CHAPTER FORTY
Daphne
The cottage was empty.
Daphne’s mother was gone—probably on an errand or visiting with the neighbors.
More notable than her mother’s absence was the absence of packages.
There were no bouquets of flowers, no bottles of wine.
So it was a surprise when Daphne entered her bedroom and saw a small velvet box sitting on her pillow, a letter beside it.
She opened the letter slowly, apprehension pricking her spine.
Daphne,
I have spent the last few days thinking about what happened between us.
At first I was furious with you, but now I find myself mired in regret.
It is clear to me that I reacted out of anger.
You must forgive me not only for the way I spoke to you but also for the things I said.
I should not have lost my temper with you, nor should I have insinuated that you were anything other than the exemplary woman you are.
Lately I have found myself wondering whether everything I thought was right was actually very wrong indeed.
You have made me think differently about not only my own future but the future of the entire kingdom.
My father has done things a certain way for decades, and I grapple with whether or not I should do things the same way in his stead.
You once asked me if I was ready to be king.
The truth is I no longer know. Perhaps, with you by my side, I could be.
As you very well know, the ball is tonight.
It is my intention to choose you as one of the final three women to move into the castle.
I am telling you this ahead of time because I wish to give you a choice of your own.
If you are willing to accept my invitation, please attend the ball.
If you would refuse my advance, I must kindly ask that you do not come tonight.
I cannot bear to see you if I cannot keep you.
I hope this does not come off as cruel; I mean it as the opposite.
You are a woman who makes her own decisions.
I have never been able to influence you, and I am not about to start attempting to do so now.
All I can do is lay my heart bare and hope that you take it. If you will still have me, I am yours.
I hope to see you tonight,
Max
Daphne set the letter aside. She found it interesting that despite expressing his regret, at no point in his letter had Maximus actually apologized for his actions.
She turned her attention to the box, opening it slowly.
A sparkling necklace tumbled into her palm.
It had a gleaming gold chain and a faceted emerald in the center.
Daphne stared at it in wonder. It was without doubt the most valuable thing she had ever held.
She did not care about the jewelry; she only cared about what it implied.
Maximus still wanted her. She was still in the game.
There was only one path forward—one solution.
She would move into the castle. She would win.
Daphne spent the day doing chores around the house. By the time her mother got home, she was pacing her bedroom.
“Daphne?” Her mother knocked gently on her door. “There is a package for you.”
Daphne wasn’t sure she could handle any more packages.
This one was wrapped in black paper with a black ribbon.
Kronos’s signature. Daphne took it to her room, pulling the paper open to reveal one last dress.
This one was made of deep red fabric, the color of blood.
It had an intricate corset that would no doubt pull her waist into an extraordinary shape.
Daphne put it on slowly, savoring the richness of the fabric.
It was only once she looked at herself in the mirror before tying the corset that she realized she had it on wrong.
The dress was cut low at the back, seamed in such a way that it would be impossible to close it the way she had it on.
Daphne frowned, pulled it off, and put it back on so that the corset laced in the front.
Only then did she understand what the dress was meant to do: give her the most extraordinary cleavage she had ever seen.
Daphne stared at herself in the mirror. She had never seen herself like this: stunning, bold, strong. Radiant.
She turned to the bed, taking the little golden emerald and fastening it around her neck. It complemented the red dress beautifully. With nothing else to do, she went to the kitchen to wait for her carriage.
“You look lovely, Daphne.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
Daphne tapped her foot. Was the carriage late? What if the prince had changed his mind, and he didn’t want her to come at all? Daphne had no backup plan if that were the case.
“Have you…noticed that the prince hasn’t sent many gifts lately?” her mother asked cautiously.
Daphne knew what she was really asking. “We had a fight. He…wanted something.”
“I see. What did he want?”
“Something I couldn’t give him.”
“You must not be nervous,” her mother said when Daphne didn’t reply. “The prince will know what he is doing.”
Daphne almost rolled her eyes. Her mother thought she was talking about his sexual expertise. She wished what Maximus wanted from her was only physical.
