Chapter 18 Myths and Folklore #2
Luci inwardly coiled, trying to dodge the damning words. While she appreciated Brielle’s defense of her, to say they were equals was a stretch too far. At the end of the day, Luci was a servant who was lucky enough to serve a woman too generous for her own good.
“You go too far.” Lord Treveon’s body shook with anger.
Luci always wondered what kind of woman Brielle’s mother was that she could love such a man, but still produce a kind and generous daughter. It was a conundrum lost to the past.
“Excellent, everyone is here. Please, join us.” Prince Ira’s voice cut through the tension.
Luci was fairly certain she’d never been happier to hear his deep, but easy tone.
Like a moth to the flame, she found him easily and sucked in a breath, her chest aching.
He was dressed in a black tunic, and it suited him far too well.
Hugging his body and emphasizing his lean, yet strong form.
His eyes caught hers, and the smile he’d been wearing fell while his eyes ran over her.
She watched the prince take in a long, steadying breath and place his hand over his heart.
Next to her, Brielle hummed happily.
Her gentle voice collapsed the spell weaving around them all, and Prince Ira shook his head as if clearing his thoughts. The scent of cinnamon curled beneath them as the servants opened the doors, revealing the rest of the royal family already seated at the long table.
“What is that smell?” Brielle asked, breathless.
It was like rolls tossed in butter and spread with a healthy dusting of cinnamon. Something Luci could easily fall into. Her stomach grumbled in answer, and she pressed a hand to it, willing it to stop and praying no one else heard it.
The reality of living in the castle was that Luci was starving most of the day.
She couldn’t sneak down into the kitchens for snacks and was forced to rely on meal times.
Nighttime dessert finds were a dream of the past. Her dresses fit looser lately, and while she was grateful for that, she would far rather have dessert instead.
When she was twenty, and Brielle was being fitted for a gown that used more than half the fabric Luci needed for her own, Luci made peace with the fact that her destiny was not a slim waist.
“Brielle, Lucinda, Lord Treveon.” Prince Ira said, bowing his head.
“Prince Ira, I wanted to apologize for Lucinda; it was an oversight.” Lord Treveon said.
“Father!” Snapped Brielle.
Maybe Luci could ask Max if there were any magic spells for disappearing. If she could be granted one wish, it would be to escape the horror of this moment and forget it had ever happened.
“It’s all right, Brielle. Lord Treveon is right, I’ll-” Luci tried.
“Right about what?” Prince Ira asked.
The steel in his tone was unusual for him, but as he looked from Brielle to Lord Treveon and settled on Luci, gone was the congenial prince. His easy smile was replaced by thin lips pressed together and a hard set to his jaw.
“It’s fine,” Luci repeated.
She attempted to withdraw her arm from Brielle’s, but for such a thin creature, her grip was as firm as stone. Worse, they were gathering attention from everyone. Even Lucien and Gladys were standing at the doors watching.
Oh, pumpkins, this was horrifying.
“Somehow I doubt it’s fine.” Prince Ira said as he fixed his forest eyes on Lord Treveon. “Enlighten me.”
Lord Treveon heaved out a shaky breath while he took in the eyes watching the drama unfold. For once, she and the lord agreed. It would have been much preferable to have not come at all and avoided all of this.
“I’m afraid my daughter’s attachment to her servant sometimes presses the bounds of respectability. Lucinda will retire to her rooms, and I will make sure this does not happen again.” Lord Treveon said, dipping his head. “My firmest apologies, your highness.”
Prince Ira stiffened, hands clenched at his side, before his gaze flashed to Brielle, who nodded subtly.
There was no time to consider what this scheming meant because Prince Ira held out his hand to Luci and met her gaze with such ferocity that she was certain she was now one with the floor.
“Lucinda,” he ordered.
Oh goodness. This was worse than worse. There was only command in his voice, and she was forced to remember that he was not the crown prince by name, but by birthright.
The world was his to break and remake at his will.
Pulling her gaze from his lest she burn to ash and cinders, she looked to Brielle, who was smiling coily.
She nodded toward the prince as if Luci was missing the entire plot.
But she wasn’t because Lord Treveon was the color of plum pie, and if humans were capable of implosion, he was about to at any second.
Maybe she should have taken enjoyment in embarrassing him after all the times he’d looked down on her and made her feel small, but she didn’t.
