Luci watched with increasing nausea as Brielle’s eyes rapidly skimmed the paper before raising to hers. There was a horror that Luci had never seen before in her eyes as she dropped the letter, letting it fall to the floor, shaking the entire manor.
“The prince has declared his engagement,” she said slowly.
Well, that had been a bit dramatic. That was the plan after all. Lady Annabeth would make a terrible queen, but if that was what the prince chose, then may they be very something together. The word wasn’t quite clear as there was a sickly pull in her gut at the thought of them together. Probably pity for Prince Ira who was-.
“To me.” Brielle finished.
The world spun, and Luci clasped her arms around her stomach as if that would somehow hold back the bile rising in her throat. Her eyes locked with Brielle’s, and she silently wished her not to say another word.
But wishes only worked in stories.
“And he is on his way to Blythe at this very moment.”
Chapter eight
The Proposal
Love at first sight is always a story worth telling.
-Tales from Merida, Volume II
“It’s fine,” Luci repeated for the fifth time in a row as Lady Margaret fanned herself in her chair, sweat dripping down her face despite the cool summer breeze floating through the open windows.
Brielle was busy clutching Calcifer to her chest, petting him with enough fervor that his eyes kept being pulled open wide with every stroke, but somehow he was purring as if it was amost enjoyable experience. The truth was that, in fact, nothing was fine at all. Prince Ira had claimed Brielle as his bride, except for the part where he thought Luci was Brielle.
Maybe if they had time to formulate a plan, but the most they could hope for was an hour. An hour to decide how to fix this.
“What kind of a man just announces he’s going to marry someone without asking them first?” Luci grunted.
“A prince!” Brielle and Lady Margaret said as one.
Luci huffed. “Hardly an excuse.”
Something akin to high-pitched words came from Lady Margaret, but as to what they meant, Luci couldn’t have begun to say. There might have been the word doom in there, though. It was not a situation anyone could have prepared for. What was Prince Ira thinking? Was this some sort of apology for last night? “I’m sorry I locked you in a strange room with feral magic. Let’s get married.”
Luci snorted a laugh at the image of him saying those words with all his charm and wit.
“Lucinda, this is not a time for laughter.” Lady Margaret wailed.
“It’s fine.” Sixth time. “I’ll just tell him I’m not interested in marrying him and he can be on his merry way.”
Brielle and Lady Margaret stared at her as if she were entirely mad with mouths wide open. Even Calcifer halted his purring and watched her with suspicion.
Luci threw up her arms. “Are you saying there is no way around this? He says he’s engaged to Brielle, and she doesn’t get a say in it?”
“Yes!” they said as one.
Clearly, everyone understood the situation except her. Feeling defeated, Luci plopped herself onto the floor and groaned.
“This is terrible,” she said.
Silence stretched between them all as precious seconds ticked away. Luci could practically hear the stomp of hooves and carriage wheels traipsing down towards Blythe. Engaged. One night with her, and Prince Ira decided that was the end of his marriage search. It should have been flattering, and she would have been lying if it didn’t send a small whirlwind through her stomach. Something about it was inherently romantic, but mostly it was profoundly ridiculous.
Clip Clop. Clip clop. Her imaginary horses were getting closer, which made sense. She was nearing the symbolic and real gallows. Did they still hang people for treason, or was it more likely a beheading that lay in her future? Honestly, the beheading was probably preferable. Luci ran a hand around her neck, memorizing the way it efficiently connected her head to her body.
Prince Ira seemed like a reasonable human being, minus most of last night. Maybe she could just explain the situation to him, and he would find it all highly amusing. Was that a neigh?
“We are doomed!” Lady Margaret said, as she pawed at the curtains and then screamed a blood-curdling cry.