3. Cora
Cora
Eventually, Isabel’s husband, Prince Philip, comes looking for her, and we go back into the ballroom.
There’s more dancing, and then the food is brought out, and after that there are toasts.
My father used to limit the toasts far more strictly when I was younger, but now that I am nineteen, he lets them go on for the better part of an hour.
Most of the toasts are more about my father than they are about me.
He gets credit for my dancing and my beautiful manners and my smile, which is a backhanded compliment.
I have never been as beautiful as my mother was.
I got my looks from my father, and though I’m sure no one ever intended for me to overhear them, I did.
My appearance was homely as a child. Perhaps I’ve grown more into my mother’s likeness, but to me, she will always be the most beautiful woman. As she was for this kingdom. I swallow thickly remembering the first time I discovered I didn’t hold up to the kingdom’s expectations.
There were whispers behind their hands, for the most part. Being a princess has shielded me from outright rudeness or cruelty about my looks, but it could never entirely protect me from knowing what people thought about me.
I suppose the toasts were always like this—meant for the king and the queen, when she was alive—but I wasn’t paying attention. Perhaps I did not pay attention on purpose. Perhaps I pretended not to know what they really meant.
Does it matter, though? Does it matter more than what I want to do with the time I have before a husband takes control of my life?
I risk a glance around the room and see nothing of interest on anyone’s face.
The balcony from the ballroom extends into this room, as well—it is used as the supper hall when there is not a ball being held—and after I have nodded my thanks to the latest toast, I look up there as well.
And I see him. My heart does a weird tick and I swear time stops with it.
He’s moving even before my eyes land on him, but I know without a doubt there is a man in a dark suit up there. My breath hitches and my body heats.
I know without a doubt he’s looking at me as if his gaze could burn me.
I know I have felt him looking at me for most of the evening but now I have my eyes on him right back. My pulse quickens and I wish it wouldn’t. In a failed attempt, I try to settle my nerves.
The conversation I had with Isabel plays in my head. Of course I didn’t confess everything to her. There isn’t much to confess, other than a few wild thoughts. But my pulse flutters in my neck from the feeling of someone’s gaze on me.
Not just someone’s. His.
I pretend, for the rest of the ball, that I don’t feel any of this.
After a round of applause, I dance with another set of men who talk over my head about their lands and their recent purchases and their hobbies, most of which revolve around hunting or paying other men to build castles or lodges for them.
Isabel takes my arm between dances, kisses both my cheeks, and wishes me another happy birthday.
“You’re leaving?” I ask.
I looked for her during the dances, and she seemed flushed and bright-eyed, following her husband’s lead. He bows to me and wishes me well. “I wish you a joyous anniversary of your birth day, and may the heavens bestow their grace upon thee for many seasons to come."
“So royal of you,” Isabel mocks her husband with a playful smile and he returns the expression to her. There’s a spark there.
“We are taking our leave, Princess,” he says and glances at Isabel.
Jealousy makes it difficult to breathe for a moment.
Isabel and her prince have a chemistry between them.
No wonder she is so insistent that I’ll be happier when I’m wed.
She’s certain that I will have a marriage just like hers—a handsome husband who is young enough to have his life ahead of him but old enough to be confident in his responsibilities.
More than that, he seems to adore her. They’re leaving the ball to ride back to their own lands, not far from ours, and sleep in their own bed tonight.
Or perhaps they won’t sleep.
I bid them farewell. Not long after, it is time to dance again with my father to officially close the ball.
This is done at a reasonable hour to ensure that there’s enough time for everyone to make their way out to their carriages without causing long lines or short tempers. There will still be dancing and conversation. The musicians will keep playing as people filter out in small groups.
But my father and I leave, saying goodbye and receiving more congratulations as we go.
This is also something we do to make it easier for the guests.
If we retire to the more private parts of the castle, the guests can relax about protocol and concentrate on getting themselves out to their waiting carriages or, for those closest to the family, tucked away into our guest rooms.
