Chapter 18
When I appeared for training the next day, my friends noticed my unkempt hair and ruffled uniform, but chose not to ask further on the matter. I woke before Prince Cole in the morning, and quietly snuck away without moving him too much as to ensure I didn't wake him. The sun was barely rising, and my drool staining his shoulder would have been mortifying to face first thing in the morning.
Grace seemed especially curious, but Percival snapped at her to fall back in formation as we made our daily training rounds. I've noticed it before, but he seems especially critical of Grace compared to his behavior towards the rest of us, she doesn't seem to mind the treatment but it doesn't sit well with me at times. Philip and Geoffrey don't seem to be any the wiser either, they're too preoccupied with their own fantasies and private banter filled with jokes only childhood friends could understand.
Prince Cole should have awoken by now; I wonder if he already went back to work or if he chose to spend the morning resting a bit more. His father is too ill to do most of his kingly duties, so the responsibility falls on the Crown Prince. He hasn't slept well since I've assumed my post, so I hope he takes some time to recuperate.
I couldn't focus well on training this morning, it could have been because I was tired, or it could have been because I was distracted, but either way I do have to get this fanatic obsession out of my mind if I am to figure out a proper plan to survive the rest of this novel. To my fellow knights, I must have seemed to be in a very distant daze throughout the entire morning because at lunch Philip snaps his fingers in front of my eyes. Only then did I realize that I haven't eaten anything, just pushed around some steamed vegetables with my fork.
"Amalie," he extends the last sound, mimicking a whining child, "you've barely spoken all day. I wonder, where does that mind of yours runs off to sometimes." Philip's voice is concerned but it's muffled through a mouthful of bread and potatoes. Percival glares at his informality and lack of table manners, but I'm guessing for my sake, decides not to comment further. Old habits die hard, but he's at least trying to act his rank.
Percival and I still haven't talked about his past since that day in the courtyard, but by the looks of it he probably doesn't want to be reminded or pitied because of the situation any more than necessary. He diverts his eyes whenever they cross mine, and I wonder if there's anything else he's hiding from me, though I'm not one to pry in matters that don't concern me. "If Lady Amalie wishes to confide in any of us, I'm almost certain you wouldn't be her first choice," he says to Philip, staring down at his plate.
Philip pouts and Geoffrey rubs his shoulder in support. "But if there is anything you'd like to tell us Amy, we'd be more than happy to listen," Grace says, reaching for my hand.
"I apologize if I've caused any worry but it's nothing of much importance. My mind however is rampant with occupants so I'm not opposed to opening the floor to conversation if it meant I could distract myself for a moment." Grace still looks at me concerned, but shakes her head a bit and it seems like her worry fades as she turns to the rest of the group. "What shall we discuss?"
Geoffrey looks at the two of us, "Well what would you like to know m'lady?" He wraps an arm around Philip and I realize I don't know much about these two friends. I know Grace and Percival's history, but for how outgoing these two are, they are still a mystery to me. Who knows, maybe by understanding a bit more about who they are I can use that information to garner them to my side once my eventual plan to protect Crown Prince Cole is finalized. The more allies the better.
I place my fork across my plate and look up at the two with a smile. "Entertain me with the story of Philip and Geoffrey. What is important to the childhood friends from the country side."
"Us?" Geoffrey asks, turning to his friend, "well unfortunately I lack much excitement in my life. I don't come from a Ducal estate like you, nor do I have to fight for my survival with seven elder brothers like Grace. I don't even know what to expect from Percival's past, though I suppose he doesn't relent his scolding of us enough to speak about it.
"I am an only child from a line of merchants and vendors. We make an honest living, and manage comfortably in the western territory, awfully close to the Ewell estate actually, I believe it falls under the jurisdiction of one of your vassals, an oil barron by the name of Count Brunswick if I recall correctly. My family did a bit of business with him in the past, but I wouldn't blame him had he forgotten my name and face."
I nodded along thoughtfully, though from what Geoffrey tells me his life must have been an unremarkable and humble one. Something about the way he described everything was very reminiscent of my past life as Caroline. Had it not been for my reincarnation, I'd be nothing more than a face no one would remember, an average girl that blended into the background. Just like how Geoffrey was never a named character in the original novel, I'd be nothing more than forgettable. Even when I travel through dimensions and logic, I still couldn't manage to be a main character but a villainess. Maybe I'll never understand the lives of main characters like Prince Cole or Margarite Hastings, but at least this time I'm someone important.
"And you?" I ask, giving a half smile to Philip across the table.
