Chapter 25
Following hours of preparation, Sonya stood in front of the mirror, looking like the perfect image of a princess.
There had been an entire team of people to get her bathed and dressed and ready.
Her hair was intricately braided and pinned back with golden pins that had pearls at the end, and perched on top of her head was a gold tiara, studded with jewels.
She wore gold bangles on both wrists and a heavy gold set on her ears and neck.
The gown was gorgeous: a deep and vivid shade of bright blue with an open robe and petticoat.
The dress had a fitted bodice and narrow sleeves with layered cuffs, along with hoops beneath the fabric to give her a half foot radius of cloth around her body.
It was precisely what would be expected of a princess at a ball, but so unlike what Sonya would have chosen for herself.
She had thought Azam knew her, that he knew the very shape of her soul, that he saw her, but maybe she was wrong; maybe she had imagined it all. In such little time, he had changed, and that hurt as badly as his betrayal.
Sonya released a long sigh and straightened her back. She would go through with this.
At least with an arranged marriage, she knew what she was getting into, knew what to expect. It would keep her safe and protected. Life was safer without an all-consuming love.
Sonya walked out of her room, where her father was waiting for her in the hallway. He was dressed in all his regalia, with his huge crown on his head and a talwar at his side.
‘Are you ready, beta?’ Roshan asked, holding out a hand.
Sonya swallowed. ‘Yes, Baba.’ She took his hand, and together they walked down to the ballroom, where all the guests had already arrived. They waited by the closed doors and, inside, she heard the noise quiet down.
The doors opened, and Sonya entered with her father to the top of a staircase.
Down below, the ballroom was filled with all of the aristocracy.
Their faces blurred together, no one standing out.
Sonya’s grip on her father’s hand tightened as they made their way down the stairs, everybody’s eyes on them.
At the base of the stairs, her brothers stood with each of their choices: Mustafa with the son of a marquess, Irfan with an earl, and Shahmir with the son of a duke.
The king did not have a pick; he would be happy with whoever his sons had chosen, but if Sonya knew her father, she knew he’d likely be leaning towards Shahmir’s choice.
‘May I introduce you to my sister?’ Shahmir began, and each of her brothers presented their picks.
They were all well-dressed and well-groomed, handsome even, but Sonya almost immediately forgot their names, and which one was which.
This was harder than she had expected. Her heart was resisting, already belonging to another, but she needed to think of this as a friendship, a partnership. That would be a good basis for a marriage. She would be happy.
‘Thank you all for your attendance as we embark on this tourney for the princess to choose her groom!’ Roshan announced to the crowd. ‘Without further ado, let there be dancing!’
The music started up again, and couples went to the dance floor, the ballroom filled with buzzing conversation as people discussed every detail of Sonya’s look, as well as the suitors. She caught snippets here and there as people cast their votes.
Before any of the suitors could ask her to dance, Sonya went to get herself a drink. People moved out of the way as she went past, while others craned their necks to get a better glimpse at her. Her skin felt hot. She had been to balls like this before; she should have been used to such attention.
Making it to the drinks table on the side of the ballroom, Sonya grabbed a flute of bubbly liquid and took a long sip. The fizzy orange juice tickled as it went down, and was too sweet, but the sugar helped calm her nerves. A moment later, Mustafa came up beside her, getting a flute for himself.
‘You know we have help to bring you a drink if you’re thirsty,’ he said, nudging her playfully. She gave him a tight smile in response.
Mustafa frowned. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked more seriously.
She was about to respond when she glanced up and saw Azam, standing to the side beside a few guards. She jolted as if struck by lightning.
He was watching her, hardly blinking. His body was tense, his jaw ticking.
She turned around, heart beating fast.
‘What is the tailor doing here?’ she asked her brother, keeping her voice low. Mustafa glanced over at Azam, and by then, Irfan and Shahmir joined them as well, crowding around her.
‘In case you have any wardrobe malfunctions, of course,’ Mustafa replied, taking a sip of juice.
‘Is she asking about the tailor?’ Shahmir asked, taking a drink.
Mustafa nodded.
