reality took a firm hold on our hearts and minds.
When I was much younger, I barely thought of the man who would stand with me at the altar.
I thought of the gilded carriage we would ride through the streets after the ceremony, and the floral petals of confetti that would rain down on us from the rooftops, and all the bells in the city ringing to celebrate our love.
It was almost as if I pictured it from the outside looking in. Like another painted portrait. I didn’t think of how much the gown would weigh on me or how many obligations I would have throughout the day and then into the night.
My wedding night.
If I do as my father says, then I will still be a virgin with no experiences of a man on my wedding night.
I’ll spend the day clothed in a gown meant to symbolize the riches of our kingdom and represent the gift that my father is giving to my new husband, and then I will have to give myself away to him, too, without knowing my own preferences in bed.
I’ve learned a bit of these things from my barmaid and steward…as well as from eavesdropping on the chamberlain’s wife in the kitchen.
It doesn’t seem fair that I should have to do that when whatever prince I marry will know what he likes and what he wants.
From the few rumors I have been allowed to hear, kings and queens don’t keep their sons on such a tight leash.
It makes no difference if they are virgins on their wedding nights.
It only makes a difference for me, because of course the royal physician will check to see if I am still… intact before the wedding night.
The very idea wipes the pleasantries from my expression.
There would be consequences if they were to discover that I’m not a virgin, but what do those matter now? I haven’t found a man yet. I haven’t let him touch me. I haven’t even decided how I’d like a man to touch me. Those kinds of consequences might as well not exist.
“You’re doing it again,” says Isabel. “Who is it you’re thinking of? There must be someone, or you wouldn’t have that look on your face.”
I give Isabel a small smile. I have been drinking the champagne without realizing, and my glass is nearly empty.
The couple in the garden is on one of the farther paths, walking arm in arm with their heads close together.
They’re done doing whatever they needed to be hidden for, and now they don’t care who sees them.
“No one,” I say, but as the words leave my lips, I think of the shadow on a balcony and the heat of his eyes on the back of my neck.