“He has a daughter, Mother. Of course he knows what he’s doing.”
But what her mother didn’t know was that Daphne knew perfectly well what she was doing too. She’d been doing it for years; she was practically an expert at this point. The last few weeks were the longest period of time she’d gone without riding a cock since she’d first started doing it.
Before her mother could ask anything else, the carriage arrived.
Daphne used the ride to the castle to both calm herself down and psych herself up.
She needed to flirt, to act interested, to play along.
Even if he kept his word and selected her to move into the castle, it was only the first step; she needed him to propose.
It did not matter what happened after that.
She could never see Maximus again for all she cared.
All that mattered was giving Kronos the best chance at becoming king.
By the time the carriage pulled up to the castle, Daphne was resolved to her fate.
The ballroom was decorated opulently; there were white flowers on every surface, even strung from the arched ceilings.
Piles of food lined the tables along the walls while the dance floor steadily filled with people.
Daphne leaned against a marble column, watching in anticipation.
There was Veronica, flirting with a butler.
There was Constance, standing with her father, the merchant.
Several royals were on the dance floor, and from the way they were dancing, they were already drunk.
Daphne was just about to make the rounds of the room to find herself a wine when someone interrupted her thoughts.
“Daphne.”
She turned to see the prince. His hair was slicked back save for a single strand that fell artfully over his forehead. He wore a velvet suit the same shade as the emerald on her necklace. At his lapel was a bejeweled snake pin that sparkled in the light.
“Max.”
“You came.”
Daphne knew this moment meant a lot to him. “I read your letter,” she said. “And got your gift.”
His eyes flicked to her neck. “So I see. It suits you.” His eyes went lower, taking in her cleavage. “All of it suits you.”
Daphne didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing. Instead she simply let him look at her, allowing the moment between them to deepen.
He raised a single finger to the necklace, tracing along the gold chain. “A woman like you should only wear diamonds,” he whispered.
“Then why did you give me an emerald?”
“So I could give you a diamond later.”
Daphne arched an eyebrow. “You’re flirting with me.”
Maximus smiled. “Obviously.”
She wagged a finger at him. “Not very princely of you.”
Maximus laughed. Then he wagged his finger right back. “There’s no rule that says I can’t flirt with you. We didn’t include that in our arrangement, did we?”
Daphne pursed her lips. Their arrangement was the only reason she was here. “We didn’t,” she admitted. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
She rolled her eyes. Maximus only laughed.
Daphne hated to admit it, but the prince looked…good tonight. Or perhaps he looked good every night, and Daphne had not truly allowed herself to see it. He was nothing compared to Kronos. But that didn’t mean he was nothing at all.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked when she didn’t reply.
“Please.”
“Any preference?”
“You should know what I like to drink by now.”
Mercifully, he did.
Maximus signaled to the nearest butler, selecting two glasses of wine—one red, one white—and handing the white one to Daphne.
When she took it, their fingers brushed.
His skin was warm. Daphne took a sip of her wine, and Maximus did the same, tipping his glass to his lips and arching his neck.
The muscles in his throat tightened as he swallowed.
They looked out over the party together, watching the revelry in silence.
All the royals looked like Maximus: tall and blond.
Most of them wore clothing that even Daphne—who’d seen everything as a seamstress—had never encountered before.
Gorgeous long dresses with intricate embroidery, enormous fur capes and stoles. Daphne couldn’t imagine such wealth.
When Maximus finished his wine, a butler brought him another.
Daphne cast a glance at him curiously. His long fingers were wrapped around his wineglass, raising it repeatedly to his lips.
In the few short minutes they’d been standing here, Maximus had downed two glasses.
Unlike the rowdy village boys who grew sloppy and loud when they’d had too much ale, Maximus retained barely a flush on his cheeks.
His movements, usually cold and calculated, loosened only an infinitesimal amount.
Daphne wondered why he was indulging tonight.
“You’re getting drunk,” she said.
Maximus swirled his wine. “Am I?”