Sonya let out an exasperated breath, trying not to frown. It was so much easier to try and forget Azam when he wasn’t in front of her. How was she supposed to choose a suitor when her first choice was standing in the sidelines, wanting nothing to do with her?
‘It’s a party!’ Irfan said. ‘Cheer up. Why don’t you go and have a dance with one of your suitors? I’m sure you’ll have fun.’
Sonya nodded, trying to distract herself with the revelry of the ball.
The ballroom was full of light, decorated with white and pink flowers, the mirrors’ reflections creating double the effect. People were talking and drinking and dancing, everyone dressed in their very finest.
Sonya took a deep breath, then approached the first suitor she saw. The marquess’s son. He had shiny black hair and dark eyes. He was very quiet, and she could see why Mustafa liked him.
They danced in silence, though she could see he was searching for something to say.
‘It’s very loud in here,’ Sonya said, as they moved across the room.
‘I agree,’ he said. ‘I must say I prefer a quiet library to such parties.’
She smiled. ‘I would prefer that at the moment, as well.’
The ballroom was overwhelming, and they finished their dance in silence, which was companionable, if a little awkward.
Next, she danced with the earl, who was very tall and had golden hair.
‘You look marvelous,’ he told her, giving her a charming smile. ‘A rare jewel.’
‘Are you referring to the jewels I am wearing, or to me?’ she asked boldly.
He laughed out loud, blue eyes sparkling. ‘It is not difficult to decide which is more beautiful; you surpass the jewels by far.’
She smiled as they danced around the room, her feet hardly touching the ground.
Then, she danced with the duke’s son, who had a beard and looked to be the oldest of the suitors. He was not as quiet as the marquess’s son, nor as bold as the earl, but a steady middle.
‘Are your feet tired, yet?’ he asked, as the dance began. His brown eyes were warm.
‘They are,’ she admitted. ‘I had lessons earlier in the day, as well, so I feel as if I have been dancing all day.’
‘Do you enjoy dancing?’ he asked, and she was about to respond when she glanced at Azam across the room.
She recalled dancing with him, how much she had enjoyed it then.
‘Princess?’ the duke’s son asked again.
She turned back to him. ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Yes, I do enjoy dancing.’
Though only with a certain partner. Her heart twisted painfully.
After the dance was finished, she excused herself. She went straight to the dessert table and placed a gulab jamun on her plate. She took a bite of the soft and spongy delicacy, the syrup filling her mouth. It was her favorite sweet, but even that did not do much to improve her mood.
‘Would you like to take a turn about the room?’ the earl asked. She noticed his coat was the same gold as his hair. Sonya nodded, setting down her plate. He offered her his arm, and she took it.
‘Have you noticed that …’ He was talkative, so it did not require much of her to walk with him.
She responded with an occasional, ‘That’s interesting’ or ‘Oh!’ and he carried on.
She was distracted, her gaze jumping to Azam at the side of the crowded room.
No matter where she moved in the room, her eyes found him and, each time, he was already watching her.
Frustration built inside her, making her breathless. She felt like a bow pulled taut, ready to snap an arrow.
‘Princess?’ the earl asked, and she realized he was awaiting her response to a question.
She blinked, looking into his blue eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘What did you ask?’
He smiled, unbothered. ‘I asked if you enjoyed horseback riding as well?’
‘Oh … um … not particularly?’
‘Ah.’
An awkward moment hung between them, and she stopped walking.
‘Please excuse me,’ she said. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, she quickly turned on her heel, heading for the drinks table again.
She grabbed the first drink she saw, hoping that would help, but the sweet liquid did not do much.
She couldn’t breathe.
Everything was so loud, clinking glasses and laughter and music, mixing together to make her ears ring. There were too many people, all of them staring; it was too hot, the air suffocating; her corset was too tight. She closed her eyes, trying to take deep breaths.
Think of something peaceful.
Her thoughts went straight to the cottage.
She was no longer at a royal ball, dressed in her finest. Instead, she was wearing a simple day dress, the cotton soft and weathered from use.
She was washing dishes by the sink and, in the background, she could hear the fire crackling and Dania’s laughter outside in the garden, mingled with Kiri’s.
