Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Three days remained before Nin’s private princess training would come to an end.
Cedric folded one arm to his chest, the other pressed against his mouth as Nin balanced three books on the crown of her head. She swayed, spreading her arms out to stabilize herself like a drunk goose in her short heels—the first she’d ever worn.
Cedric exhaled a deep sigh that rumbled in his bones.
“The sides of your dress,” he said. “You must pick up the top layer delicately as you walk. You can’t balance yourself like you’re on a tightrope.”
She took small, rigid steps over the parquet wood flooring. “I might as well be in these dumb shoes. They’re pinching my toes,” Nin mumbled, but he caught her words as clearly as the crystals dangling from the chandelier.
“It’s the unfortunate beauty process,” Lucille said sympathetically across from her. “You’ll have to break them in.”
“Unless they break me first,” Nin said, wincing. “I think they’re too small.”
He strode over to the dressing table and retrieved a fan. Stepping in front of her, he lifted her chin with the closed edge. “Up. You’re not looking where you wish to command.”
Her blue eyes flicked upward, her body shivering under the weight, and a flash of fear crossed her features.
“I can’t, not unless you want them to fall,” she said through clenched teeth.
His lips tightened into a thin line. “I said, chin up.”
She shot him a glare, but raised her chin a bare fraction. His jaw ticked, but he retreated to allow her to compose herself under the wobbling books.
Cedric marched past Lucille to seize another tome from the table, ignoring her steely judgment. Instead of placing a fourth book on top of Nin’s head, he pressed the spine between her shoulder blades.
Nin arched her back with a small yelp, quickly reaching out to catch the books that were teetering over her face.
“You’re slouching again. This is how tall you should be standing at all times,” he said.
Every inch of her trembled when he released her. Nin stepped forward, her back straight, but her arms flapped like a baby bird about to fall from its nest.
“Cedric,” Lucille said with folded arms. “Is this instruction truly helping?”
He heard her, but the clock ticking down every precious second was louder.
“The Duchess of Rochefort—is she widowed or married?” he asked, pacing over the rug.
“M-married,” Nin responded, her heels clicking too slowly across the floor.
“To whom?”
“The Duke Armand de Rochefort,” she said. One of the books slid forward, and she righted it.
Cedric didn’t give her time to recover. “Who governs the northern province of Chanterelle?”
“The Duke Henri de Lorme.”
“Old blood or new?”
“Old,” she answered quickly, but her eyes rounded. “N-no, I mean new. New blood.”
He halted, pinning her with a stern look. She opened her mouth to fill the silence, but nothing came.
“Which is it?” he asked.
Nin remained silent.
“Well?” he probed, rounding in front of her.
She hesitated, a crimson blush creeping across her cheeks.
“Do you believe the court will give you the luxury of thinking?”
Lucille pushed herself away from the wall. “Cedric, don’t you think you’re being a little too—”
“Know your place. This is not the moment to interfere,” he snapped. Lucille’s expression tightened as she bowed her head.
Nin turned on her heel in one smooth motion, with each book still precisely stacked. “You can’t talk to her like that!”
“We have little time to waste,” he said, gesturing for her to continue.
Nin remained unmovable with her arms crossed over her chest. “I’m supposed to be the princess, aren’t I?” she asked.
Cedric stepped closer. She gasped, her eyes wide and teary as their noses nearly touched, while his pocket watch ticked in the uneasy silence.
“A princess?” he said flatly. “That’s not what the court will see. They’ll see a mistake—an imposter never meant to walk amongst their presence.”
The books fell and clattered on the polished floor.
Nin didn’t bend to pick them up. Her throat bobbed when she swallowed.
“Get out,” Nin said.
Cedric blinked, taking an involuntary step back.
“I said, get out,” she said, her voice shaky but piercing.
He stared at her, stunned. “You cannot order me out. We have too much to go over in such little time—”
She raised her chin, her eyes blazing. “I can,” she said. “You forget your place. You serve me.”
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The pocket watch punctuated the silence, the time wasting away with each beat, constricting the air between them.
“Go.”
Cedric’s jaw set. He turned on his heel, his footsteps echoing through the secret passages.
Once inside his private quarters, he paced his room, his teeth clenching. The fireplace flickered, the flames casting long shadows as his mind whirled in anger. What had he been thinking? He’d been too arrogant to think he could ever train a pauper into a princess in such a short time.
A knock sounded at the door. “Not now,” he barked.
The knocking continued, and Cedric moved toward the door, prepared to turn the intruder away. However, it was not one of his men; instead, Lucille was standing in front of him.
Her hands clasped in front of her white apron. “May I enter?” she asked.
Cedric sighed, allowing her in. She followed him into the sitting room of his quarters, consisting of blue settees and gilded chairs.
He sank into one of the striped chaise lounges. “How may I help you?” He asked in a dull, monotone voice.
Lucille remained standing. “You’re in a very foul mood,” she said.
“What an astute observation,” he grunted, bracing an elbow against the armrest and cradling his face. “As much as I’m certain you have many words for me, I’m not in the mood for a lecture.”
“Then I’ll keep it short.”
Lucille approached, her dark green skirts swishing over the damask rug. The movement caught his peripheral vision, but he didn’t look at her.
“You’re approaching this all wrong,”
His hand curled against his cheek.
“Two weeks is not enough time for anyone to master a lifetime of etiquette and court life, but she has done an astounding job thus far,” Lucille said coolly. “And if you refuse to see that—if you refuse to believe in her—then you are setting her up to fail. Not because of her, but because of you.”
He glanced up at her then, meeting her stern features.
A log within the fireplace splintered. Silence settled over the room until the familiar ticking from his pocket caught his ear.
