The Placeholder

Chapter 5

"Don't mind that old grouch," Stefan says dismissively.

He is the first to break the ice of silence. His eyes can't seem to peel from where his father had left. For the first time since I met him today, he isn't smiling.

"He's practically a worthless croon at this point," he adds with ease.

Isadonna Corset diverts her scorning to her son.

"The nerve of you to insult your own father when he isn't in the room," She fumes. Her hands flail as she nearly shouts, "Especially in front of our guest, our new addition to this household! Are you trying to make us all look bad? Is that it?"

I notice Harold shuffle uncomfortably while his wife's attention flickers back and forth between the Queen and her troubled son.

The Prince snorts without humor.

"I didn't need to make anyone look bad," he retorts. "You managed to do that just fine on your own."

I clasp my hands, sweaty once again, in front of me.

How much drama can one family stir within such a short frame of time???

Apparently, plenty.

"First, you and Aunt Tanora decide to declare a competition less than twenty minutes after the Princess walks through the door," Stefan continues with detached precision.

"Then, Father barely utters a word, not even a hello to the girl who will be marrying his eldest son, before leaving abruptly. Does that sound like a respectable impression to you, Mother?"

I tense as he looks at me briefly. A strangely grim smile plays on his lips.

"The Princess of Verduschkir probably thinks we are all mad."

I flinch.

He isn't entirely wrong. I have barely settled in and this family is beginning to resemble a circus more and more.

"That's not true," I protest feebly.

I almost feel bad for the Queen, who is now flushed with shame.

She pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Alright, Stefan," my soon to be aunt in-law concedes. "You have made your point."

"I am terribly sorry, Rhoswen," the Queen dips her head. "This is not what I had planned. Please forgive me."

A small part of me wants to feel sympathetic.

I mainly just feel sorry for myself.

"Apology accepted."

No one speaks. Queen Isadonna fans her face as her sister leaves, her husband in tow. He tips his head in my direction in farewell.

One man had not interfered with the family altercation; had not uttered a word throughout.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight as he walks towards me.

I know who he is, I had already guessed before.

I remember the shrill woman who had screeched his name loudly in the crowd this afternoon. The crowd that expects the world from me. And expects me to marry this man.

Prince Nathaniel…

I don't know why he hadn't spoken to me sooner. To be fair, I hadn't gone out of my way either.

But this is his territory, not mine. Already he has an advantage that I do not.

So why does he look more nervous than I do?

My—I force myself to choke out—fiance had taken his father's fair physical traits; champagne blonde hair neatly combed and green-grey eyes. Like his parents and brother, he isn't exceptionally tall. A comfortable, average height.

I'm not sure what I had previously expected from Nathaniel. I know he is only two years older than I—which is something I can be grateful for if nothing else. I shudder internally as I imagine what could have been if I had been born ten years later, or more. I would have been barely an adult married to a thirty year old. How terrifying that would have been.

It wouldn't have stopped your parents...that nasty voice inside my head says, gloating.

Either of them…

I swallow hard as the Prince halts a foot away from me.

"You must be Nathaniel," I say, mustering a smile that becomes crooked halfway through.

The Prince ducks his head.

"I am," he replies shyly. "And you are Rhoswen. I've heard so much about you."

Really? Because I've heard nothing about you.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

A sharp rhythm of footsteps cuts through the tension. Like a comet shooting through space, Cristobel soars to my side, rescuing me.

"Your Highness," my new assistant addresses the Queen. "Should I get the princess settled into her room? I would also like to show her around before supper."

Isadonna is still pinching her nose and appearing to be sorting out a mid-life crisis.

"Yes, that's fine," the Queen says dismissively. She winces at something that crosses her mind. "The girl needs to know where she's sleeping."

More awkward silence fills the room.

"Right then," my personal assistant is the only person other than Nathaniel's brother who is unfazed by the post-family drama. She must be used to it by now.

"Enjoy the tour," Nathaniel says quickly.

