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

49 | arbutus

    "You look beautiful," Catarina beamed, to which Rosie replied with a thin smile.

Respectfully no, Miss. I look like a clown, she wanted to say. But it was Catarina's big day, after all, so Rosie ended up swallowing her words. Besides, it did feel nice to be pampered, no matter how clownish the end results were.

    "Miss, if you will l excuse me," Rosie said. "I wish to go outside for some fresh air."

Catarina nodded, and soon, Rosie was on her way out. She had expected some snickers from her fellow servants, but she had not expected to see Tristan de Fontaine. A bit foolish of her, considering this was the wedding of his cousin.

Rosie had not seen Tristan in quite a while, ever since Catarina regained her health. She liked to think that she and Tristan were on friendly terms, since they had spent a considerable amount of time together. But of course, he was the future Duke of Esterdel, and Rosie, at most, would only be Catarina's maid-in-waiting. So when she passed by Tristan, she lowered her head, not wanting to look at him, and not wanting him to notice her.

Tristan's actions, however, astounded her. "Miss Rosie? Is that you, Miss Rosie?" he called out. Tristan de Fontaine had been blessed, or cursed, with an audibly loud voice, and as a result, all eyes were on them.

Rosie, who had been blushing under her inch-thick layer of powder, gritted her teeth and hastily made her way through the gaping bystanders. Ever so shameless, Tristan ran after her, and once he catched up to her, he grasped onto her hand.

    "It is you, Miss Rosie," he said.

Rosie finally turned around to face him, forcing herself to fake a smile. "Correct, Master de Fontaine."

    "You look different," Tristan murmured with a frown.

    "Is it a good difference, or a bad difference?"

    "Do you want me to be honest with you?"

Rosie almost chuckled with rage. "No, I think I already got the message. Frankly, I don't like it that much either, but prancing around looking like a half-dead corpse seems to be quite the rage nowadays."

    "Now that you've mentioned it, I am starting to see the similarities. As you know, I spend quite some time in the morgue," Tristan smirked.

Rosie rolled her eyes. "Alright. It has been a pleasant conversation, but I must take my leave now."

    "Wait," Tristan suddenly exclaimed. "I did not run after you just to make fun of you, Miss Rosie. I wanted to talk about your-- our future."

    "Our future?" Rosie frowned. "Are you drunk, Master de Fontaine?"

Tristan shook his head. "I do not drink, Miss Rosie. Alcohol is extremely detrimental to health, and excessive drinking will lead to sickness of the liver. I should know this because I study medicine. My question to you, Miss Rosie, will you continue to serve my cousin after her marriage, even after she ascends the throne?"

    "Of course," Rosie answered without skipping a beat. "I have been by her side since we were toddlers. I had always known that I would serve her for the rest of my life."

    "And are you content with that? A lifetime of servitude?"

    "I am used to it, Master de Fontaine. I have lived that way for eighteen years, and as you can see, I am doing quite well," Rosie retorted.

    "Just because you have gotten used to it, does not mean that it is alright. You deserve so much more. You are brilliant, Miss Rosie. You truly are. If you had the chance to learn, I am certain that you would be capable to outperform me."

    "What are you suggesting at, Master de Fontaine?"

    "Allow me to fund your studies. Once you have honed your skills, we shall establish our own practice. You will be the first female physician in the kingdom."

    "You think too highly of me," Rosie chuckled. "I cannot possibly-"

    "You can, Miss Rosie. And you will," Tristan insisted. "Our first class starts a week from now. Come to the morgue at Lavillia Perra. We will be dissecting a cadaver."

As Tristan walked away, Rosie was left gaping at the bizarreness of the conversation. It did not matter though. She had a class to look forward to.

    "Sit still, Marcus!" Queen Isabel hissed at her youngest son. "Not to mention, you dare to show up to your brother's wedding with muddy shoes!"

The twelve-year-old prince let out a mournful sigh as he lowered his face. "My grasshopper disappeared into the forest."

    "As it should," the Queen grumbled.

Marcus hated weddings, especially those with white decor, which meant that he had to be more careful. Walking around with his muddied shoes felt like walking on eggshells. Thankfully, the food was quite good. Marcus had stuffed several meat pies and chocolate croissants into his pocket, and once the actual ceremony began, he too initiated his feast.

The music of the orchestra was drowned out by his munching and chewing, and Marcus was more interested in fetching more croissants than to look at his future sister-in-law as she walked down the aisle.

That day, Catarina de Fontaine had worn a gown of golden satin that shimmered in the pale sunlight, and a slew of emeralds and diamonds glimmered on her wrists and throat. Marcus knew that once the news gets out, practically every lady in the land would try to emulate Catarina's wedding ensemble to some extent, as has always been the case for royal weddings. Not that he cared.

    "You may kiss the bride," he heard the priest say, and the room erupted with cheers and cries of joy. Confused, Marcus set his meat pie aside and turned to look at the newlywed couple, whose lips were locked in a passionate kiss.

    "Ew," he murmured.

Queen Isabel rolled her eyes. "You may think that it is disgusting now, but give it seven years, and we shall see if you still think the same." And as she had anticipated, Prince Marcus's perception would be very different than it was back then.