Despite her reservations, Prudence marveled everyone at her birthday ball. Draped in navy and silver, she shimmered like a halo of sparkles.
Pauline averted her gaze that night, not once complimenting her daughter on her appearance.
When the herald had announced Prudence, all bowed and curtsied. Some cried as she swayed down the carpet to meet her twin atop the dais. Romain forced a smile as he spoke to the crowd, and later declared her betrothal to a man who wasn't even there. Pauline remained neutral and surrounded herself in a horde of ladies who buzzed about her like bees—and protected her from Prudence.
It was Prudence's birthday celebration, her introduction to Giroma—but none of her loved ones wanted to be near her.
Even Sarah had been odd during the event. She attended to Prudence, fixed her high-piled bun whenever it threatened to come undone, and kept her drink filled; but she appeared uneasy, and quieter than usual. Had anyone told her that Prudence was pregnant with the Totresian heir? She hoped not; if Sarah had access to such secrets, they would soon spill out all over the country.
Giromians and their gossip.
The next day, still spinning from the loud music and the noble chatter, Prudence fought to hold in her tears. Neither her sibling nor her mother had visited her since, leaving her to fend for herself. She hadn't heard from her supposed fiancé, either, who kept his distance from court, likely afraid of his monarch's wrath at his Adelaide deception.
She slammed her hairbrush onto her vanity. "Why do they all hate me so?" She glared at her reflection. "I made a fool of myself, but should they not help me instead of shun me?"
Pulling her legs up to her chest, she felt her heart break. She held her calves tight and pressed her thighs deep into her belly—the belly that contained the fruits of her indiscretion.
She snorted. "Our indiscretion. Why are they not upset with Antoine, too? He did this!" She dug her nails into her legs and pictured herself slapping him. "He put this thing inside me!"
Antoine's seductive whispers, that famed night before he ditched her for his duties, echoed in her mind. Charged with sudden rage, she stomped to her closet and wrenched it open, perusing through her clothes. She snatched anything that reminded her of Antoine—flowery gowns, Masquerade attire, the black dress she'd worn when she left—and threw it all on her bed. It would all burn; every fabric that ever came in contact with him, every material he touched or complimented. Nothing in her wardrobe would remind her of the King of Totresia and how he'd ruined her life in Giroma.
***
When she woke the next day, the mass of dresses still weighed down on her comforter. No one had come in; not to drop off food or water, not to check on her health or mood.
With a grumble, she padded to her armoire and shrugged on her hoops and corsets and stockings. She then extracted one of the few remaining outfits—mustard yellow with flowers—and smiled at the cotton's soft touch against her skin.
As she sat on her chaise to tug on her shoes, someone knocked.
"Ah, breakfast?" She rose as the door opened, but her mouth plopped open at the surprise awaiting in the threshold. "Romain?"
He carried a tray—an unlikely sight—and peeped inside, his eyes wary, his cheeks rosy. "Hello," he said, slowly entering with a wince. "I bring you your morning meal." The awkwardness in his tone told her he'd rarely, if ever, held a tray in his life, and he had no idea what he was doing.
Had he come to inform her he was sending her to a convent? Or that he was taking her title away from her? Or marrying her off to Cornelius that day, in haste?
She curtsied as he wandered in and deposited the tray on the table in the sitting area. "Thank you, Majesty," she said, stiffer than she'd anticipated.
He walked to her and helped her readjust. "I must apologize. On my behalf, and Mother's."
"Apologize?" Prudence's lashes batted uncontrollably as she gawked at her brother.
He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is an unprecedented situation, and she and I both had no clue how to address it. How to forgive you." His arms lifted from his sides as if about to hug her. "Mother has trouble with the fact that her first grandchild will be half-Totresian. Please, understand her disappointment."
As he stood close, apparently torn between showing her an ounce of affection and scolding her, Prudence wanted to be anywhere else. She hesitated between collapsing into her chair, backing into a corner, or running out of the room, screaming. Romain's moods changed like the weather; one day pouring like a rainstorm, and the next warm as a summer afternoon.
But she held her ground, straight-backed, on her guard. At any moment, he could slap her or embrace her, and she prepared for both options.
To her surprise, he snatched her hand and squeezed it. Without her gloves on, she sensed his calloused skin, and it sent goosebumps up her arms.
