Chapter 8 The Proposal
Chapter eight
The Proposal
Love at first sight is always a story worth telling.
-Tales from Merida, Volume II
“It’s fine,” Luci repeated for the fifth time in a row as Lady Margaret fanned herself in her chair, sweat dripping down her face despite the cool summer breeze floating through the open windows.
Brielle was busy clutching Calcifer to her chest, petting him with enough fervor that his eyes kept being pulled open wide with every stroke, but somehow he was purring as if it was a most enjoyable experience.
The truth was that, in fact, nothing was fine at all.
Prince Ira had claimed Brielle as his bride, except for the part where he thought Luci was Brielle.
Maybe if they had time to formulate a plan, but the most they could hope for was an hour. An hour to decide how to fix this.
“What kind of a man just announces he’s going to marry someone without asking them first?” Luci grunted.
“A prince!” Brielle and Lady Margaret said as one.
Luci huffed. “Hardly an excuse.”
Something akin to high-pitched words came from Lady Margaret, but as to what they meant, Luci couldn’t have begun to say.
There might have been the word doom in there, though.
It was not a situation anyone could have prepared for.
What was Prince Ira thinking? Was this some sort of apology for last night?
“I’m sorry I locked you in a strange room with feral magic. Let’s get married.”
Luci snorted a laugh at the image of him saying those words with all his charm and wit.
“Lucinda, this is not a time for laughter.” Lady Margaret wailed.
“It’s fine.” Sixth time. “I’ll just tell him I’m not interested in marrying him and he can be on his merry way.”
Brielle and Lady Margaret stared at her as if she were entirely mad with mouths wide open. Even Calcifer halted his purring and watched her with suspicion.
Luci threw up her arms. “Are you saying there is no way around this? He says he’s engaged to Brielle, and she doesn’t get a say in it?”
“Yes!” they said as one.
Clearly, everyone understood the situation except her. Feeling defeated, Luci plopped herself onto the floor and groaned.
“This is terrible,” she said.
Silence stretched between them all as precious seconds ticked away.
Luci could practically hear the stomp of hooves and carriage wheels traipsing down towards Blythe.
Engaged. One night with her, and Prince Ira decided that was the end of his marriage search.
It should have been flattering, and she would have been lying if it didn’t send a small whirlwind through her stomach.
Something about it was inherently romantic, but mostly it was profoundly ridiculous.
Clip Clop. Clip clop. Her imaginary horses were getting closer, which made sense.
She was nearing the symbolic and real gallows.
Did they still hang people for treason, or was it more likely a beheading that lay in her future?
Honestly, the beheading was probably preferable.
Luci ran a hand around her neck, memorizing the way it efficiently connected her head to her body.
Prince Ira seemed like a reasonable human being, minus most of last night. Maybe she could just explain the situation to him, and he would find it all highly amusing. Was that a neigh?
“We are doomed!” Lady Margaret said, as she pawed at the curtains and then screamed a blood-curdling cry.
Both Stasia and Drusilla began barking frantically at their mistress’s despair. Calcifer hissed, hair standing up as he leapt off Brielle and onto the wardrobe.
“Is that-” Brielle began.
The door opened, and Mrs. Blakesley entered, face blank as she assessed the chaos of the room.
In fact, Drusilla had taken that opportunity to bite at the end of Luci’s dress, growling as she pulled at the fabric.
Luci couldn’t bring herself to care, though, as her imaginary horses neighed louder and the carriage wheels bumped and groaned.
“Mrs. Blakesley, we are doomed!” Lady Margaret wailed, finding the discarded letter and shoving it into the housekeeper’s hands.
To her credit, Mrs. Blakesley scanned the letter and then neatly folded it up, mouth pursed in consideration.
“It seems to me that it was a masked ball where plenty of drink was shared. Memories often differ from reality. This is likely true for princes as well.” Mrs. Blakesley said simply.
“Now, Luci, get up off the floor and grab the charcoal and rouge from Lady Margaret’s room.
Lady Margaret, please remember that you are a proud Treveon now, and we do not give in to despair.
Put on your finest dress as fast as you can and finish your face.
Brielle, darling, you are going to meet your fiancé. ”
Luci sat up and stared at the older woman, truly seeing her. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was, in fact, a plan. Brielle is engaged to Prince Ira. Something about it pulled at her, but the truth was that Luci believed he was a good person. Would Brielle be happy?
