The Placeholder

Chapter 4

A woman dressed in a tailored suit stands before me under the door frame.

A flicker of annoyance crosses me as she begins to bend forward.

"You don't need to bow," I cut her off hurriedly. Her eyes widen.

"My name is Rhoswen, and you never need to bow down to me."

The woman straightens her spine.

The action of bowing or doing a curtsy is part of tradition—to show respect. Refusing to do so can cause harsh punishment for common folk, or anyone in lower rank.

But as distasteful as this experience will be for me, it offers a blank slate. If I wish, no one will have to submit to me ever, not once.

"Yes, Princess Rhoswen. I know who you are,"

The woman gives me a toothy grin. She c***s her head to the side. "If you do not want me to bow, would you like to shake hands?"

"Yes," I smile, so that she knows I am not shrewd. "A handshake would be perfect."

We do so, maintaining a sturdy grip. I try not to remember who else I had done the same with less than five minutes before.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the suited woman takes a few steps back to allow me access inside. Her shoes are flat and shiny.

"My name is Cristobel, but you can call me Cris, or Bell if you like."

Christobel is a stunning woman with jet-black hair and hazel eyes. The suit she is wearing normally is seen on boys, but she wears it just as well if not better. The tie is green.

Most importantly, she carries herself with vibrant confidence. Her posture is flawless and her movements are close to dancing.

Where my mother's elegance is quiet and stern, Cristobel's is blaring and bright.

She reminds me of a firecracker.

I enter the palace as she gestures for me to come forward, my nerves spiking.

A chandelier hangs above, creating little diamond shapes glowing on a velvet, red carpet that is rolled vertically to a steep, golden staircase ahead.

Much of the room is gleaming in gold. And judging by the consistency of the castle's exterior, I think it is safe to assume that most, if not all, of the other rooms look similar.

"I am assigned as your personal assistant," Cristobel informs, snapping me out of my stupor. "I'm here to help you with anything and everything."

Her eyes lower from my face to my wrists. Her lips purse, "Including those."

She reaches to take my bags, but I stop her.

"I can carry them for now," I assure.

"Are you sure?" She asks doubtfully.

"Certainly."

She shrugs.

Cristobel walks deeper into my new home. I have no choice but to follow.

I expected everything to be clean—and it is.

However, the floors are dull and the vase of flowers displayed on my right are artificial.

Bardulm's King and Queen do not care for first impressions the way my parents do. It makes me wonder if that quality had rubbed off on their son.

Other than Cristobel, no one else is present in the front foyer.

A different country would enforce different rules and regulations. Perhaps it isn't common to greet guests here like it is at home. But isn't it considered rude not to?

My confusion is only a reminder of how little I know about the outside world. As valuable as I am, I hadn't been allowed to go where I chose as I pleased. Too much risk of something happening to me.

"The King and his family are gathered in the living room," Cristobel says a few feet ahead of me.

I drag my bags as I follow behind.

The rolling of the wheels must have began to bother her, because she shoots me a side-long glance.

"I insist that someone take your things."

She snaps her fingers.

As quick as a flash of lightning, a man who is wearing a matching suit to Cristobel appears from a long corridor.

Without a word, he walks briskly to me and plucks the suitcase handles from my fingertips. Before I can speak, he pulls both of them off the ground and storms up the stairs. His feet barely make a sound.

I wait until the silent man is gone before arching an eyebrow.

"You have ghosts for servants here?"

Cristobel laughs.

"It's usually much louder," She promises.

"I think everyone is on edge today, for the obvious reason." She shoots me a quirky wink.

"Because of me?" I ask.

"Yes, we have all been excited to meet you."

I think about the eerie tension wafting above my head.

"That is….evident."

She tilts her head back and laughs again.

Cristobel takes a sharp turn to the left.

We stroll down a short hall, following a seperate red carpet. My breath hitches as I hear a faint trace of garbled voices.

"The living room is a bit small, so it can feel a little cramped in there." She warns.

"I don't think it will be a bother for long, though. It's very cozy."

The people are what will bother me, not the space itself.

I need to collect my bearings, and I don't have any more time to do so. I attempt to conjure any tips I had learned from my training, without much success.

Smile, nod, and try not to trip...

Well, it's a good start.

Cristobel and I take a final turn to the right. A soft, orange grow ignites the corridor. I can tell it is from a fire by the way the light flickers and dances on the walls.

"How many people are going to be in there?" I inquire, my voice hushed.

"I'm not sure," the guide matches my volume.

"The family alone is six, their guards would make twelve or thirteen, perhaps?"

Thirteen people staring at me and scrutinizing me all at once?

What did you expect? You're a princess and one day you will be queen. Obviously you're going to be observed…

The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight as my personal assistant slows her leading pace.

We are only a foot away from the entrance.

Cristobel halts and turns to address me.

"Are you ready to go in?"

Don't be a coward, Rhoswen. Take charge of your self confidence.

I know I am not supposed to hide.

"Yes."

To prove it, I strut past Cristobel as if it is natural to me.

It most certainly is not.

Warmth embraces my cheeks as I enter the glowing room and sensory overload consumes me the moment I pass the threshold.

Heavy perfume assaults my nose and the swarm of voices floods my brain to the point where I can't separate them from each other.

