HEIR | The Cursed Monarchy | Book 1

Emergence: Part I, Chapter 1

One year later in the hamlet of Maydale...

Cecily Trask made an effort to concentrate, to guide her needle with the skill and delicate artistry that always marked her embroidery. But the wayward needle stuck once more into the pad of her thumb. For the third time that morning. She pressed her lips together, determined to keep silent. There was a customer in her uncle's tailor shop, and it was Cecily's rule to make herself disappear into the background when her uncle was dealing with customers, especially – she raised her eyes for a quick peek – wealthy noblemen like the one now gazing at his own reflection in the mirror.

It wasn't that she wanted to be invisible; it was that vanishing was easier than accepting that she was invisible to herself, walking amongst society pretending to be someone she hardly even knew. And though she made it a point to remain modest and well-mannered, Cecily found the task of tearing her eyes away from the man in the looking glass too daunting, especially when he ran his slender fingers through his long, black hair.

She had known this day was coming. The whole hamlet of Maydale knew, and therefore, she shouldn't have been so surprised to see Daire Niadh, the Prince Regent of Imrath, in the parlor of her uncle's tailor shop that morning. And indeed, here he was, meaning that she and the prince were in the same town, on the same street, and in the same room.

During his protracted dealing with her uncle, she had already pricked her fingers several times and ruined three scraps of embroidery due to the distraction. She placed her tender forefinger in her mouth and raised her eyes to the prince's reflection again. By then, he was straightening a black cravat, regarding himself with a triumphant smile. No doubt he approved of the man staring back at him – a dashing, young portrait of propriety: a fair and just commander for the future of the Five Kingdoms. Well-groomed, fashioned in an expensive guise, topped off with a black silk handkerchief perfectly peeking from his left breast pocket.

Cecily silently cursed her musings, hoping that he would be less attractive upon second glance, but he was still downright devastating. He certainly reveled in luxury, she thought. The rumors were evidently true: Daire wasn't a traditional man. He had refused to wear a traditional dress coat, settling on a leather one instead; lined with silk, slim cut, and buttoned high up on his neck. From the looks of things, he would return to court as a suitable example of young royalty, indeed. But in spite of his desire to carry himself as a king, the people knew that the line of succession made the notion of him one day ruling the realm appear as a hollow fantasy. But at the present, even if the title of Crown Prince was held by his elder brother, Pearse – this captivating man before her was the rightful king.

She gently stroked her hair back from her face and looked past him, catching a glimpse of herself in the looking glass. Her eyes had seen eighteen winters: round and dark; pools of shadows in their depths. The batiste scarf that framed her face was fashioned from a leftover scrap of black cotton. Black was her thick hair, done up in braids, crowning her head. And black was also the color of the slippers that confined her long, narrow feet, sticking out from beneath an equally old gown. Troubled by memories of her past, the girl staring back at her was certainly not well-bred or womanly.

Cecily settled back with a sigh. Tiring of this line of thought, she was relieved to hear the shop's outrageously ornate wall-clock chime, finding that it was nearly dusk. Without realizing it, she had spent the better part of her day watching her uncle measure and fit Daire into a suit of clothes that were positively avant-garde.

Daring to look up once more to the front of the parlor, her uncle now loomed above her, blocking most of the sunlight from the windows. He uttered something she didn't understand, and then rejoined the prince, with a tapeline in hand. There was no doubt that her uncle was a craftsman beyond comparison and armed with a genuine and warm heart, but in a rather unexpected way. Too lenient, too accommodating and yet, deep down, the truth was that all he really wanted was the gold to settle his gambling debts.