She didn’t need to turn to know that Azam was beside her, his presence steady and solid. His knuckles brushed against hers as she handed him a plate to dry. She looked up at him, and he smiled at her, that beautiful smile, and everything was perfect.
Sonya opened her eyes, abruptly returning to the ballroom, the noise and commotion overwhelming her senses. A sob rose in her throat as she reminded herself that everything wasn’t perfect because it wasn’t real. It was a dream, and now she had to wake up and face reality.
She was a princess, and princesses got married. It was what they did.
And she wanted to get married—she did. But the man she had chosen had put a wall between them. Her heart pounded painfully.
Then Shahmir was there, his hand at her elbow. ‘Munni, is everything alright?’ he asked. His asking only made her feel worse. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. ‘Sonya?’
There was nothing she could say to him. She tried to force a smile. ‘I’m alright,’ she said out of habit, but then her other brothers were there, too, watching her, and she realized she wasn’t alright. Not at all.
She needed to be honest.
‘Actually,’ she said, looking at the three of them. ‘I hate this.’ Her lower lip trembled.
‘Hate what?’ Irfan asked, his brows pinched with confusion.
‘All of this,’ she said, gesturing to herself. She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t want to be here, to be this. I don’t want any of this. That’s why I ran away.’
Her brothers were stunned, each of them silent as they took in her words.
‘I didn’t know you felt this way,’ Shahmir finally said, brown eyes concerned. ‘Everything we did was always in your best interests.’
‘Well, it wasn’t,’ she replied sourly.
‘What can we do?’ Mustafa asked.
‘Nothing,’ she said, and she meant it. She would go through with the tourney, she would get married, she would be a princess and a wife. What other option did she have?
The future she had imagined with Azam was not possible, not like this, when he could barely look at her.
She would forgive him for his deception if only he asked her to.
Her eyes welled with tears. She needed to leave before she made a scene. ‘I need a moment,’ she told her brothers. Irfan opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand. ‘Don’t come after me.’
She ran up the stairs, exiting out into the quiet hall, where she listened to the sound of her shuddering breath.
The halls were dark save for the moonlight streaming in from the wide windows.
Sonya moved over to one, clutching the windowsill, staring out at the cloudy night.
She wished she could see the sparkling stars, but they were all hidden.
Taking deep breaths, Sonya tried to calm herself. A few moments later, she heard someone entering the hall, coming towards her. Irritation at her brothers burst through her.
‘I said not to follow,’ she snapped, turning to scold whichever of her brothers had come after her, but the words died on her lips when she saw it was Azam.
The corridor was empty save for the two of them, and her pulse quickened as he grew nearer, stepping into the moonlight.
He had fit in perfectly at the ball in his formal dress, yet he looked so out of place to her.
He pulled at the collar of his jacquard waistcoat, looking uncomfortable.
She missed his worn shirts, open at the throat and lazily tucked into his trousers when he came down for breakfast; his bare feet, padding around the cottage; his rolled-up sleeves as he helped her with chores.
His hair was brushed back, held together with some sort of gel, and she resisted the urge to go and ruin all that careful styling. She missed his messy, wavy hair.
She had felt his hair knotted in her fingers when he’d kissed her. The sweet memory was sharp and painful now, like fruit that had been poisoned.
Standing right in front of her, he stared, as if taking in every detail. She wondered if it was just as jarring for him to see her as a princess: the dress, the jewels, the crown. Her hair done up when he was used to seeing it down and wavy. The whole thing gave her a headache.
Azam worked his jaw, and she could see he was deep in thought, struggling to find the right words.
Sonya waited to see what he would say, but she was met with only continued silence.
Say something, anything.
She knew even now that if he did, if he just reached his hand out for her like he did that very first night, she would follow him anywhere.
Which was dangerous. She should not trust him or want to be with him after everything, and yet, and yet …
her traitorous heart still beat for him, only for him.
But he would not speak. There was something stopping him.
The Azam that had kissed her was gone. Which meant that she could no longer be the Sonya that he had kissed. She looked away.
‘Please,’ she said, voice a whisper. ‘Just let me go.’
She went, and this time, he did not follow.