He unhooks his arm from around Geoffrey's shoulders, and leans into the conversation towards me. "My history unfortunately leans a bit more towards Grace's in the financial department, even without the seven other mouths to feed. I have a mother and a younger sister, both of whom are too fragile to even make the trip from the west to see me at the knights exam. My father was a cook in a local restaurant, and died in a fire when my sister was no more than an infant. Mother rarely speaks of him, and I barely remember him, but because of this the main income we've had for years was my mother selling herbs on the side of the street. There was one stall in particular that my mother would sit by frequently, and that stall was owned by Geoffrey's family. Shortly after Geoffrey realized how amazing I am and begged me to be his friend." Geoffrey rolls his eyes a bit, and laughs while he nudges his companion's arm.
Philip continues, "The women in my family have a predisposition to being weaker than normal. Growing up it was very obvious to me that while my mother was the strongest woman I knew, she was only a gust of wind away from breaking.
"My sister faced the brunt of it, however. She was discovered to be harboring a rare illness that can't be treated in the western territory, and we lack the funds to afford her medicine. She isn't expected to live past fifteen. I love her dearly but I simply can't manage to look at her in that state and feel no remorse. I left to become an imperial knight shortly after, most of my earnings goes towards the funds for her treatment, though I'm not sure we can save enough in time."
"How has Morganna's condition been progressingly lately?" Geoffrey asks, genuinely concerned for his friend.
Philip looks at his plate and doesn't answer. For the first time in my knowing this man, I've never seen him so silent and stoic aside from this current moment. He must care for his sister a great deal for him to look so distraught at a simple question, though I can't even begin to imagine the burdens and pain he must be carrying around on those care free shoulders.
It seems Percival is about to say something, maybe comfort the man he's spent so long criticizing, when a royal attendant enters the dining hall with a scroll, and several guards on either side of him. From the look of his uniform he must be someone high ranked, and from the presence of the scroll, it's clear that he's been tasked with relaying an important message.
The sea of guards falls into a hush, heads turned eagerly to hear what was so necessary that their meal was interrupted.
"To all imperial knights," he begins, reading from the yellowed parchment in a clear deep voice where no words can be mistaken, "His Royal Majesty King Charmond, Her Royal Majesty Queen Rista, and His Royal Highness Prince Tristen are cordially pleased to invite you to the union of the royal house of Belmar, and the baron house of Hastings following the wedding of His Royal Highness Prince Tristen of Belmar and Lady Margarite von Hastings."
The attendant continues to speak of the details written on his scroll but all the words fade together into a low buzz after the first sentence. The guards around us cheer and clap for the union, excited for the royal wedding, and gossipping fantasies about whether it was arranged by the families or rather some fantastical fairy tale romance.
My friends at my table are equally excited as the congratulations and well wishes continue in the dining hall, even Grace starts spewing nonsense about fated encounters and how she too would love to marry a prince one day, though she'd prefer someone more gentlemanly than Prince Tristen. Giggles and hurrahs surround me, but I still can't believe what I heard. The second prince, son of the villain Queen Rista, Prince Tristen, and the female lead that's supposed to fall in love with Crown Prince Cole, Margarite Hastings
Are to be wed.
* * *
The announcement plays repeatedly in my head. Over and over the same deep voice invites me to the royal wedding of the century between the villain and the heroine. How does something like this happen? How did the story turn so wrong?
What will Cole think?
I was supposed to return to my post at the Crown Prince's office after lunch anyway, but I find myself rushing through the halls even before my meal is finished.
Lambhurst is filled with jovial cheers, heard from every room, every corner, and every gossipping maid and footman making their rounds, but it's all so muffled that to me, it is the quietest I've ever heard the palace. Surely this is part of Queen Rista's plan, somehow, but how does garnering the support of a lowly baron and his daughter help her put Tristen on the throne.
What am I missing?
The normally heavy doors to Cole's office swing open with not much effort, or maybe it did require a lot of effort but didn't feel it because my mind was clearly preoccupied elsewhere. Cole's wearing the same white buttoned down shirt with a loose collar, dark locks framing his eyes. The prince's head pivots as quickly as the door was cast aside, and he greets me with a smile before seeing my panicked expression.
"Did you know?" I ask, slamming my hands on his desk. I must seem crazed, I must seem deranged, I must be foaming at the mouth.
He jumps back a bit, standing before responding to anything. "Calm down," he says, reaching out to my hands from over the desk. "What is it I've done this time, what more reason does the fair lady have to be peeved with me."
It takes a moment for me to realize, but I look down at the hands clasped over my own that I must seem furious at him rather than anxious for him. I inhale deeply, allowing my face to fade a few shades less red, and loosen the grip I have on his desk. "Did you know?" I asked once more, less intense but still as urgent as before. "Your brother and Lady Margarite, were you aware of their impending nuptials?"
