Dawn of Destiny (The Warrior Angels Trilogy - Book 1)

Chapter Eleven

"Here are your lemon bars, Your Highness," Lady Emilia said, stopping beside Beatrice. In her gloved hands, she held the desserts in question.

Beatrice beamed at the sight of them and helped herself to one, humming delightfully after one bite. Her other two companions, Arabella and Victoria, shielded their mouths as they giggled at this.

"Samoa is still speaking with Luc, isn't she?" asked Emilia, squinting over at the woman across the room from them. "I wonder what she finds so fascinating about him." Of course, she had to say that. He was her brother, after all. And Beatrice had been told that the members of the Wylie family never got along well. No, they were practically strangers who merely shared the same estate, businesses, and name.

Beatrice found herself staring at Samoa as well. The older woman was in her usual glory—a gorgeous red gown with lace trimming, silver rhinestone bodice, and jewelry to match. Her luscious black hair had been elegantly pinned up, allowing the sharpness of her jaw and cheekbones to shine. So, of course, Luc was entranced with her.

Victoria clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "That is not appropriate. She should not be so openly flirtatious. People will wrongly make assumptions about her." Arabella nodded in agreement.

"She cannot really help that she is adored, though," Beatrice mentioned, slyly wiping the corners of her mouth. "And truly, what harm could a bit of coquetting do?"

Emilia gasped, then giggled, nudging Beatrice lightly. "Oh, Beatrice, if your mother heard you say that."

Beatrice smirked at her. She looked at Samoa and Luc again, and she swallowed hard at the unexpected envy that boiled within her. No one would dare look at her in such a way. Most merely saw a crown and a list of pernicious consequences that would follow if they even thought about courting her without permission from her mother. And it was such a shame, for Luc was quite handsome with his wide green eyes and neatly combed caramel-colored hair. She would not mind having him fawn over her the way he currently was with Samoa.

But Beatrice was thirteen-years-old and, from what she had overheard, looked even younger than that sometimes. Her face was round and especially corpulent around her cheeks. She did have not long legs or a full chest that was nearly bursting out of her bodice.

Well, at least not yet. Her hope was that in the next year, she would not be as flat. She had time to grow.

She took another bite of her lemon bar and turned her attention elsewhere. As the minstrels switched to a lighter tune, it wasn't long before her friends were asked to dance. Emilia shoved the other lemon bar into Beatrice's hands as she was swept away. Beatrice gawked at her. Then looked around, wondering if anyone else had seen that. This was when she wished Maribel could have been here. She would have never deserted Beatrice like this. But Maribel, according to Jeanette, was ill at home. Beatrice didn't really believe that, though. Maribel simply felt uncomfortable in these types of crowds and avoided them if she could.

Beatrice caught the eye of a servant who briskly came over and asked if she needed anything. She groaned and threw the lemon bars at him before storming out of there.

"Beatrice!" Arabella called from the crowd. "Where are you going?"

At the entrance, Beatrice demanded the doors be opened for her. The guards exchanged questionable glances with each other, further frustrating her. She threw up her hands and pushed open one of the doors herself.

"Your Highness!" one of them cried, stumbling into the corridor after her. "You should not leave without an escort!"

"I do not need an escort," she retorted. She kept hearing his armor clanging behind her, though, and she glared at him over her shoulder. "Stop following me."