“Guard your time wisely.” His father had said to him when he’d gifted him the watch. “Or be prepared to forfeit what matters most.”
Since boyhood, Cedric had been taught to guard the invaluable. The Duval noble family boasted a lineage of commanders, strategists, and royal guards that stretched back for centuries. Their legacy was built on vigilance and sacrifice—one he inherited.
It was more than duty, Cedric owed a debt to the Queen. Failure to protect the princess and the crown was not an option.
And yet…
All his training and experience were unraveling before him. But not because of his lack of effort, but by his lack of faith.
Lucille’s words crystallized in his mind.
Because of you.
Two hours later, Cedric made his way back through the secret hallway until he was facing the concealed door.
He raised his fist to knock, then stilled. A murmur slipped through the narrow crack. Curious despite himself, he nudged the door open a fraction.
Nin sat on her bed, her skirts spilling around her as well as seven books, opened in a half-circle at her feet. Bijou sat in her lap, her head resting against Nin’s knee.
“Lord Gaston Auguste is charged with the seaside territory to the east. He’s married to Lady Anna Marie Auguste. She’s known for her charity work among the needy…” she muttered, tapping a quill to her lips.
Cedric’s chest constricted.
He’d been too occupied by her quips and the way she challenged him, that he hadn’t considered she would take his instructions seriously. That she would sit here alone, studying and memorizing everything he had tasked her with.
“If Lady Auguste were to approach me…I…” Nin stared at her lap, then groaned. She reached for a journal and flipped through it. “I’m to acknowledge her with a nod and avoid political topics.”
She snapped the journal shut, her shoulders sagging. Her chin quivered, and a tear slipped and dotted the page before her.
Air caught in his throat.
“What’s the matter with me?” she whispered, wiping her eyes. The dog shifted, nudging her hand, and Nin sank her fingers into her fur.
Guilt stabbed through his core, hot and unrelenting.
Nin wasn’t inattentive, lazy, or defiant as he believed. She was alone, afraid, but still choosing to persevere for her brother.
His hand hovered, hesitating before he gently knocked on the door. She sat up and dusted her skirts.
“I didn’t say you could come back,” she said, her arms folded tightly over her chest.
“No,” he said, remaining by the door. “I came here to apologize,” he explained. “I know words may be inadequate, but I grew frustrated under pressure, and I took it out on you.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice cracking. “You did. I work so hard, but it’s never enough for you.”
Cedric took a step toward her before he could stop himself. The rawness of it struck him harder than any accusation.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “you have come a long way, and I see how hard you’re working.” He drew a deep breath. “But I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself, and I cannot stand the thought that you might suffer because of something I failed to teach you. Because I wasn’t good enough.”
Something shifted between them.
She peered up, eyes shining with unshed tears. “So… you don’t hate me?”
The question landed like a blow to the stomach.
“No,” Cedric said, softer now, “I don’t hate you.” He hesitated, then added, “I admire you. You care about getting this right—about protecting your brother. And I should not have acted so harshly.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” she conceded.
Cedric pressed his lips together, accepting the shame washing over him.
“But,” she said softly, “I accept your apology.”
He glanced up, catching the smile curving on her lips.
The ticking of his pocket watch filled the space between them.
For once, the crushing weight of time did not inspire fear, but a reminder of this moment.
Of the tension loosening inside him, and the way her eyes sparkled as her smile softened.
They lingered there long enough for something curious to stir within him.
“Well,” she started awkwardly, breaking the silence. Cedric straightened, shaking the strange sensations away.
“I shall take my leave,” he said, stiffer than he intended.
He turned, but her voice stopped him. “Thank you. I don’t have many people who care enough about me to worry. I appreciate your words more than you know.”
She nudged Bijou from her lap, slipped off the bed, and approached him. Her back was straight, chin lifted to the proper angle, her steps gliding over the floor like a graceful swan.
“Stop,” he said.
She froze, blinking owlishly.
“Go back,” he said. “Then walk to me again.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Please,” he said. “Once more. Then I’ll leave.”
With an exaggerated huff, she turned—and then walked back to him.
He didn’t believe his eyes at first and needed proof he wasn’t dreaming. But she walked with no hesitation. No wobble. Her movements were fluid and effortless.
Relief, pride, and something dangerously close to exhilaration swirled within him. Before he could think better of it, he stepped forward and caught her hands in his.
“You did it,” he said, breathless. “That was flawless. You were flawless.”
Her eyes rounded, bright and disbelieving. “I did it,” she said softly.
Then her chin lowered. For a moment, neither of them moved.
Cedric realized he was still holding her hands and released them at once. He cleared his throat, letting his arms fall to his sides while she rubbed the back of her neck.
“Good,” he said, his voice taut. “Very good, Nin. I’m proud of you.”
He looked at her then, truly seeing her for the first time in a week and a half.
Cedric traced the line of her jaw with new clarity.
The harsh contours of her face had been filled with palace meals, leaving her high cheekbones soft.
In such a short time, she had transformed from a scrawny pauper into something vibrant.
He stared too long, trying to pinpoint when she had started to look like… this.
Healthy, lively…
Beautiful.
Cedric blinked, the realization striking him with a sudden, sharp clarity: she was no longer merely a project to him.
He must look away. Immediately.
Yet the cheeky grin that pulled at her lips held him captive to their rosy hue. “I don’t believe that’s how you should address Her Highness,” she said.
Cedric smirked, his expression softening. “No, it is not—but it’s how I address a friend.”
Her mouth parted, and pink dusted her nose. Then, her smile bloomed. “Thank you… for being my friend.”