He wraps his hand around my own in hopes of calming me down, and offers me a reassuring smile. "Of course I was aware, he is my brother after all. The meal I was invited to the other day was in fact to discuss the arrangements for this union."
I take a pause, and watch his unbothered expression. Maybe I'm thinking too much, or not at all, but something leaves my mouth before I even realize I'd said it. "And what of yourself?"
The words are hidden under a hushed breath, like a secret I wasn't supposed to tell, but he's heard it nonetheless. Cole tilts his head in confusion, a chuckle of amusement playing on his lips.
"Myself? What does my opinion matter in the decision? It was the Queen's suggestion and Tristen seemed to have no opposition. If both parties agree I am elated for the pair." Of course, he doesn't have recollection of any of his memories with Margarite because they haven't happened yet. In this version of the story, they never danced at the ball, he never escaped to her home, they never overthrew his wicked stepmother together. They never had their fairy tale, so what does he care if she married his brother?
But if they're really destined for each other, if they're really soulmates that fought tooth and nail to be together in another lifetime, shouldn't he feel something right now? Like he just lost a part of himself? His entire world has shifted and yet he's looking back at me like he's trying to decide which finger sandwiches to eat with his tea.
"I remember you met Lady Margarite at the ball during the Sonna festival," I say, trying to explain myself. In the original story, their eyes met and he was immediately enamoured. With that single glance, he searched for her and they spent the entire night wiling away the hours talking and dancing.
But in this version, she chased after him as if she recognized the bond they were supposed to have, but he pushed her aside time and time again. He even raised his voice towards her on the balcony that night after something she had whispered to him. I wonder what it was that she said to him for him to react so violently. How could he not feel even a semblance of what he was supposed to. Is fate really so insignificant that he can feel complacent watching his heroine marry another man? I must admit, the thought of confessing the truth about where I'm from, about who he really is has crossed my mind multiple times, but none as powerful as the urge is right now.
"I did," he says, looking back down at his papers. "Perfectly tolerable to not outright refuse to accept her, though not amiable enough for me to visit the main estate more often than necessary."
"Do you not think her beautiful?" I ask, maneuvering around the desk to his side. Because from what I remember, she was the spitting image of what I imagined her to look like in the novel. A goddess whose beauty was only rivaled by Amalie's.
"Very agreeable, I daresay, but she doesn't hold a candle to you my lady," he smirks without looking at me while stacking papers into orderly piles.
"Do you not think her graceful?"
"She wouldn't step on my feet while dancing, but she could never parry circles around me with her blade like another noble lady I know."
"Do you not think her intelligent?" I ask, each question growing more and more desperate, each filled with more and more confusion.
"A bit crass and vulgar, similar to Viscount Mowry in the propriety department, and a gossip to boot, but I would never judge a lady's intelligence based off of her mannerisms. Though I'm not sure she'd appreciate a library as much as you did. Like a child being given candy for the first time." He finally looks at me after this, but I'm sure it's because his paperwork is finally in order.
"Are you dim?" My voice rises louder than I had anticipated, and it's clear that I have his undivided attention. Maybe so outwardly insulting the crown prince to his face wasn't the best decision, but it's clear he's not taking the situation seriously. But why should he? "We are discussing the matters of Lady Margarite Hastings, how is it you manage to speak my name in every sentence. What mental priority does my name hold over you that you can't even discuss another lady."
"You underestimate the effect you've made on me My Lady." He leans on his desk, slouching a bit to bring his eyes closer to mine. "You want me to speak of Margarite Hastings, yet that lady could hardly be considered a lady when measured against you. How many ladies can keep pace with a stranger while guards chase after them? How many ladies can be deemed worthy enough to join the Crown Prince's personal regiment? How many ladies can insult said prince so casually and bluntly? I no longer wish to speak about Margarite Hastings because there are much more interesting topics to discuss."
He isn't standing as close to me as when we waltzed, or the other night at the library, and yet despite this I can still hear the pace of my heart speed up so loudly that I'm sure he can hear it too. "Kind words from a gentleman I also find to act very unprincely. You're quite the interesting topic yourself are you not?"
"Of course, I am quite unprincely," he laughs, brushing aside a lock of my hair, "What gentleman would dare tease Lady Amalie to such an extent. Allow me to make it up to you as you accompany me to Tristen and Margarite's engagement ceremony next month." He moves his hand from my face and extends it out to me like an invitation. "My brother may be the one getting engaged, but why should he be the only Prince enjoying himself that evening?"
"I assure you," I say, accepting his offer, "neither of you will be enjoying yourselves much that evening."
"Is that a threat?" he asks playfully, leaning in even closer than he had before.
"It's a promise."