Seize the Day

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

I turned to Clarice, who was still seething in Titus’ wake. “Why did you antagonize him like that?” I yelled, feeling my voice rise to a hysterical level. “He didn’t do anything to you! And it’s quite clear that he had nothing to do with the marriage arrangement. He never wanted to marry you!” It was all so ridiculous. The way these Royals were acting reminded me of toddlers—especially Clarice’s actions!

Clarice whirled. “You know nothing—you’re just a tutor. So shut your mouth!”

I grabbed my hand before it magically flew and broke her nose. “You need to stop being such a brat! If you’re going to marry Titus, then you will be queen some day.”

“I will not marry that… that…” Clarice cut herself off and yelled in frustration. “I can’t do this!” She crumpled to the ground and clutched the skirt of her crimson gown. Tears started to stream down her face. Her countenance went from furious to pathetic in seconds. “I don’t love him!” she sobbed, covering her face with her hands. “I don’t want to be queen of Aria and I don’t want to marry him! I want to marry someone else.”

I stood there stiffly, unsure of what to do. I was not made for situations like this. I knelt next to the duchess’ daughter and put my hand on her shoulder. “Then who do you want to marry?”

“I—” She hesitated. It was almost as if she kept herself from saying something. “I don’t know! I just don’t want to marry him.” Clarice sobbed hysterically into her hands, then looked up at me with snot running from her nostrils. “What do I do?”

I paused, desperately thinking of a viable solution for this snot-covered Royal. “Tell your mother you don’t want to marry Titus.”

“But I’ve already done that.” She lifted her head up and cried to the ceiling. “She told me she arranged it specifically with the king. I don’t know what to do anymore.” Abruptly, Clarice hugged me tightly and began sobbing on my blouse.

I resisted the urge to push Clarice and her snotty face away from me. Instead, I wrapped my arms around her awkwardly, patting her on the back and offering condolences.

After several minutes of sobbing on my blouse in the middle of the castle hallway, Clarice rose, wiping the mucous from her face with her sleeve. I did not look down at my shirt, for utter fear of what I would see.

“Clarice,” I said as gently as I could, “is there a reason you don’t want to marry Titus?” Or a reason why you hate him? I wanted to ask, but kept the words from escaping my mouth.

She sniffled snottily. “Yes.”

I blew a quick breath through my mouth, praying for patience. “And what reason would that be?”

Clarice gripped her skirts from where we sat together on the floor. The light streaming from the hall window gave a soft glow to her puffy cheeks. She looked at me sullenly. “I can’t tell you…” A conflicted expression crossed her face, but it was abruptly replaced with determination. “Who cares what Philippa says?”

What did Philippa have to do with this?

Before I could ask, Clarice dove into the story with great sobriety. “I’ll tell you why I don’t want to marry him. But you must promise not to tell anyone. Philippa told me not to tell, but I think you’re an exception.”

From the grave way Clarice was looking at me, this felt like a matter of national security, not simple girl talk. I promised Clarice—even though I was clearly not an “exception”—and she took a deep breath.