The Placeholder

Chapter 7

"You're going to be moving around quite a bit today, so I recommend you avoid wearing a dress or skirt if possible."

Cristobel stands over my kneeling form, blurting commands as I rip open my second suitcase. The contents of the first are thrown askew on my floor.

My personal assistant had barged into my room while I was sleeping. Shaking me roughly out of my slumber and telling me that I have a "Big, busy day ahead of me."

"I don't even own a skirt," I grumble under my breath.

"We're going to have breakfast, then go over some of the details for your wedding." She ignores my grumpy muttering as she paces. She reviews, what I assume is today's schedule, attached to a clipboard held at her hip.

"The Queen may be joining us for the wedding planning. If she is occupied at that time, then it will be you, and I only."

I pause rummaging my belongings to frown at my assistant.

"What about the Prince?"

"What about him? And what is taking you so long to find?"

I am looking for a particular pantsuit I remember packing. Comfortable, yet sharply professional. Mabel had gifted it to me on Christmas two years ago.

"Shouldn't the Prince be involved in the wedding plans?"

He is getting married too after all, and It won't be fair to leave him out of his own legal arrangements.

Cristobel deliberates briefly.

"I can ask him if he is willing to participate," She allows. "However, he might not be interested. And you're scheduled to have a one-on-one meeting with him later regardless."

I shrug carelessly.

In truth, I want him to show for a selfish—even cruel—reason. I wish for him to be reminded of what he would be stuck with—Who he would be stuck with—for the rest of his life.

In other words, I want him to feel the exact amount of dread that I feel. And I will not be carrying the entire weight of our decisions.

"Found it," I declare.

I proudly hold up my pantsuit for my assistant's inspection.

"Good. I'll wait outside while you get dressed."

She firmly shuts the door behind her, making a soft click.

As soon as Cristobel's lively energy leaves the room, my heart rate spikes and my muscles droop.

This is it. What I've waited my entire life for. I've had years to prepare, and yet I still can't seem to hold myself together.

As I slip my lavender undershirt over my head, my mind wanders back to the Prince. What does he think of me? And will it even matter if we get along or not?

Marriage is supposed to be for mutual love.

Admittedly, I don't think I have a clue what that looks like, what it sounds and feels like. My parents claim to "love" each other, but my father had been unfaithful to my mother.

Would Nathaniel do the same to me? Is it within my rights to care if he does?

I call Cristobel back in. Slightly eager to supply myself with the answers I seek.

My personal assistant stalks forward, her hazel eyes study my appearance.

"You're very pretty." She says this in a matter-of-factly tone, which is almost as complimentary as her words themselves.

"The blue-violet of your outfit brings out the vibrancy in your apricot hair."

Cristobel is quite lovely herself. She wears a slim black dress with a leather belt wrapped snugly around her waist.

Her hair is styled into a low, side ponytail. Glossy, dark curls reach down to her elbows. She wears bold eyeliner and mascara. Applied with technical, alluring accuracy.

"Here, let me do your hair."

I turn my back to Cristobel and allow her to run her fingers through my scalp.

"We're going to do a half-up style today." I listen intently to her approach as she combs and tugs efficiently.

"I'm going to make sure your flare is shown off, but not too much that the Queen will feel threatened."

My eyebrows skyrocket.

Cristobel senses my alarm and quickly back tracks.

"Queen Isadonna is a nice person," She assures. "It's just…you saw last night how quickly she can retaliate—mainly when her sister is involved."

I nod reluctantly as I remember the tense exchange between the two royal sisters yesterday. Technically, Tanora had started it.

It seems she knows how to push her sibling's buttons.

"I don't want to put you in the Queen's line of fire," my assistant continues. "As long as she believes she is the prettiest in the room then you won't have a problem."

Sounds shallow, I think, but dare not say aloud.

After a few minutes, she stops fussing with my hair and whirls me to face my reflection In the mirror.

"All finished," She crows. Her long, black nails tap my shoulders. "What do you think?"

"I like it," I reply earnestly. The top half of my hair is tied into a tall ponytail that is neater than I could ever manage on my own. The bottom half is twisted freely past my shoulders in silky waves.