“He doesn’t want to marry me; he wants to marry Luci,” Brielle said.
More neighing.
“We are out of time.” Mrs. Blakesley said. “If anyone is to offer up a second plan, now is the time.”
The carriage noises stopped. At least the phantom noises were gone from her mind. Except, now there were voices.
Dread crept over her. Oh no. Swatting away Drusilla, who barked indignantly at the insult, Luci crawled to the window next to where Lady Margaret sat muttering to herself about begging forgiveness.
Pulling herself up, Luci squinted her eyes against the summer sun.
The moment the black spots receded, a litany of carriages formed before her. With Lord Treveon at the head.
“They’re here,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Mrs. Blakesley said, “Which is why the three of you will now pull yourselves together and remember that you are all strong and capable women. I will delay their party as much as I can while you all get ready yourselves. Lucinda, I trust you remember the time you and Ms. Treveon thought it wildly funny to use the henna to draw mustaches on Cook while she slept.”
“We were nine!” Luci said with exasperation.
“Yes, well, if you have any more, I suggest you put it to use on that hair now.” Mrs. Blakesley said before turning around and leaving.
Luci ran her fingers through her blond hair. It was actually a good idea, though exceptionally devious. She made a mental tally to bring this character trait up to Mrs. Blakesley if they survived long enough.
“Luci,” Brielle groaned, hands wrapped around her stomach.
Oh, light above. Luci picked herself up off the ground and pressed a kiss to Brielle’s forehead.
“We can do hard things,” she said, “I’ll get Lady Margaret up, and you get yourself ready. I’ll bring the rouge and charcoal. It’ll add color to your face, Mrs. Blakesley is right.”
“Are we really doing this?” Brielle asked.
“Yes. Yes, we are.”
“Let’s get you ready to meet your fiancé.”
Now that Luci knew magic was real, she was inclined to credit it for the fact that Lady Margaret was standing and acting like the pure-bred lady she was.
As well as Brielle standing at the top of the stairs and not crying.
It was practically a miracle, given that Brielle’s immediate reaction when overwhelmed was often to leak from her eyes at an alarming rate.
This was different, though. It was in the steel set of her eyes and the way she lifted her chin into the air.
She was doing this for Luci. That was what kept her going.
The thought warmed Luci’s blood and steadied her breathing.
They could do hard things. Like, convince the prince he had spent last night with Brielle.
The truth was, a small and chaotic part of herself wanted him to see through the ruse.
That maybe those tiny moments she had felt had been something more, but that was just ridiculous.
She was an orphan. He was a crown prince. The end.
“I hate it.” Brielle wrinkled her nose as she eyed Luci.
Luci lifted a dark strand of hair and stared at it.
Black as midnight. The truth was, she hated it too.
It didn’t feel like her, and despite everything, Luci had never wanted to change anything about herself.
It was unconventional, but she liked everything how it was.
Yet, this sacrifice, the loss of her honey hair, was a small price to pay for keeping Brielle safe.
Carefully, Luci lifted the blue ribbon she was holding and wrapped it up into her hair and into a neat bow.
“I’ll go first,” Lady Margaret said, quite restored. “Brielle, you will come to the parlour in five minutes. Luci, well, dear, it’s best if you stay out of view altogether.”
That was true enough even if it stung a little. What stung more was that Brielle didn’t argue. Instead, she stared down the rounding stares as if it were a mountain she had to conquer.
“Alright,” Lady Treveon breathed out. “Drusilla, Stasia, come.”
The little beasts rounded the corner and made for their mistress, despite Stasia taking the opportunity to nip at Luci’s heels.
Luci let out a whispered curse and glared at the creature.
Whatever she had done to earn their ire must have been terrible, given how well they nursed their plan for vengeance.
When Lady Treveon disappeared, Brielle turned to Luci with silver lining her eyes.
“If he loves you, it should be you who goes to see him. Explain, and he will understand everything,” she pleaded.
What a mess. Though Luci had never asked to go to the ball, her decisions once there were now firmly her own.
Decisions that had now led to her best friend being engaged to a man she had never met.
The best outcome was that Brielle would convince him that, though she was flattered, she could not accept, and then they would hide away at Blythe for the rest of their lives. No more princes, magic, or castles.