Of all the things she had expected to happen tonight, she had not foreseen herself being in such a moral dilemma. On one hand, she was inclined to find a secluded corner and hide out the rest of the evening, but on the other hand, she was of a mind to charm the prince and marry him tonight just to spite the wench next to her.
“Smile,” Lady Treveon sang, and Luci wondered how much she had heard of Annabeth’s venom.
The thing about Luci was that if someone told her to do something, she very often developed an intense desire to do the opposite. Mrs. Blakesley declared it was a fault in her soul, something misaligned at the moment of her birth, but Brielle just called it stubbornness. Either way, it was probably the reason Luci flattened her lips and met the prince’s smile with an air of boredom.
“Prince Ira, you look like a prince from a storybook tonight.” Annabeth crooned.
The princes’ eyes danced from Annabeth to Luci’s, and a queasy, unsettled feeling took root in her stomach.
“Lady Annabeth, as always, you are effortlessly stunning,” he said as he took her offered hand and pressed a kiss to it.
It was an effort not to gag, but the snort that arose was entirely of its own volition. Lady Margaret pinched the inside of Luci’s arm in warning, which Luci answered with a quick glare.
“Lady Margaret, pink is absolutely your color. How are you girls doing?” he asked, oblivious to Luci’s antics.
“Oh, how kind of you to ask your Highness. They are doing perfectly well,” she hummed.
His eyes on her were an unwelcome intrusion because she knew the next part could not be avoided.
“This is my step-daughter, Lady Brielle Treveon,” she said, voice going slightly too high with the lie.
All of a sudden, it occurred to Luci that she should have asked if this was treason. Tricking the royal family into believing she was Brielle, a noble. Oh, glass pumpkins, they would have her head on a pike to decorate the front lawn. This was the moment when she was about to save her own neck. All she had to say was that Lady Margaret was jesting.
Just open her mouth and say, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.”
The words didn’t come out quite right. They were far too rigid, too much like when Luci would steal more pumpkin cookies than she should, and the cook would make fish soup in retaliation. Yes, that is what they sounded like. Not at all like one should greet the crown prince of Meridea.
Instead of offense, the prince’s lip quirked up to the side, showcasing a dimple. Of course, he had dimples. Probably part of the charm potion all Vencias took when they conceived their princes. She could practically hear Brielle chiding her and telling her to stop making up rumors.
A strange sensation washed over her as the prince bent his head and smiled, both dimples on full display.
“I confess, I feel as though I know you already—your father talks of nothing else,” he said, each word perfectly caressed with care.
How ironic. “I’m sure that’s true.”
Oh, light above, Luci cursed herself. She wasn’t meant for this. Of all the things she was, she was honest to a fault. What reason had she to lie? Lord Treveon knew what she thought of him. Brielle loved her, and falsehoods served no purpose. The only time she ever lied was to Mrs. Blakesley on occasion. Yet, the court was all about tact and saying truths with carefully tied bows. She should have practiced on the carriage ride.
A small intake on either side of her told her all she needed to know about how Lady Margaret and Annabeth felt about her choice of words. Except the prince only smirked and ran a hand over his chin as if he were assessing her, his eyes searching hers. It was unsettling, and she immediately decided she did not like it.
“Most wouldn’t insinuate that the crown prince would lie,” he said, amusement glinting in his too-green eyes.
“Which I did not,” she answered.
It was hopeless.
“But by saying you believed what I said was true, you implied that I was capable of a falsehood,” he said.
“I assure you, Prince Ira has never-” Annabeth began.
“Are you not?” Luci cut her off. “Capable, I mean?”
Prince Ira laughed, a sound low and gravelly that likely had all the women at court pressing their thighs together. Lady Margaret coughed and fought to catch her breath. It was enough that the prince took his eyes from Luci, which she was endlessly grateful for.
Lady Margaret leaned behind Luci to cover up her cough and said, “He’s coming.”
All the blood drained from Luci’s face as she watched Lord Treveon make his way to them, his red face beaming with pride. A pride that would quickly turn to wrath if he got any closer. That wouldn’t do at all. Removing herself wasn’t an option. Walking away from the crown prince was likely a crime warranting death as a punishment. Which meant he needed to come with her.
“Would you like to dance?” she asked, voice too high as she fought not look behind him.