Surprisingly, my hair indeed looks pale and distinctly peachy. I have always thought my hair is blonde with a slight, rosy tinge—the same as my mother's.

"I like it too," Cristobel encourages. "And you made an excellent choice with this suit. It lightens your eyes a tad. Makes you less inscrutable."

That is also like my mother. Unreadable. Mysterious.

Cristobel opens her mouth to speak, then closes it as she changes her mind.

I pretend not to notice.

The two of us eat a breakfast of muffins and coffee in a tiny, lush lounge. Our steaming cups are placed on saucers atop a wooden coffee table.

I sip my drink quietly as Cristobel skims through our schedule—again.

"I forgot to mention," She says suddenly, squinting at her clipboard. "Your assigned guard is meeting us here and will be joining us for the day."

Erick's face flashes across my mind.

I hadn't considered who my new guard would be.

"You told me it was going to be us two."

"I thought it was," Her eyes narrow, one eyebrow lifts in a perfect arch. "Apparently, I can't read my own handwriting."

My tongue goes numb as I ingest too large a sip, scalding my taste buds In the process.

"He or she?"

"She."

A wave of relief washes over me. The last thing I want is a second Erick to complicate things further.

"What is she like?"

"You're going to have to ask her yourself." My assistant glances over my shoulder, adding casually, "She's right behind you."

I crane my neck to see. Then, jerk forward as I realize the person is standing much closer than I had thought.

My face heats as the woman behind me attempts to cover a snicker with a dry cough.

She walks around my chair to be in better view.

"Hello, Princess."

I keep my tone formal as I wrestle the blotchy red blossoming on my cheeks.

"Hello, I was just informed that you would be joining us. What is your name?"

"My name is Harriet-Makeba," She replies, her voice rich with music. "I have two first names, but you may call me Harriet for short."

Harriet-Makeba is a tall woman with deep, umber skin. Her ebony hair is chin length and braided. A sword is sheathed and strapped to a belt adjusted tightly to her hips.

She is beautiful In a majestic, ethereal way. The flowing in her walk reveals her mastery in the art of movement. Her motionless composure calls to her equal skill in the art of being still.

I smother a grin as I am certain against Harriet-Makeba, Erick would never stand a chance.

"Pleased to meet you. My name is Rhoswen."

"Ahh yes, the red haired Verduschkirian. I've already heard about you."

I nod. At this point, I'm sure everyone has heard of me.

"I don't know anything about you," I confess, sheepishly. "Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"That's a good idea," Cristobel cuts in.

"You can have my seat, Harriet. I am going to find Nathaniel and see if he would like to participate in our meeting." My personal assistant rises from her chair. "I will be right back."

Harriet-Makeba wastes no time filling the empty cushion across from me. I push my plate with the second muffin I was supposed to eat.

"Have you had breakfast yet? I'm full and I don't want this to go to waste."

My new guard palms the muffin. I notice a few aging scabs spotted on her knuckles.

"Did you get those from training?"

Harriet-Makeba barely follows my gaze. "Yes. I was practicing hand-to-hand combat with my fellow knights a few days ago."

"How often do you train?" I ask, impressed.

"As often as possible. I like to stay in excellent form," Harriet-Makeba explains coolly. She nibbles on her muffin thoughtfully. "Now that I am assigned to you, I absolutely have to be in top notch shape. No slacking off."

Guilt squeezes my chest.

"Am I taking you away from something better?"

My guard shoots me a side-long stare. "What do you think?"

I blank.

Harriet-Makeba howls with laughter.

"Relax, Ginger, I am a multitasker. You're not stealing me away from my dreams or anything."

"What dreams would those be?" I probe curiously.

"I'm going to become a firefighter like my mother one day."

She consumes the last bites of her snack. Her dark eyes glow in amusement. "What kind of royalty are you anyway? No Princess cares about their workers outside of the palace."

Something churns inside my gut at her words. For a reason I can't entirely place, her attitude towards royalty saddens me.

It's worse that what she says, from my experience, has been true—aside from my parents.

"I care," I hiss fervently.

Harriet-Makeba shows temporary surprise on her face, but she doesn't look impressed.

"If that's the case, then you have a lot to prove."

And that too is undeniably factual.

