HEIR | The Cursed Monarchy | Book 1

Emergence: Part I, Chapter 5

Cecily opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it.

"He made an inquiry to the elders to find a suitable match for me – without my consent," Muive said. Her slender shoulders became taut. She didn't turn around, but Cecily could imagine the look on her face by the tension in her voice. "And now I am to be married off to some pompous monarch who would prefer to have me as an ornament in his reading room. I just can't abide the company."

Surprised by her candor, Cecily poured tea into a porcelain cup. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't know any of this. You've never met this man before?"

"Whispers tell me that he's the most powerful sorcerer of Drakaene. And he's always perspiring," she said, wrinkling her nose. "It is truly alarming that my brother would deem such a man to be a worthy husband."

Cecily couldn't imagine being contracted to marry someone she didn't know; her mother had always been allowed her to make her own decisions. She could hardly suppress a shudder at the notion of sharing a bed with someone she didn't love and the heat of such thoughts suddenly raced to her cheeks.

"Perhaps your brother will change his mind?" she asked, sounding hopeful.

"Not likely." It looked like Muive was struggling with herself. For a moment, it seemed as if she might snap, but then she closed her eyes. "You don't know my brother. I don't suppose you have any siblings do you?"

"No, Your Grace."

"What a pity." Muive looked up at Cecily, her expression sharp and knowledgeable. "I don't suppose you've ever been in love, either?"

Cecily swallowed hard, her throat dry. "No, Your Grace." She clenched her teeth. This was unexpected. Why did she feel like she was about to burst into tears? "If you will pardon me, I must attend to my tasks." She placed the teapot on the table and retreated to the wardrobe, where she began the task of removing the disaster of discarded dresses and undergarments from the floor, trying to think dutifully.

"You made a fool of yourself in front of him last night."

Cecily turned to find Muive watching her from in the doorway. "I don't know what you mean, Your Grace."

"Oh, I think you do." Her eyes widening with accusation. "I saw you speaking with Daire Niadh after the ball. You both seemed rather comfortable together."

If ever she had to think quickly, this was the time. "I think he wanted to assure himself that I was unharmed, just as he did with you, Your Grace," she said reasonably as she began hanging Muive's gowns in the wardrobe.

"It appeared to be more than that. Yes, I remember it quite clearly." The elf's gaze swept over her and then she lazily pointed at the heap of turquoise silk beside her bed. "Discard that one; it's been ruined." Her tone held superiority.

The mirror beside Muive's bed reflected the high color of Cecily's cheeks. She nodded and picked up the dress, draping it over her forearm to smooth the wrinkled fabric with a gentle hand. "If it pleases Your Grace, I will repair your dress. In the morning light, the stain is really not as bad as I had imagined. I'll see if I can return it this afternoon."

"Truly? I did really fancy that dress." Muive looked thoughtful, and Cecily had the impression that the unexpectedness of her simple offer of help had somehow soothed the elf's distress. After a moment, Muive nodded. "Very well. Mend it then," she said, her mood brightening as she turned toward the still-open veranda doors. "I suppose I must eat. Would you brew another pot of hot tea? This one has grown quite cold."

"Of course, Your Grace," she said, sighing as she retrieved the tray and exited the room.

Just stepping out into the hallway, Cecily felt relieved. She hadn't expected Muive to pose so many questions. Questions she was having difficulty handling. Were her emotions so obvious? Her intention was to become a part of this society, not to stick out so much that she would be bombarded by questions.