I blink several times to sharpen my abruptly blurring vision with no success.

I curse myself silently.

"Look who has finally arrived."

I turn in the general direction of the voice. Too late, I discover that I hadn't been the only one to have grown silent. Other than the voice that had spoken, no one else is making a sound.

My face flushes, but my embarrassment is sharp enough to cut through my hindered senses. My eyes refocus.

Relief nearly melts every bone in my skeletal system. Critobel's estimation had been off by a few people.

There are only seven individuals waiting for me. One, I assume a guard, stands alone in the back of the room, appearing bored. The other six have their eyes trained on me eagerly.

A woman with light brown hair, the one who had spoken, has stepped forward. Everyone else is standing in a line behind her.

I am certain this woman is the Queen of Bardulm. She wears a gold crown embroidered in ruby's. She also wears a coordinated ring and necklace. Her gown is pale blue and studded with jewels.

It takes every ounce of self restraint not to gape at this sparkling queen. My mother has many gowns and jewelry just like hers, but she rarely wears them and never all at once. Bardulm's Queen makes Cristobel's natural glow pale in comparison. An entire wave compared to a splash in a kiddy pool.

To make matters worse, the Queen has a dazzling smile.

"It is so good to finally meet you." The Queen gushes. She rushes forward and embraces me as if we are life-long friends. I concentrate on denying the reflex to stiffen.

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well," I say shortly.

The Queen's ruby's gleam warmly in the firelight. Flames swirl inside her irises. She is still smiling.

"We were expecting you much sooner," the Queen says conversationally. My heart skips a beat as she adds, "I was under the impression that you had left this morning."

My brain feels hot.

"Oh, I did." I stammer uncomfortably.

There is an awkward pause before I continue.

"I took a carriage instead of a car."

The Queen blinks.

"Why on earth would you do that? Surely a car is more convenient transportation."

"It is," I agree. "But I wanted more time to appreciate the scenery. I've never traveled outside my own country before."

I shoot my first glance at the row of royals behind me as I say this. There is only one other female, the rest are men.

One man in particular catches my eye, but only because he twitches at my words.

He must be the Prince. Shackled to marriage the same way I am. I'm certain he hadn't been allowed to explore on his own either.

The Queen follows my gaze. "Of course, how rude of me not to introduce everyone."

She links her arm, short and slender, with mine; guiding me closer to the other family members.

My In-laws…

The shortest man, who is still a head taller than I am, comes forward. He is clean shaven and appears boyish.

His grin is wicked and I instantly don't trust him.

"The Princess of Verduschkir!" He rejoices. "My soon-to-be sister in-law!"

I am taken aback.

King Ryker has two sons???

"My name is Stefan, Stefan Corset." He takes my hand. I frown when he squeezes it.

"Hello," I greet him flatly.

I quickly move on to the second woman and a man at her side.

"This is my sister, Tanora, and her husband, Harold." The Queen introduces.

Before I can address the couple, the Queen slaps her palm upon her forehead.

"How silly of me," She cries with far too much enthusiasm. "I completely forgot to tell you my name!"

She shoots me an exasperated look. "You may call me Isadonna."

"You'll have to forgive my sister," Tanora intercepts dryly. Her expression is dull.

"She can be quite theatrical,"

The Queen of Bardulm returns the barb with a sweetness too thick to be authentic.

"And you will have to forgive Tanora as well, for she is drab and doesn't care for anything."

My future aunt in-law scowls. "At least I have my wits together. You sound ditsy and completely unprepared."

"Tanora," Harold says reproachfully. "That's enough,"

I watch, discombobulated by the sudden turn in events and try to refuse the wrinkle in my nose. Tanora is the culprit of the heavy perfume.

Stefan is probing my reaction. Whatever it is he sees amuses him.

"Quite the show, isn't it?" He grins wolfishly. He separates from his family and plops lazily on a black sofa.

"There's more of that to come."

"You keep your mouth shut, son." A man booms behind him.

I blink furiously as I realize the King had been in this room the whole time, and he had somehow gone unnoticed by me.

He is dressed more practically than his wife, but that is no excuse. His crown rests on his head—the first indication of his royal position.

He wears a tailored suit and black collared shirt underneath. A gold ring gleams on his finger, matching the Queen.

His hair, a honey blonde, is combed neatly and his beard is shorter than my father's.

I nearly apologize to him for not noticing him sooner, then halt.

Do not kneel down to a soul, my mother had told me once. You are a powerful woman who will not be treated as inferior, especially not to any man…

The fact that my parents were basing my worth on becoming married to one contradicts that entire statement. Nevertheless, I don't want to kneel, physically or metaphorically, to a man anyway. Even if he is a King.

I straighten my posture and copy my mother's signature chin lift as I face King Ryker.

"Mr. Corset," I say, testing the newly revealed last name of the infamous Bardulm ruler.

"Ms. Boone," he returns the formality, nodding his head.

We do not say anything after that.

Ryker grunts as he heads for the exit, which is a second doorway conjoined to a different corridor from the one I had entered through.

The person who had huddled in the corner, that I nearly forgot about, follows the King mutely.

"The wedding is being held in three days," is Ryker's departing comment to me.

Without speaking to any of his family, without so much as a glance over his shoulder, the King of Bardulm disappears.