Prudence couldn't come to terms with the news. She paced her room all night, and the next day declined food or company. She went as far as locking her door, wary anyone would walk in and find her glaring at her mattress, where the letters remained hidden. At least until she figured out if she should warn Romain, or keep Antoine's arrival secret.
"Romain..." She wiped her face for the fifteenth time, having cried enough tears to fill several bathtubs.
Her strong-willed yet naïve brother who strove for peace and to undo his father's actions was unaware that his mother had games of her own, and that his biggest rival was on his way to Giroma.
In her haze of emotions, Prudence had begun writing letters. One to Céleste, thanking her for her honesty; and one to Antoine, composed of scribbles and crossed-out words and unfinished sentences.
All those messages ended up scrunched, as she had no clue when Antoine planned to arrive. None of her notes would reach him in time, and she wasn't sure Céleste knew of his departure from the castle.
She soon settled before her open window, letting the snowy breeze wash over her cheeks as the sun set over the bustling city of Westten. She prayed for answers to come to her in the wind; to drizzle into her ears and fill her mind and give her insight.
As the light faded, someone knocked.
"Yes?" She pivoted from the window-sill, and her multi-colored skirts grazed some of the papers she'd thrown to the floor. She hurried to pick them up, then pulled her shawl tighter over her shoulders.
The door creaked, and Romain appeared in the threshold, decked in a blue-gray suit, his expression somber. "Apologies if I have disturbed you," he said, striding into the room. "I heard you requested isolation, but this is important."
She dipped into a curtsy, doing her damndest to avoid his gaze, lest he see the truth in her eyes. "Nonsense, you would never disturb me." Her lungs constricted, and her corset dug into her ribs with her every breath.
"I will not take much of your time." He marched to her and handed her a parchment. "We are to attend a wedding tomorrow, and must leave at dawn." He cleared his throat and covered his mouth with a tightened fist. "Cornelius' and Adelaide's wedding."
Prudence snorted. "You jest, right?" Her brows shot up as she peered down at the paper—the invitation—and sealed her lips shut to not spit on the words.
To His Majesty King Romain,
Her Highness Princess Prudence,
Her Grace Dowager Pauline,
The Duke of Terter, Cornelius Schwartz, has the pleasure of inviting you to his impromptu wedding to:
Miss Adelaide Arnaud, of Avignon, France
On:
January twenty-fifth, seventeen-ninety-eight
It would honor us if you graced us with your presence.
Regards,
The Terter Palace
She thrust the message back into Romain's grasp, afraid its texture might seep into her skin and poison her.
"You do not jest. So soon? Is that necessary?"
Romain shrugged and snuck the invitation into his pocket. "It is not, but as King I must attend, and give my," his nostrils flared, "blessing. Mother refused to go. So it falls on you to do so. It would not look good if both women in my lineage were not present." A weak flash of sympathy crossed over his face. "Terter is a few hours away, but if you cannot travel—" he gaped at her belly and winced.
She patted her stomach. "I do not want to go, but I am fit to." She grimaced. "Whatever you wish, Majesty."
Romain planted a quick kiss on her hand. "Thank you. I appreciate it." He scurried off, leaving her with double the anxiety she'd had when he arrived.
***
When Sarah woke her, it was still night outside. She helped her into a navy and emerald dress bordered in gold, and teased her hair into an oversized bun, with a space in the front for a crown.
Romain had crowned Prudence at their birthday ball, but had held onto the jeweled tiara for official affairs. This—representing the royal family at a high-placed noble wedding—was one such affair.
As Romain met her at their carriage, in the blistering cold, he arranged the ruby-encrusted diamonds atop her head and smiled.
"That is better." He rubbed her upper arm, trying not to shudder at the icy gusts nipping at the exposed skin of his neck; he'd tied his hair back, and his own crown seemed to weigh a thousand pounds atop his scalp. Beneath his dark cloak, he wore a creamy ensemble trimmed in gold, and appeared every bit the regal man on the portraits hanging in the castle.
Inside the vehicle, he sat across from her, and his trusty page boy beside him. "Ready?"
She nodded, and peeked out the window as they glided out of Westten. She detected the massive forest ahead, the woods splitting Westten territory and Terter apart. The only sounds were the wheels crunching over dead leaves and snow, and the gentle horse neighing whenever they picked up speed. Romain was silent, dozing off; and the page boy read from a small poetry book.
Prudence's mind hadn't rested in what felt like days. Antoine's letter had imprinted on her soul, and she still hadn't decided what to say to Romain. The person she would have consulted, asked for advice from—Pauline—continued to evade her; and she had much to explain, too.
She wondered if Antoine's upcoming travels involved Julia. Had he received Romain's offer, and accepted? Was he accompanying the young lady himself, as a peaceful emissary between the two lands?
Did Romain know it?
Antoine would not be so foolish. He would not enter Giromian territory without a warning.