Cristobel is already spinning me towards the door.

"Thank you," I call over my shoulder.

Cristobel wastes no time dragging me down the many corridors and rooms. As predicted, the golden palace theme remains in the rest of the castle. I suppose most people would be impressed by all the jewels and sparkling objects. But like the vases of flowers, I'm convinced not all of it is authentic.

Cristobel soon reads my mind.

"Most of this stuff is fake," She informs me.

When I don't react, she adds, "The family has many valuables, but they are all locked safely away."

I nod In understanding.

Our tour ends as we reach my new bedroom.

I peer curiously inside, then gasp aloud as it doesn't look so new at all.

I am unable to step inside.

"Prince Nathaniel conversed with your mother a few months ago," Cristobel explains gently. I stare at her, bewildered.

"He wanted to replicate your old bedroom so you felt more at home here."

I turn my gaze back to the room.

My new bedroom is nearly identical to my old one. Same green walls, same oval mirror above a mahogany dresser, same thick curtains-only these ones are black. The main significant difference is that this room is unoccupied and therefor devoid of aura. My suitcases are rested against my dresser.

I can feel Cristobel hovering close behind, gouging my reaction.

"Do you like it?" She asks anxiously. "If it makes you too homesick we can move you to a different room until this one is decorated the way you want."

I lift my hand to stop her. "That won't be necessary."

"Are you sure? We didn't cross a line?"

Technically, they did cross a line and I am already experiencing stirrings of homesickness. I don't have the heart to say this though, because the gesture is sweet. And I know if I can overcome the throbbing in my chest, then I can learn to love this room.

That given, on top of not wanting to waste the grand effort put into this recreation, I lie.

"No, this is perfect. I feel better already."

I make sure not to turn around so that my face can't be seen.

"I'll have to thank Nathaniel when I get the chance."

"Well, that's excellent." She speaks slowly, as if she isn't entirely convinced.

"I'll give you some space to unpack. If you need anything, you can ask the first person you see and they will help you. I will come get you when dinner is ready."

"Thank you for the tour," I smile sweetly at her. "It was splendid,"

I curse myself as Cristobel exits the room with dignified seriousness. Surely, she had caught the false sugar coating my voice. I close the door behind her, then walk over to my new bed.

There are many pillows; I count six. My old room had half of that amount.

I explore the cover's texture with my hands. Everything is soft.

Satisfied with my bedsheets, I plop onto my stomach, kicking my heels off as my legs hang over the edge. I sigh, significantly more content now that my feet are free from the death traps my mother had insisted I put them in. I'm fortunate that the skin hasn't blistered.

I know I should begin to unpack, but at the moment, I'm simply too tired.

This is my life now. A mother in-law that is drawn to conflict like a moth to a lamplight. A seemingly cynical aunt, and even more cynical brother. And a king who is terrifyingly indifferent. Oh, and phantom workers who barely so much as scrape the floor when they walk.

According to Cristobel, the environment will warm gradually after today. I hope she's right, though she appears to be the only normal human being I have encountered.

Betrayal still stings, like sharp hail cutting into several layers of skin.

At least my father had been honest, blatant with his intentions. Mother had played me. Pretended to care about my freedom, as if it affected her too.

She wasn't hurting for me at all.

Now would be the ideal time to cry. And I want to. I want to rid myself of the acidic burning in my chest. I want to wring myself dry until the burning subsides.

But I can't. The tears will not come.

I feel numb as I watch the sun slowly lower. Pink splashes across the sky like water paint.

Erick had promised me a way out of this marriage. He has too much hope, or denial. The reality is that this is the life I am destined to lead.

The tears finally come. Dripping down my cheeks and soaking my pillow. My sobs are shallow, yet painful.

Misery consumes me as I silently heave. The weight may just be too much for me to bear. I may not be strong enough.

And most importantly, Rhoswen, you're never going home.

I clutch my chest.

Never…