Cristobel returns with my fiance on her heels.

Nathaniel is wearing a cobalt blue morning suit. I like this colour far better on him than black.

His eyes find me as fast as mine find him.

There is a mutual understanding between us.

I feel it click somewhere deep within my soul. A gold thread, created by a fate we did not ask for, permanently takes hold of our existence and links us until death.

I realize that this marriage is simply for show. To relieve our parents of the responsibility they couldn't handle themselves.

Living symmetrical lives has already prepared us for a strategic bond. We don't need a pair of rings or a flimsy piece of paper to represent what I know we will both be able to handle, but this is the way it must be.

Knowing this makes it a little easier to breathe.

"You got lucky, Rhoswen," Cristobel coos. She winks to me furtively.

"Most husbands shy away from anything remotely related to decorating."

I didn't realize we were here for that.

"I don't think it's so much as we run away from it," Nathaniel disagrees lightly. "It's mainly part of tradition to not be involved until the physical wedding ceremony."

He speaks placidly about our wedding, as if it will not bother him to have his right of choice stripped away from him. I wish I could pretend to be as nonchalant, for surely this is simply an undaunted act to hide his true emotions.

No one wants to be married against their will.

"You better learn quickly with this girl, your Highness," Harriet-Makeba quips jokingly to the Prince. "I don't think Ginger cares for tradition at all."

I don't know why my guard has immediately taken to calling me Ginger, but she's right. As Cristobel coordinates the details to our ceremony, I play devil's advocate for everything that so much as echoes "tradition". Nathaniel seems carefree to everything that I want.

The minor details matter to me. The least Nathaniel and I deserve is the ability to plan what is allowed. Since my fiance is unperturbed to the ceremony itself, the choices are greatly my preferences alone.

Although it makes it easier for me, and my assistant, I worry that the materialistic aspect doesn't matter to him, because the bigger picture will.

Sure enough, as Cristobel shuffles her papers and reattaches them to her clipboard, Nathaniel looks to me and smiles crookedly.

"I'm looking forward to speaking with you privately. It will be a great opportunity to get to know each other better."

I have a small smile ready as I clasp my hands together in my lap. Remembering my mother's mentoring, I straighten my spine and keep eye contact until he looks away.

I don't recall his eyes being so green.

Cristobel tucks her supplies under her arm.

"This room is all yours," She tells us, nodding to my guard.

"Harriet will be just outside the door if you need anything."

"Is that necessary?"

"It's my job," Harriet-Makeba says with quizzical bluntness.

"But I'm not in any danger," I argue. "I'm in a room with no windows. What, is an attacker going to come seeping in through the walls?"

Cristobel rolls her eyes.

"No," She says tartly. "Someone can come in through the door, which is why Harriet will be standing in front of it."

I grumble incoherently.

"Don't worry, Ginger. I have no interest in eavesdropping."

I refuse to believe that. The human race is a nosy species.

Both women leave the room. Of course, my guard hardly steps past the door frame. However, the door is shut. It's private enough.

I'm not even sure what my point was supposed to be. I don't want to be alone with my fiance either. His eyes are bright and hopeful—the way Erick's had been in the carriage; when he thought he could keep me.

A discreet, yet somehow gigantic pressure begins it's compression over our two heads.

The race has started. Whoever asks the first question gets to avoid the initial interrogation.

I ensure myself the head start.

"So, tell me about yourself, Nathaniel."

My fiance maintains a relaxed, open pose. He slouches comfortably in his seat. Palms rest unfurled and facing the ceiling as they lay on his knees.

"Of course," he flashes me a toothy grin. "What would you like to know."

Damn you, I smolder in my thoughts. This can't be easy for you. Don't pretend that this is easy for you…

I tap my foot against the carpeted flooring.

My mother trained me to be professional, to be strong, and to keep myself a safe distance mentally and emotionally away from anyone who could harm me.

What she didn't train me to do was to be a successful socializer. To regulate casual chatter or to so much as dip my toe into any sort of bonding. Only Erick had managed to guide me to tread in the strange waters of friendship.

This is so much more difficult. Uncharted territory. A deep, unknown ocean.

I don't have an instructor to teach me how to swim.