She assumed Romain and Antoine had agreed on terms and her sibling knew of the Totresian King's voyage, but she couldn't bring herself to speak of it. To do so would be admitting that she had contact with Antoine, and Romain had asked her not to. Antoine wrote to her, it was true; but she debated answering on many occasions. And that would displease the Giromian monarch.
They entered Terter, approaching the region's capital of the same name, and its fortress palace. The scenery changed; there were fewer trees and vegetation, high ramparts with spikes, big blockades, and a large number of soldiers walking the streets. The colors were faded, dreary; as if everything in Terter were dead, dying, or deadly. The sun snuck into the sky, yet the area was dim and gray, like a storm prepared to ravage through and tear everything down.
Prudence snickered; perhaps that would be for the best. She hated Terter after only a few minutes of rolling through its city-center. The cobblestone streets were stained with mud, and she imagined blood, too. The buildings were depressing, their windows cloaked by thick, holed curtains. The people they passed had pale faces and frail frames and dragged their feet with their every step.
The only luxurious feature of the city was its lord's home—the Terter Palace. It towered above the town, surrounded in fortified facades topped with pointed edges. Prudence sneered at it; she would have lived there had she married Cornelius.
"Horrid, no?" Romain stretched and adjusted his glittering crimson crown. "It fits his personality, I say."
Prudence fought to hold in a laugh. "I am beyond thankful to no longer be betrothed to him."
Adelaide can deal with him now.
Once parked before the private chapel within the Palace, the King and the Princess exited to a deafening round of applause. The religious edifice, in the center courtyard of the Duke's home, opened its giant doors for them.
Despite the intricate stained windows and well-polished statues, all Prudence saw within was a world of lifeless things, of ghosts and sickness, and decaying corpses.
She and Romain perched at the front of the crowd, their bright outfits clashing in the sea of darkness that everyone else wore. That was... until Adelaide entered.
Even Cornelius, in his resplendent maroon suit, paled compared to his bride. All turned to the radiant red-haired beauty as she slid down the charcoal-colored carpet with three ladies holding onto her scarlet-laced train. Her dress was so enormous it bumped into those sitting closest to the aisle, and its pearlescent white fabric sparkled like a diamond, glistened like a rainbow gem. A tiny tiara nestled atop her perfect curls, and its shimmer reflected the moisture in her big, beautiful blue eyes.
If Prudence didn't hate her so much, she'd admire her. Her poise, her flawless grin, her manners—she was a well-bred noblewoman with impeccable taste, no one could deny it. She basked in her moment and enjoyed it.
Prudence clenched her fists through it all, refraining from shouting out choice words to express her feelings.
"Relax," said Romain, sensing his sister's tension. "You have dominion over her. She does not control you anymore." He grabbed her hand, and his warmth soothed her for a spell.
He was correct. Adelaide was no longer the sly bitch who had stolen Antoine from her; she was a lesser French aristocrat marrying the most despicable man in the kingdom. If anything, Prudence should have felt sorry for her.
After the ceremony, the most honored guests wandered into the Palace itself. Its Ballroom, adorned in stuffy and obscure decorations for the occasion, smelled of hearty meats and sauced vegetables, specialties of the region.
Prudence stayed near the buffet, as far as possible from Adelaide, who paraded atop her husband's platform in the rear of the room. They had made eye-contact, and the new Duchess had maintained a neutral—and almost friendly—expression; but Prudence preferred to keep her distance. She scarfed down some macarons and washed her angst away with watered down wine, and watched attendees mingle and dance and eat to celebrate the terrible woman who had joined their leading lord in holy matrimony.
Romain blended in with his people, and Prudence ogled Cornelius and Adelaide as they clinked their glasses and cheered to their married life. She couldn't believe it, but they looked happy. Glowing. As if the arrangement had benefited them somehow, and they might have a cherished union.
Tightening her hold on her second glass of wine, Prudence started when someone touched her shoulder.
"Oh!" She twirled to discover Romain standing behind her. "Ah, it is you. Thank the heavens."
He smirked. "Lovely couple, no?" He pretended to choke as he jutted his chin at Adelaide and Cornelius as they fed each other pastries.
"Snakes," said Prudence, swirling the liquid in her cup. "Both of them."
Romain's amusement dissipated. "Snakes?"
Prudence watched the bride and groom once more, then shifted to the table. "Yes. And snakes like them deserve each other."
To her surprise, Romain guffawed. He then dragged her into a dance, hopping along to the dreadful tunes played by the drab pianist. When she became too dizzy to stand, he found her a seat, and offered her a plate of the bland food. He sat by her, and together they chuckled at their inside jokes of Cornelius and Adelaide, the sneaky snake couple.
Her spirits lifted, if only for the afternoon. Despite the horrible nature of the event, she and Romain had a swell time, drinking and eating, sharing japes and looking forward to telling the court how mundane the party was.
For the briefest of moments, Prudence forgot she was pregnant, forgot her mother hated her, and forgot that her ex-lover was to visit Giroma soon.
•••