As my father escorts me up the grand staircase, I wonder—perhaps for the first time—if our guests think this decision is one of mine, not my father’s.
Before my mother passed, the balls held at the castle would go late into the night.
She had many close friends and would make new ones at every ball.
The servants knew to prepare all the castle’s guest rooms far in advance, because most of them would be filled by sunrise.
There would be breakfast the next morning, food laid out on an enormous buffet in the great hall, with many people taking seats at the lower tables once our high tables were filled.
Carriages would depart all morning, though some people came straight back.
My father used to laugh fondly about a ball that went on so long that the musicians started playing the next night, too, and all the guests weren’t gone until Monday afternoon.
“Sleep well,” he says at the top of the stairs. “Happy birthday, Cora.”
“Thank you, Father,” I murmur and kiss his cheek. His hands leave mine and the deep sadness comes over me once again as he turns and the smile slips from his lips.
He goes off down the hall, his closest guarded man emerging from the shadows to walk at his side.
And I find myself alone in the confines of the castle, ready to make my way to bed.
My father’s rooms—and the queen’s rooms, though my mother only used them to dress and relax during the day—are in a more secluded wing, which looks over the back gardens and the royal forest.
My rooms are the opposite way, overlooking the royal gardens. From my favorite window seat, I can see the terrace where I stood with Isabel.
I move toward it slowly, passing by the massive windows at the front of the castle. It is darker now, and all I see from this distance is my own reflection.
My gown glimmers slightly in the light from the sconces, which have been turned down for the night. For a few moments, I consider myself in the glass, trying to look as I would to a stranger.
I have my father’s large blue eyes and the same color hair he used to have, before it went gray. I have a wide mouth and a straight nose.
No, I do not take after my mother in looks. She was dark-haired and dark-eyed, and yes, she was beautiful.
But that was also because she was bright and funny and smiled easily at everyone she met. She moved like she couldn’t wait to get wherever she was going. She had endless energy.
In the reflection, I lift a hand to touch my face. There is still some heat there from the ball, but I do not look like I’m in any great hurry to get to my rooms and go to sleep and wake up to—
I stop those thoughts before I pity myself any longer.
Alice and Blanche won’t come to my rooms until I call for them.
I gave them permission to go down to the village this evening, but I know they’ll have spent most of the ball in one of the servants’ passageways, watching guests dancing and choosing their favorite gown and eating sweets off the trays that pass them by.
My heart beats a bit faster at the feel of someone’s presence.
A quick glance over my shoulder confirms there is no one ahead of me in the hallway, and no one behind. For the moment, no one’s eyes are on me. I am free to do as I please.
I take a few steps down the hall to my rooms out of habit. That’s what I have done all my life. I’ve been obedient and never made any trouble for my parents.
And now I have spent all evening thinking of what I might do for myself. If I waste this opportunity, then I didn’t mean any of it.
I turn around and go the opposite direction, passing the hallway to my father’s rooms. At the end of the hall is a servants’ passageway. The door opens silently and closes just as quietly behind me.
The hall is narrower, but it’s well-lit and clean—frequently used, but empty now.
Most of the servants will be finding people’s cloaks and helping them out to carriages.
I stride through the door on the other side.
The passage here curves both ways. I go to the left and enter a series of rooms that lead to the balcony above the ballroom.
Not everyone has made their way out yet. The hum of conversation rises from the floor, louder when people laugh. They are finishing their conversations, I think. One more story. One more promise to visit. They are not in any hurry to leave, though they don’t seem to wish to stay.
I’ve hardly stepped out onto the balcony itself when I feel it, and my lips part with a small inhale. The beat of my heart stalls before seeming to race in my chest. I feel his eyes on me again.
Pretending not to notice, I slip out onto the balcony. No one looks up at me, but why should they? They expect me to be in my rooms, being prepared for bed.