This was his world, not hers. In fact, if he’d only ever taken the time to see her for who she truly was, he would have seen that their goals were the same.
To make Brielle happy.
Despite the smile she wore now, this was not the happiness Luci envisioned for her friend.
Shaking her head, Luci swallowed.
“It’s fine, I have work to do in-”
“Take my hand, Lucinda.” Prince Ira said, voice low in a way that coursed through her like a bolt of lightning.
Whether it was the command in his voice, the growing smell of cinnamon, or a lapse of good judgment, Luci couldn’t have said. All she knew was that she reached out and took his hand.
His hand squeezed hers in reassurance, and she thought she might just lose consciousness then and there.
“Lucinda is here at my request, Lord Treveon. If you ever question her presence again, I will happily remove you from the council and send you back to Blythe. Am I understood?” he said.
Luci wondered if he’d ever sentenced anyone to death. That was the exact tone she imagined one would use to do it. How strange that her legs would start shaking now. Inconvenient.
She couldn’t bring herself to look at Lord Treveon and instead busied herself looking at the gold and white tile beneath her feet.
Elaborate designs of intersecting florals competed for space inlaid into the tile.
It was beautiful, but also dizzying, which didn’t help her shaking legs.
That’s when her hands began to shake, and she was certain death was preferable to this.
Prince Ira’s grip on her hand tightened.
“Am I understood, Lord Treveon?” he asked.
“Yes, your highness.” his voice was strained.
Still, Luci couldn’t bring herself to see his embarrassment and anger. It would only make all of this worse.
Prince Ira tucked her arm close to him and gently guided her forward. The eyes on them were enough to burn a hole through her dress and straight into her soul.
“Eyes up, Lucinda. You are not beneath them. You exceed them in every sense of the word,” he said, breath coasting over her neck like a prayer.
Her throat was dry and her skin pricked with nervous energy.
“Why are you doing this? I was born on Picadilly Street to a woman who didn’t live long enough to name me. I am not their equal. I am a poor girl who took a wrong turn and found herself in nice clothes,” she whispered so no one else would hear her shame.
Prince Ira stopped and turned his head to face her.
Entire universes gathered in his eyes, flecks of gold dancing over the green. They bore into her, and for just the briefest of seconds, she saw what he did when he looked at her, and she was beautiful. A diamond amidst stones glimmering against the sun. Unique and powerful.
“You are more than any of them could ever hope to be. We don’t choose who we are born to, but we choose who we are. You are courageous, kind, intelligent, and limitless. Don’t let them put you in a box they designed because being anything other than who you are would be a damn shame.”
Emotion was drowning her, pulling her under after each gasping breath, and she knew she couldn’t survive for much longer. Her eyes dragged down to his lips that were slightly parted, and she fought the urge to reach out and run her finger over them.
“I-” she tried.
She lifted her gaze to his, and there she died. Forever swept away in breezes that dance through tree canopies, carrying cinnamon along its winds.
“Do you smell that?” Max said. “I read about this. It’s-”
“Time we all found our seats,” a man said. “Ira.”
He held her gaze for a moment more, and the second she lost it, she was sure she would have done anything for just a little more.
“Yes, father,” he said.
“Sit with me, Luci,” Gladys said.
She came up beside Luci and threaded her arm through hers. Luci tried to nod her head, but she felt far too dizzy to manage it safely.
“Ira,” Gladys whispered.
He squeezed Luci’s hand once more before slowly letting it fall from hers.
The loss of him was unsettling, like she was lost and adrift without hope of being found.
Gladys pulled her along towards the table that stretched for twenty feet.
Rose petals were scattered over white cloth, while every few feet were golden vases filled with roses, next to ornate three-tiered candelabras that were molded from gold.
At the head of the table sat King Rupert, whose eyes tracked everyone’s movements, whipping to and fro.
To his right sat Queen Alexia with her golden curls and soft smile.
She nodded her head towards Luci as Gladys directed her to take the seat next to hers.
The only problem with that was that it put her two seats away from the Queen, which was a mistake of comically embarrassing proportions.
“I should-” Luci began.
“You must be Lucinda.” The queen’s voice was lyrical and gentle. “I’m told we have you to thank for why Ira is chronically covered in Bertram's slobber.”
If it weren’t for her smile, Luci might have thought she was reprimanding her, but there was nothing but warmth in the way she watched Luci.