7. Cora
Cora
Alice and Blanche have never been more energized.
They call several of the other maidens of the castle to form a team to assess all my available gowns, then they inform the palace seamstress that none of them will do.
I must have at least three new gowns, and I must have them right away.
The princes could begin arriving tomorrow.
All the while, I smile as I should. They read my nervousness as a fear of rejection. But my God, I don’t know what awaits me and I’m terrified of it all.
I only wish to be on my own now. And what…what will the man in the shadows think?
“When do they arrive again?” The question pulls me from my thoughts.
“The guard who brought me the news said they would be arriving within the week,” I answer from my place on a low pedestal in the seamstress’s studio.
I’m still wearing a gown that was made just this spring.
I think it suits me perfectly well, and I see no need to keep the seamstress up all night because a prince might arrive in the morning. “Surely, it isn’t so urgent?”
“Tomorrow would be within the week,” Blanche says with a sternness, her eyes wide and serious. “We must be prepared, Princess.”
“I see nothing wrong with this gown.”
Alice, Blanche, and the palace seamstress all gather at the pedestal to peer at me in the mirror.
I have seen enough of myself in this gown and five others, so I examine their expressions.
They’re all looking at me more critically than they did when we were preparing for the ball, and this time it feels personal, as if they are judging me instead of the gown.
I hate it all. I will choose no one. I’ve decided in this very moment. I shall be a queen of her own making.
As if hearing my thoughts, they all shake their heads in disapproval at the same time, and Alice takes my hand to help me down from the pedestal so that they can try new fabrics. My stomach sinks and I ring my fingers.
“I do not want anyone losing sleep over this,” I order, loud enough that none of them can claim not to have heard me. “It is only a prince,” I insist. “He will like me just as well in this gown as he will in any other.”
“Yes, Princess,” Alice says, but I sense that she is planning to disregard me—or at least push the limit of my instructions.
They all murmur their agreement, and that’s when I know they’re planning to ignore me. Even the palace seamstress, who always followed my mother’s instructions to the letter.
Within a minute, I’m back on the pedestal again. A quiet fury taking hold. But I do as I’m requested, for the sake of the crown and my father’s wishes.
Alice and Blanche—and the palace seamstress, who I know stays up all night to finish a new gown that is meant to look regal but not constricting, formal without being too formal, fit for tea or a walk in the garden—turn out to be right.
The first prince arrives the next morning. I’m not even finished eating breakfast. The biscuit was halfway in my mouth when the news came. How dare the bastard already interrupt my life.
He has to wait even longer after that for Alice and Blanche—and the palace seamstress, who comes to supervise them putting the gown on, though it’s far lighter and less complicated than the one I wore to the ball—to dress me and make sure my hair is perfect and my cheeks are demurely blushed and a light scent has been sprayed near me but not directly on my skin.
Then I meet my father at the top of the grand staircase and walk down on his arm to…
A prince who turned eighteen just last week and seems to be far more terrified of me than I could ever be of him. His hands shake when he bows to me, and he rushes through his formal greeting before he pinches his lips shut. He has to be prodded by his mother to make conversation over tea.
There is nothing wrong with him. Truly! It is only that he’s…
young. He seems far younger than eighteen, and though he is the eldest son in his kingdom, he has clearly not gotten used to the idea that he will one day need to marry.
I get the impression that he has not even gotten used to the idea that he will be king one day.
I am nineteen. I know I should not judge him for the fact that he is not much younger than me. But those are not the hands that touched me and made me come. That is not the man who gave me so much of what I wanted. I do not even see how this young prince could become that man.
He is polite though, and we share a few laughs, but there is no banter or chemistry between us and when I point that out, he seems relieved.
It doesn’t go as my father had hoped. The prince and his mother, the queen, make excuses and do not stay the night.
More princes arrive, one after the other. Where the hell have they come from?
I don’t know why they have all chosen this moment to descend on me when there was not even a whisper of interest. It’s more irritating than anything, although I do feel…complimented in a way. There is interest in my hand and surely that is something to be proud of.
I lie in bed at night, unable to make sense of it. I should be overjoyed. I should be happier than I have ever been. Not terrified of what is to come.
But the only man I can think about is the man from the shadows. The man who came to me and did exactly what I told him to do.
Where is he in all of this? He can’t possibly be one of the princes who comes to ask for my hand in marriage, because he is already here.
Somewhere.
Unless…
I pull the pillow over my head to try to drown out my thoughts. I have not felt him watching me since the guard rode up with the news. I’ve not heard footsteps on my balcony. It’s as if he was never here. My throat closes tightly at the thought. Perhaps he fears discovery as well.
Fear is a foolish emotion. I intend to live with the boldness I had when I made my confession and plea for my stranger to take me.
I don’t want to talk to these potential marriage candidates. I don’t even want to look them in the eye. My father is frustrated with me. I’m frustrated with myself.
I sit at meals with them anyway. I walk in the garden while my father watches. I drink tea and find that I can’t force myself to make conversation. I’m worse than the poor eighteen-year-old prince who had the bad luck of going first.
I wish there was a polite way to say that it’s not their fault. It isn’t, truly. The fault is mine, or else it’s no one’s fault.
The fifth meeting I have with a prince who hopes to marry me—or is it the sixth?—does not end well.
He has come with both his parents, the king and queen of a neighboring kingdom, and I swore to myself I would behave as a princess should.
I greet all of them according to protocol and lead them to the sunroom where we would have tea together.
I tell them how I love to ride horses and love to dance even more.
I ask about the size of their stables. I even ask about the prince’s favorite place to hunt.
And I listen to the answer.