When I finally decide to look for him, I can’t see anyone on the balcony level. I let my gaze move carefully and methodically across the balcony.
There—he’s on the opposite side, his dark suit blending with the shadows. He stands in the alcove where I first saw him. Who is this man who stays in the shadows? Surely I would have met him this evening but it’s difficult to see his features.
Slowly, so I don’t draw any attention—I don’t want it now—I make my way around to the other side of the balcony. My skirts slip on the floor. I keep my breathing steady. I keep myself as calm as I can, though I know he’s been watching me all evening.
Perhaps longer.
Finally, I step into the balcony opposite the one I came out of.
Only one sconce is lit, and the man is not there. The adrenaline that raced in my veins slows. Blinking away the confusion I peer around the room.
I know where he’s gone. This is not only an alcove. The short passageway at the back leads to a small outer balcony. I follow the fresh air, and the moment I step out, he clears his throat. It’s not quite a laugh, but it’s not nothing, either. He means for me to know he is there.
I still, my body paralyzed.
The man is on the left side of the balcony. Without any sconces, his face is completely hidden in the shadows. I only manage to get a glimpse of his eyes before he turns his face and I can’t see them anymore.
Matching him, I move to the other side of the balcony. My heart pounds at the risk.
We are alone.
Yes, we are separated by several feet of the balcony, but it would only be a matter of steps.
“You’re here on my birthday,” I say. “I wonder if I saw you dancing at the ball.”
He does not answer, so I leave space for him to reply. When he doesn’t, I feel like the space has opened up for me instead. Space for me to be bold.
“You’ve been watching me.”
He does not answer still, but something in the air shifts.
It seems to bend to him. A heat wraps its way around me.
I know he’s there and yet he stays hidden.
Perhaps he is only a squire. The thought is an unfortunate one.
Straightening my shoulders to view our surroundings, I don’t try to look at the man who seems to prefer to be hidden.
I shouldn’t be here, and for a moment, I nearly turn and make my leave. Instead, I speak freely since he speaks not.
“Since you’ve been watching, you must want to know more about me.
I am terribly sorry to disappoint you, but there’s not much to know.
I live my life before the court, and I rarely share my thoughts.
I’ve been waiting a year for a marriage proposal, or for my father to tell me he was making arrangements, and just tonight, he said he was going to. ”
He is so quiet. He must also be discreet, because I have hardly seen this man. A shadow can’t be obvious.
He must have intended to stay hidden.
I don’t know what it is about him, but I feel I can say anything.
“Just after my father and I danced to open the ball,” I continue, feeling a rush of relief.
“He said this would be the year he would make arrangements for me to be married. But no potential matches have presented themselves. My father has not come to me with suggestions. It seems there is no interest.”
He says nothing and only listens, but he shifts his weight slightly. The thoughts in my head were merely fantasies, weren’t they? This man does not want me. I have simply imagined it. With a shallow breath, I prepare myself for a confession I could not even tell Isabel.
“So tonight I thought about it for every second of the ball, and I decided it does not matter if there are no princes who would have me. Because perhaps I do not want to be married. I don’t want to be controlled.
I don’t want my father to choose a man for me.
I don’t want to discover too late that my new husband wants to dress me up like a doll and pose me every minute of the day.
I want to control my life. It is mine, and I should get to control it.
Perhaps my husband…perhaps he could control me in bed.
I think I would like that,” I finish and cannot believe that I was bold enough to say it.
I peer at the man who remains deathly still.
For a minute, I can’t breathe. What I want could be standing only steps away. What would happen if I went to him? Touched him? Lifted my face up for a kiss? We are alone and secluded, and if anyone is looking for me, we still have time before we could be discovered.
Would he be willing to give me what I want?
Would he be willing to show me what I want?
“But how would I find a man like that?” I ask, when I have caught my breath. I find the courage to turn and look into the shadows, but they are empty. The man is gone.