Chapter 4: The Tea
978 Words
Dinner was a formal affair, though only family attended. My stepmother presided from Father's old chair, Evelyne at her right hand. I sat at the far end, where the light from the wall sconces didn't quite reach, where I could observe without being observed.
Evelyne talked about the ceremony, the guests, and which noble sons might attend without a royal invitation. She never mentioned Lucien directly, but he lived in every pause, every glance at our mother for approval.
"Did you hear," she said, spearing a piece of fish with delicate precision, "that the king has three sons attending? Not just Lucien and Cedric, but some illegitimate cousin they've recently acknowledged."
My knife scraped against the plate.
"Illegitimate?" I asked, keeping my voice casual.
"So the rumors say." Evelyne's nose wrinkled. "Some by-blow hidden away for years. The king needs to present a united front, so he's bringing the creature out of the shadows for show." She laughed, musical and cruel. "Can you imagine? Standing beside princes of pure blood, pretending to equal status? The humiliation must be unbearable."
I thought of golden eyes in the garden. Of hands that caught me too gently for a stranger. Not every prince wears his crown where you can see it.
"Perhaps he's more than rumor suggests," I said.
Evelyne's laugh faltered. "What do you mean?"
"Only that hidden things often have power we don't expect." I sipped my wine, watching her over the rim. "Don't you think?"
She stared at me for a long moment, something uncertain moving behind her perfect composure. Then she smiled, too brightly, and turned to Margot with a question about seating arrangements.
I ate little. The food tasted of ash, or perhaps that was just memory. In my previous life, I'd been too excited to eat the night before the ceremony. Too full of dreams to notice Evelyne watching me with the patience of a spider.
After dinner, I retreated to my room. The burgundy gown hung on my wardrobe door, deep as dried blood in the candlelight. I sat at my writing desk, the same desk where I'd woken up two days before my death, and tried to think.
Lucien would choose me tomorrow. Publicly, ceremonially, with all the kingdom watching. If I refused, I'd humiliate the crown prince and destroy my family's standing. If I accepted, I'd walk the same path to the same grave.
There had to be a third option.
A knock at the door. Soft. Practiced.
"Come in."
Evelyne entered in her nightdress, a wrap of white lawn that made her look like a child. She carried two cups of chamomile tea, steam curling from the rims. The same tea she'd brought me in the other timeline, night after night, while the poison worked through my blood.
"I couldn't sleep," she said, setting one cup before me. "I thought we could talk. Like we used to."
I looked at the tea. At her face, so earnest, so loving.
"Of course," I said.
She sat on the edge of my bed, tucking her feet beneath her. "Are you frightened? About tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Don't be." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Whatever happens, I'll be there. I'll always be there, Seraphina. You're my sister. My only true family."
The words were perfect. The delivery was perfect. And two years ago, I'd believed them with my whole heart.
"What if I don't want to be chosen?" I asked.
Her eyes widened, just for a moment. Then she laughed, shaking her head. "Don't be silly. Every woman wants to be chosen. Especially by a prince."
"What if the price is too high?"
She reached out, covering my hand with hers. Her skin was warm. Her pulse beat steady and calm against my palm.
"Love is always worth the price," she said softly. "You'll see. Tomorrow, when Lucien looks at you, you'll understand."
Lucien. Again, his name on her lips like a prayer.
I smiled and raised my teacup, bringing it to my lips without drinking. Her eyes tracked the movement, almost imperceptibly, but I saw. I saw.
"Thank you for the tea," I said. "But I think I'll save it for later. I'm not thirsty tonight."
Something cold moved through her expression. A c***k in the mask. Then it was gone, replaced by sisterly concern.
"Of course. Rest well, Seraphina. Big day tomorrow."
She took the cup with her when she left, claiming she'd wash it in the kitchen. I sat alone in the candlelight, listening to her footsteps fade down the corridor.
The room felt smaller. The walls closer. I walked to the window and pushed it open, breathing in night air that smelled of jasmine and distant rain.
Somewhere in this city, a hidden prince with golden eyes existed outside the story I'd been given. A man who knew my name without introduction, who spoke of choices and crowns, who looked at me like I was something precious and dangerous at once.
I didn't know what he was. I didn't know if I could trust him.
But I knew, with absolute certainty, that I could not trust the life laid out for me. The ivory gown. The smiling sister. The prince who would love me publicly and betray me privately.
Tomorrow, I would walk into the ballroom in burgundy and pearls. I would curtsy before the king and his sons. And when the moment came, I would make a choice that changed everything.
Not Lucien. Never Lucien.
But who?
The question followed me into sleep, into dreams of poison and golden eyes and a child's heartbeat fluttering like a trapped bird.
When I woke, the sun was rising. The selection ceremony was hours away.
And somewhere in the palace, a man who was never supposed to exist was waiting for a woman who was never supposed to survive.
- Writer