I, of course, plan to listen to every word he says and ask a fitting questions afterward, but I stir sugar into my tea and add milk…
and then a bright flower in the garden catches my attention.
Or was it a shadow? My heart strums in my chest and my attentions are stolen.
There’s enough sun that there should be no shadows in the garden, but I see one.
Is it my stranger? Has he come to save me?
I look harder, in case my eyes are playing tricks on me.
There are no shadows. I do not feel his eyes on me.
All I feel is the awkward silence.
“I’ve had enough.” The prince tosses his napkin down to the table and stands.
He is in his thirties, with auburn hair that I thought was a lovely color, and he has had enough of me.
“I will not carry on a conversation with a partner who is only here to pass the time. It was a pleasure to meet you, Princess Cora,” he says, though he is clearly lying. “I will take my leave.”
I get to my feet.
“I apologize,” I say, nearly stuttering, and know I should make some excuse. I should say I’m tired. I should say I have a headache. But I’m only sorry for my rudeness, not that he’s leaving. “I apologize,” I say again, cupping my hands in front of me. Beside me, my father lets out a heavy sigh.
Grimly, I think it might be over then. I pace my rooms for hours that night. The anxiousness I’ve been chasing away with good behavior returns. Should I have done something different? Should I have tried my best with all of them, even if it didn’t feel right?
I shouldn’t have. That’s the only answer I can settle on. If I’d tried with them, even after my gut feeling said no, then I would be betraying myself.
I’d also be betraying these men. It does not matter in the end why they have chosen this moment to come to me.
In the back of my mind, a voice whispers that I might have gotten over it.
Perhaps once we were married, one of them—and their faces blur together in my head so I can hardly remember one more than the other—one of them might have learned to give me what I want.
One of them might have made a point of getting to know me, and getting to know my desires, and making them happen.
I may be able to get away with my sinful deed if I lie to the physician and inform him that I’d taken my needs into my own hands after the first ball and plead with him to understand.
After all I’ve heard that horseback riding has caused bleeding as well.
It is a new dream to want to get away with what I’ve done.
I sleep late the next morning and am rushed through bathing and getting dressed before a guard knocks at the door. He gives Blanche a message in a quiet voice, and she returns with a solemn expression on her face.
“The prince who planned to present himself this morning has decided not to come.”
It is over, then. A shocking sadness moves through me at the realization. It’s over, and I may never get another chance.
I’ve gotten my wish then, haven’t I? I may turn into a queen that instead of having suitors, takes a lover in secret.
The kingdom will whisper, and I do not know how long it would stay secret.
The council will surely frown on such a decision.
And then there’s the topic of who would be heir.
It all weighs heavily, far more so than I imagined.
But that afternoon, there’s a commotion in the castle. It doesn’t sound like anyone in distress, so I wait in my rooms until Alice and Blanche come in at speed, telling me there is another prince.
“He decided to come after all?” I am ashamed of the excitement in my voice.
“No, Princess, it is another.”
“Another?”
“Apparently last year it appeared your father would not take well to suitors,” she says with a tilted head and then smiles. “This year was much different as your father was more gracious with the idea in his talks.”
My lips part in disbelief. It was my father’s demeanor that’s led to this?
With him on my mind, my father comes to escort me down the grand staircase, but the prince is not waiting for me at the bottom.
The handsome gentleman comes in through the castle’s main entrance a moment later, surrounded by his men and still in his riding clothes. His dirty blond hair is mussed from the ride. The prince pushes a careless hand through it, but does not seem concerned about meeting me in this state.
“Your Highness,” he says with a bow. My brow quirks at his confidence.
He’s tall and quite handsome for being so polished and posh.
“Princess Cora. I am Prince Jasper. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, but unfortunately there is news from home, and I will not be in attendance for dinner.
It would be an honor if you would join me for tea tomorrow? ”
“Of course,” my father agrees without hesitation, and I’m left glancing between them before nodding my acceptance.
“I will only be able to stay a week,” the prince says, handing off his gloves to one of his men. “Might I impose upon you to have any other suitors wait until I’ve gone?”
“Consider it done,” my father assures him.
My mouth drops open, and I stare up at my father before I can snap it shut. He does not look back at me. I can see from this angle that he is…relieved.
“Our servants will show you to your rooms, Prince Jasper,” my father says. “Welcome to our castle.”
“Thank you, King Andrew.” The prince looks up at my father with a sincere expression of gratitude, but hardly seems to glance at me. “I appreciate your hospitality.”
There’s a moment when no one moves.
Then the prince murmurs something to one of his squires, and our servants rush forward to show them all the various places they’ll need to go, and I’m left standing at the bottom of the grand staircase, watching them all scatter.
My father observes them too, then beams down at me as if this is a good thing.
As if being ignored by the handsome, blond-haired prince is an honor and a privilege instead of a slight.
There are so many things I cannot say to him now!
I cannot say that the eighteen-year-old prince who shook at the sight of me showed more interest than this man.
I cannot say that perhaps I prefer the eighteen-year-old prince who at least had the good sense to be nervous!
I can’t say that because it wouldn’t be true. I had time to look at this new prince—Prince Jasper—in his riding clothes, and he had a man’s body, tall and muscled and strong, and before he spoke and let me know that he is not bothered with me, I felt a flush of desire and familiarity.
Within a minute, or perhaps two, the entrance hall is empty, and servants are making their way toward my father and me to soften the blow of being so thoroughly dismissed.
“Finally,” my father says, his voice soft, so it is like I am the only one who hears. “Finally, a prince who has shown interest! Leave him to his business, Cora. The two of you will meet tomorrow for tea.”
“I know, I was—”
“I need a messenger,” my father calls. “We need to get word to the other suitors today. Tell them to wait until requested, by order of the king.”