Catarina and The Prince | Tales From The Court Of Ravaeryn #1

32 | snapdragon

Standing near a marble beam was Julian, silently watching as Alessandro crumpled down to the ground while Catarina smiled in satisfaction.

Alessandro let out another howl, which sounded remarkably genuine, making Catarina somewhat concerned.

    "Does it hurt that much?" she warily asked as she bent down, worried that she might have seriously injured the Prime Minister's son.

Alessandro's wails died in his throat as he looked up at her, and in an instant, he clutched her hand and dragged her down onto the floor beside him.

    "For once, I managed to trick you!" he cackled. "Has my acting improved, little kitty cat?"

Catarina's face flushed into a brilliant shade of red, but gradually, her embarrassment mellowed down into a hearty laugh.

    "You did, you slimy rascal," she huffed, kicking Alessandro in the shin as she stood up.

Despite her roughness towards him, anyone could see the affection she had for him, a result of years of friendship and petty conflict. Julian, who had never witnessed the two interact, was visibly shocked by their closeness.

    Nathaniel le Prince had a very different, almost visceral reaction, however.

    "Sister, is that her? Elliott de Fontaine's daughter?" he hissed to Marguerite, though his eyes had not left Catarina for even a split second.

    "It is. Look at that thief's daughter, behaving like an absolute buffoon. A testament to her lowly bloodline-"

    "She is the most beautiful creature I have ever witnessed," Nathaniel gaped, his eyes wide with adoration. "Sister, I must marry her. She is the one for me, I am certain!"

Marguerite scowled as she slapped Nathaniel's fair, round cheek. "Are you stupid? Why would you want to marry her, the thief's daughter? Our bloodline will be tainted by her!"

Although Nathaniel looked and behaved like a fool, he was actually the furthest thing from it. After all, what else would you expect from the brother of Marguerite le Prince?

    "Can't you see, sister? She is her father's only child, his heiress! The man who marries her will come into possession of endless wealth and power. She will need to marry someday, and if that man were to be me, then our house will be saved! All of House de Fontaine's wealth shall be mine! And you, you will marry the prince and become queen! Sister, this kingdom will become ours!"

And Nathaniel was right. Catarina indeed had to marry in order to produce an heir to inherit House de Fontaine's vast fortune. If she were to marry him, then House de Fontaine's wealth would become House le Prince's. Wouldn't that be the most fitting outcome? The cruel, greedy family's wealth is seized and returned to the rightful, ever so virtuous family. Isn't that the definition of poetic justice?

    Despite all that, Marguerite was still dissatisfied.  The children produced from their union would undoubtedly have the le Prince name, so Elliott de Fontaine's line would die out. But it also meant that le Prince and de Fontaine would be mixed, and Marguerite abhorred the idea of that.

    "I refuse to allow our pure bloodline to be tainted by her. No one knows where her mother came from. She could have descended from a dirty, diseased prostitute for all we know. Or even a band of thieves! Do you truly want someone like that bearing your children?"

Nathaniel's pale blue eyes twinkled as he said, "Who said that I would keep her? Look at her now, so feisty and lively. Once she's mine, I will ravage her body and soul. She will be my slave, and once I'm tired of her, I will lock her up in a convent. The most fitting ending for the daughter of a thief."

    Marguerite glanced at the laughing, ever so joyful Catarina. Wouldn't it be fun to see all that joy drained from her face?

    "Fine," she said to Nathaniel. "I will help you."

    "Miss, is this Castelonian silk? It is so soft and fine!" Rosie's voice rang as she knelt beside Catarina.

The latter looked up from her needlework and nodded towards Rosie. "It is. I asked my father to bring it here for me, for the ball."

Rosie nodded absentmindedly as she marvelled at the yards of deep red silk. The magnificently woven Castelonian silk felt smooth to the skin, almost as if it were water.

    "Do you like it that much, Rosie?" Catarina asked, amused by her maid's reaction.

Rosie beamed, pressing the bundled up silk against her cheeks. "I do, miss. It is the most beautiful piece of fabric that I've ever seen."

Catarina set the needle and thread on the table and turned towards Rosie. "Well then, when it's time for you to get married, I will personally make a dress from the finest Castelonian silk for you."

    "Miss, I can't accept that," Rosie gasped.

    "Enough. I've already decided to make it, so now, all you have to do is to look for a husband."

Rosie's face blushed at the thought of having a husband, so she quickly steered the topic in another direction.

    "Miss, what will the dress look like?" she stammered.

    "Hmm... It will be made of fabric, and it will have two sleeves, a neckline, a bodice--"

    "Miss!"

Catarina chuckled at Rosie's reaction, then, she retrieved the small, leather-bound notebook laying on top of the table. The pages of the notebook were yellowed and falling apart, save for the single sheet of fresh parchment nestled in between the pages. Catarina pulled out the folded up parchment and handed it to Rosie.

    "Here. See for yourself."

Sceptically, Rosie took the piece of parchment. But when she unfolded it, all the doubt quickly melted away.

    "Miss, did you sketch this yourself?" she gasped.

Catarina nodded. "I did. Why, do you not believe me?"

    "To be frank, a little bit," Rosie giggled. "It seems almost too beautiful to be true."

    "Well, I did refer to my mother's notebook. She has hundreds of magnificent designs that I could never come up with," Catarina said, pointing at the leather-bound notebook.

    "Your design is beautiful, Miss. Enormously so. If you were to wear it at the ball, all eyes will be fixated on you, I swear!" Rosie beamed.

Catarina glanced at the bundles of silk and lace strewn all over the floor, then towards her red, bleeding fingertips. "I hope so," she murmured.