Lord Treveon fell into a terrible coughing fit, tea spewing from him. Oddly enough, Luci hadn’t known a face could turn that shade of red. It was nearly apple red as he thumped on his chest. Drusilla and Stasia barked incessantly at Luci, deeming the upheaval her fault. Brielle was immediately up and threw a rueful glance at Luci that would have been accusatory if it weren’t for the small quirk of her lips.
“Are you all right, Father? I did try to tell you,” she said, patting his back gently as he fought for his breath. “Luci is awful with tea. Anytime she touches it, it’s-” she sent an apologetic smile to Luci. “Well, it’s not very good.”
A small murmur across from her saw Lady Treveon carefully leaning forward and placing her teacup back on the table. It was all Luci could do not to laugh as she bit the inside of her cheek. The barking turned to a ringing in her ears, and she considered yelling at the little beasts just to see what they would do, but Lord Treveon beat her to it.
“Will you shut those rats up?” he shouted, and even the dogs went quiet.
All the humor leached from Luci at the way Lady Treveon’s eyes went wide, and silver lined her eyes. The dogs drew closer to her and curled up into small balls on either side of her. There was genuine hurt written in the way her lower lip quivered. Luci reached for her, and she took her hand and squeezed once, an attempt at a smile failing.
“Margaret, darling, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise-.” Lord Treveon began.
Lady Treveon waved a hand before dabbing at her eyes. “Oh, it’s nothing, Stefan. Think nothing of it.”
Luci was inclined to disagree. Lord Treveon’s apology did little to soothe the disgust welling inside her, though that would not have bothered him in the least. He might not have loved Lady Margaret, but he wasn’t cruel to her. He only ever reserved that for Luci. No, something had happened to put him on edge.
“Father?” Brielle asked from beside him, likely having come to the same conclusion.
At least he had the decency to appear ashamed of his outburst as he rubbed at his eyes.
“Please, sit, Brielle. I have something I want to discuss with you,” he said.
“It’s very exciting,” Lady Margaret said in a hushed whisper.
Luci couldn’t have said why, but she took Brielle’s hand as if it could steady her heart. Mostly, she wished she could prevent the words Lord Treveon was about to say.
“Prince Ira is hosting a ball,” Lord Treveon said gravely.
All the air rushed out of Luci at once, and the tightness in her chest dissipated to nothing. It was as if she were as free as the wind. Soaring without a care below her. Balls were nothing new. That the crown prince was hosting one was as common as birds in the sky. Nothing was changing.
“Oh?” Brielle said politely.
“Not just any ball, sweetheart. Morale is low in the kingdom. Many within Meridia are not as lucky as we are. There has been unrest.” Lord Treveon spoke carefully.
“What does a ball have to do with that?” Brielle asked.
“Some think it would boost morale to see their crown prince settle down.”
Lady Margaret scoffed. “You are so serious, Stefan, Prince Ira is looking for his queen, and he will choose someone from the ball. It’s terribly romantic.”
That was not the word Luci would have chosen. In fact, in every logical way, it was the antithesis of romance. There wouldbe no love in the match. Merely a matter of picking who was the most attractive and wore the finest gowns. It might as well have been a trip to the town market. If they thought a farce of a marriage would make people forget that their bellies were empty, they had bigger problems than morale. She may have been young before she came to Blythe, but she never forgot what it felt like to be hungry, to feel lost. No amount of romance could make a person forget that.
“You want me to go…to the ball?” Brielle stumbled over the words.
Just like that, Luci was stripped down till all that remained was her fears. This was why they had come home early from court. To sell Brielle like she was nothing more than a piece of meat.
“Well, yes, you are looking well, and I think you would enjoy the ball.” Lord Treveon said, scratching at his throat.
Wasn’t this just what Brielle was wishing for a few nights ago? It occurred to Luci that she was being selfish. If this was what Brielle wanted, to marry an empty-headed prince, then Luci would support her, but it was hard to imagine she wanted that life. Not to mention how cruel the people at court would be. Everyone knew of Lord Treveon’s invalid daughter. They would scoff at her and judge her. More than that, it was unlikely the prince would choose her even if she were the best woman to walk through the palace doors.
The upper class and royalty were only ever interested in breeding. Brielle’s mother had been sickly, and they would assume the worst of any children Brielle had. They would never stop to get to know how incredible Brielle was. Asking Brielle to go to the ball was asking her to lay her heart on the table only to be ripped apart. It was cruel. A man as clever as Lord Treveon would know it just as well, but his ambition was too consuming to stay his hand.
Even before Brielle spoke, they all knew her answer. Not because it was a dream come true or some fairytale, but because it was who she was. She would never disappoint the ones she loved.
Luci closed her eyes as if she could ward off the words she knew would come.
“Of course, Father, if that is what you wish of me,” she said.
Lord Treveon had the decency to turn a light pink and stammer. The spring breeze turned sour coming through the air as if all the strawberries in Blythe had gone rotten with a single sentence. Pulling closer to Brielle, Luci threaded her arm with hers.