"Romain—"
"—no, let me finish. We realized—I realized... that we cannot blame you for this, not entirely." He scrutinized every inch of her face. "You did what you could to survive in Torrinni, and I regret all the cruelties I spat at you when you lived there." He chewed on his lip, peered at his feet, then exhaled as he took hold of Prudence's chin. "A child is a blessing, and no matter its father, we will accept it. Raise it. Love it."
He flinched at the word love, but Prudence acknowledged the difficulty it must have taken him to utter such sincere sentences.
"Thank you, brother." She ignored the chills still crashing down her spine as his fingers lingered on her jaw. "So Cornelius will return soon to wed me? To protect this," she rubbed her stomach, "secret?"
Something dark flashed over Romain's face as he released her and stepped backwards. "Cornelius has other objectives." His arms twitched under his deep turquoise coat, as if he were suppressing the urge to punch something. "He is to wed Adelaide. To monitor her, as we doubt her true intentions. I petitioned King Antoine for Julia's hand, a few days ago. I await his consent... but I want her as my wife, despite Mother's protests."
Prudence tumbled into her chaise as her knees gave out. "Cornelius and Adelaide? I never would have imagined that." Her lungs expanded and loaded with a sense of reprieve. "And you, with Julia? I suppose that is a wise choice. But what does it mean? You marrying a Totresian... and me marrying no one?"
He shrugged and turned away from her. "I am uncertain. A new Totresia-Giroma alliance? The thing his father and mine once aspired to, but became too busy plotting each other's murders to finish? It is high time we stop considering each other enemies and work towards something positive."
Prudence saw nothing positive about Totresia. She scoffed. "I am unsure it will work. The schemes, the drama... I hear the Dowager was sent off, but Antoine is an easily irritated man, of late. Will he consent to give you Julia? I wonder."
She pictured Antoine guffawing at Romain's letter, drawing up a nasty response, and summoning his army to retaliate in person.
"Prudence?"
She opened her eyes—unaware she'd closed them in the first place—and found Romain kneeled before her, his palms cupping her knees. "What... what happened?"
"Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you lost your balance. Are you all right?" He brushed a hand over her forehead. "You need to lie down."
Thinking of Antoine had caused her enough stress to black out. She had to find a means to calm herself before she harmed her baby with her anxiety.
"Yes... yes, I do."
Romain helped her to the bed and shoved her unwanted dresses to the floor as he climbed atop the mattress to ensure she laid down properly. "You struggle to pardon his mistakes, but the Totresian King is not unreasonable." He scooched to her side and settled beside her.
"What?" She squinted at him. "You are saying something decent about Antoine? I must have bruised my brain when I fainted."
With a relaxed laugh, Romain leaned his head against the headboard. "I dislike him, do not misinterpret me. But he is not a sly snake like his mother, or like my own right hand, that damned Cornelius." He snorted. "The nerve of that man!"
"I have been trying to explain that to you for weeks," she said, her voice low, wary of raising it and of shifting her brother's mood. "He cannot be trusted."
Romain patted her upper arm and snuck a hand under his head. "I hate to admit it, as I am the proudest monarch in western Europe, but Cornelius is, and always will be, a traitor. In truth, it pleases me that you will not wed him."
Prudence smiled—her first genuine smile in days. "Indeed."
"And Antoine," Romain blew out a heavy breath, "I abhor him, but I see his intentions. He rid himself of his foul wife, and I believe he may be smarter than I anticipated. Maybe a good man."
Prudence choked on a cough. "You approve of him?"
"Not for you." Romain grunted, and side-glanced at her, his eyes darkening. "I want him far from you at all times. He may be the father of your child, but I do not want him involved in its upbringing. I will have contact with him, as I expect he will accept my proposal to Julia, but you are not to speak with him ever again. He and I must fix what our fathers could not. You need not get in the middle of that."
Though puzzled by his words, she sensed her heartbeat calming and her dizziness fading. Romain had forgiven her, and her mother surely would too, in time. At last, she almost felt at home, lounging on her bed with her sibling, spending time together like they would have as children and teenagers, had they not been separated. It was the bonding she'd needed to finally move past his actions in Totresia; to truly see him as family.
Giroma might not be so bad, after all.
•••