“Perhaps he will sweep you off your feet with
charm.”
“He won’t.”
“If you say so.”
A silence lingered in the room for some
moments. Realizing there was nothing more to be had from her quiet
stepsister, Drusilla rose. “I suppose I’ll give Sleepy his chair
back, then.” She replaced the kitten on the chair, planted a quick
kiss on Arella’s head, and left the room.
Arella watched Drusilla go. And she thought, No prince will sweep me off my feet. No one can.
Seated in his mother’s sitting room, Prince
Frederick listened half-heartedly to the queen reading the list of
eligible females who would be attending his royal ball. He had
finished his education and was about to celebrate his twentieth
birthday. Therefore, according to precedent, he must marry. And his
bride would be found among the noble young ladies dancing in the
castle two weeks from now.
“Princess Miranda—a good match, but not
exceptional. Her father’s kingdom is too small to be a useful ally.
Alice, daughter of the Duke of Stelstek—sickly constitution. Amala
de Perperand’s family isn’t old money. Oh, the daughter of the
Emperor of Verdemons! She would be an excellent choice.”
The prince listened to the seemingly endless
list of names and descriptions, but none struck his fancy. The
ridiculous thought crossed his mind that this process was like
buying a horse. Except, unlike a horse, the woman he chose would
stay with him for the rest of his life. The woman he chose would
have the power to make him happy or miserable. The power to make
his reign—his entire kingdom, even—strong or weak.
He sighed.
Queen Thalia looked up from her lists and
raised her delicate eyebrows. “I am not wearying you, son?” Her
voice, cultured and melodious, held the faintest hint of
reprimand.
“Of course not, Mother,” Frederick quickly
reassured her. “I was just wondering what my life will be like if I
pick the wrong one.” He drummed his fingers nervously on his
leg.
“Don’t pick the wrong one, then,” his mother
replied calmly.
Frederick half smiled but without amusement.
“Out of so many? How will I know?”
“My son, when you marry, you take not only a
bride but also a queen. Make sure she is worthy to be queen.” Queen
Thalia returned her gaze to her lists, ready to pick up where she
had been interrupted. “Lady Anna von Dalber, reputed to be very
pretty. Elissa Galott, daughter of the Earl of Middlefield . .
.”
Frederick found this advice scarcely
helpful, but his mother was not a woman one questioned twice.
Apparently she believed this information ought to be enough for
him.
A woman worthy of being queen. He
tightened his jaw. Challenge it may be, but Frederick had never
been known to back down from a challenge. He would find her.
2
The night of the ball rapidly approached—not
rapidly enough for Anastasia, too rapidly for Arella. When the day
itself arrived, Arella felt her stomach knotting itself tighter and
tighter as the hours ticked by. If only there were some way she
could excuse herself, some way to sneak out to the stables or the
garden and vanish! But she knew that was impossible.
Early in the afternoon the hairdresser set
about primping the four women. Anastasia’s excitement could not be
contained. This was her first ball—and what a first ball! The
duchess smiled at her exuberant chatter. “I’m afraid no other ball
will ever compare to this, child,” she said with chuckle. “Every
experience you have from now on will seem dull.”
Anastasia was certain this couldn’t be true.
Different, perhaps, but never dull. And even if it were true, so be
it! Any amount of future dullness would be worth the wonder of
tonight. Would the prince dance with every girl there?
“Heavens, no!” her mother assured her, much
to Anastasia’s disappointment. “He doesn’t have enough time to pay
attention to everyone. You will be introduced to him, however, and
there will be plenty of other young
charm.”
“He won’t.”
“If you say so.”
A silence lingered in the room for some
moments. Realizing there was nothing more to be had from her quiet
stepsister, Drusilla rose. “I suppose I’ll give Sleepy his chair
back, then.” She replaced the kitten on the chair, planted a quick
kiss on Arella’s head, and left the room.
Arella watched Drusilla go. And she thought, No prince will sweep me off my feet. No one can.
Seated in his mother’s sitting room, Prince
Frederick listened half-heartedly to the queen reading the list of
eligible females who would be attending his royal ball. He had
finished his education and was about to celebrate his twentieth
birthday. Therefore, according to precedent, he must marry. And his
bride would be found among the noble young ladies dancing in the
castle two weeks from now.
“Princess Miranda—a good match, but not
exceptional. Her father’s kingdom is too small to be a useful ally.
Alice, daughter of the Duke of Stelstek—sickly constitution. Amala
de Perperand’s family isn’t old money. Oh, the daughter of the
Emperor of Verdemons! She would be an excellent choice.”
The prince listened to the seemingly endless
list of names and descriptions, but none struck his fancy. The
ridiculous thought crossed his mind that this process was like
buying a horse. Except, unlike a horse, the woman he chose would
stay with him for the rest of his life. The woman he chose would
have the power to make him happy or miserable. The power to make
his reign—his entire kingdom, even—strong or weak.
He sighed.
Queen Thalia looked up from her lists and
raised her delicate eyebrows. “I am not wearying you, son?” Her
voice, cultured and melodious, held the faintest hint of
reprimand.
“Of course not, Mother,” Frederick quickly
reassured her. “I was just wondering what my life will be like if I
pick the wrong one.” He drummed his fingers nervously on his
leg.
“Don’t pick the wrong one, then,” his mother
replied calmly.
Frederick half smiled but without amusement.
“Out of so many? How will I know?”
“My son, when you marry, you take not only a
bride but also a queen. Make sure she is worthy to be queen.” Queen
Thalia returned her gaze to her lists, ready to pick up where she
had been interrupted. “Lady Anna von Dalber, reputed to be very
pretty. Elissa Galott, daughter of the Earl of Middlefield . .
.”
Frederick found this advice scarcely
helpful, but his mother was not a woman one questioned twice.
Apparently she believed this information ought to be enough for
him.
A woman worthy of being queen. He
tightened his jaw. Challenge it may be, but Frederick had never
been known to back down from a challenge. He would find her.
2
The night of the ball rapidly approached—not
rapidly enough for Anastasia, too rapidly for Arella. When the day
itself arrived, Arella felt her stomach knotting itself tighter and
tighter as the hours ticked by. If only there were some way she
could excuse herself, some way to sneak out to the stables or the
garden and vanish! But she knew that was impossible.
Early in the afternoon the hairdresser set
about primping the four women. Anastasia’s excitement could not be
contained. This was her first ball—and what a first ball! The
duchess smiled at her exuberant chatter. “I’m afraid no other ball
will ever compare to this, child,” she said with chuckle. “Every
experience you have from now on will seem dull.”
Anastasia was certain this couldn’t be true.
Different, perhaps, but never dull. And even if it were true, so be
it! Any amount of future dullness would be worth the wonder of
tonight. Would the prince dance with every girl there?
“Heavens, no!” her mother assured her, much
to Anastasia’s disappointment. “He doesn’t have enough time to pay
attention to everyone. You will be introduced to him, however, and
there will be plenty of other young
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