The Princess's Dangerous Betrothal

Prologue

“This ball cannot end soon enough!” Eiley whispered to Lady Annabelle beside her, but not so quietly as to prevent their neighbors from hearing. Afterall, where would be the fun in that?

The pair rushed forward, ignoring anyone vying for Eiley’s attention, of which there were many.

“I told you what you need to do, your highness,” Lady Annabelle said, hiding a laugh behind her gloved hand.

“And I told you, that getting the princess drunk and keeping her that way is no way to celebrate her betrothal,” Lady Teresa said, interrupting them.

Eiley waved her hand to a passing servant, and the ladies were brought a new tray of wine. “This is my engagement party!” Eiley said, taking a hearty swallow of wine. “If I want to get raging drunk, can’t we call this my last hurrah?”

“Your father will not take kindly to this,” Teresa reminded her.

“As if even a marriage to someone so loathsome could spell the end of your party days!” Annabelle chimed in.

As if on cue, her betrothed arrived. “Your highness, Princess Eiley.” He said with a deep bow.

“Prince Warren,” she said curtly, failing to keep the disdain from her voice.

He rose, towering over the trio of women. His dark features were highlighted by the low lighting, and though many of the ladies here had swooned at the sight of him, Eiley was unimpressed.

“I was wondering if I might have this dance?” 

Prince Warned held out his hand to the princess, who took it and hissed, “Who put you up to this?” She held her palm just over his, barely touching as if his hand were something dirty.

He led her to the dance floor, saying, “I thought it would be a good showing. We should be seen interacting together if we’re going to be married. It helps strengthen the alliance.”

“See that you keep our interactions about this alliance, and fully public,” she said, turning to face him.

“Trust me, that shall not be a problem.” The scowl on his face went unnoticed because she was looking anywhere else.

When the steps of the dance forced them close, he whispered, “My father told me to be seen amicably with you.”

He takes her hand and she twirls under his arm, her heavy skirts swishing around her.

“I’m sure,” he continues, “that your father has said the same.”

“He has,” she agreed after a tense silence.

He nodded. “Then for their sake and for the sake of this alliance, perhaps we can pretend to get along?”

She fixed him with a glare then muttered, “I’m going to need more wine for this.”

The song ended and the pair gave each other the perfunctory bow. Around them, couples were laughing and clapping, but Eiley and Warren were hiding their mutual disdain behind masks of neutral emotion.

Eiley turned to leave in search of that wine she was craving. Her scowl deepened when Warren followed along beside her. She saw her friends giggling behind their hands and resisted the urge to sneer at them. She’d get them back for their mockery later. When no eyes were on her and her betrothed.

She picked up two goblets, ignoring the servant who bowed to her, and handed one to Warren. He sniffed it suspiciously, and she threw back her head in irritation but quickly covered it with a ringing laugh. “You need to get used to this if we’re to be together. I know you don’t have wine where you’re from, but this is our specialty, and I require it to be on hand.”

“It’s so sweet compared to our agua vite.” He took a sip and grimaced.

“If this is sweet to you, I shudder to think what your agua vite might taste like.”

“Another time,” he said with a wistful smile.

She grinned at him in an almost amicable way, but then she saw her father over his shoulder gesturing angrily. Her grin was replaced with a frown and she said, “We need to make rounds.” She downed the rest of her wine and handed the glass to a passing servant. “Shall we?” She held out her elbow to the prince, and she was relieved when he didn’t take it.

“Where do we start?”

Eiley looked at the crowd of people, dreading conversations with every one of them. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Warren trying to abandon his drink, so she took it out of his hand and finished it. She handed the goblet back to him and set off to begin socializing.

She took one step, then another, enjoying the way her heels clicked on the stone floor. It always made her feel powerful. She tripped and stumbled, and a flush of embarrassment crossed her face, but she kept walking. Then Eiley felt a warm wet sensation on her stomach.

Her elbow caught on something and she looked down to see a knife sticking out of her side.

Blood pooled around her and soaked into the fabric of her dress. She looked around frantically in confusion, trying to make out the faces around her.

Her hands became sticky with her own blood, and she wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the knife and yanked it out of her stomach. It clattered to the floor and blood gushed from the wound. She felt dizzy and her knees buckled under her. She collapsed to the floor, and she tasted iron on her tongue.

She tried to call for help, but the words refused to come. 

Slowly, everything faded to black…

She bolted upright with a scream, and thrashed about until she realized she was tangled in her own sheets.

“Oh, your majesty, you gave me quite a fright.”

“Leigha, have you been here the whole time?”

The seamstress shook her head with her hand on her chest. “I just arrived. We need to do the final fitting of your dress for the ball.”

Leigha stepped aside, revealing the dress. Eiley jumped up to inspect it.

“You had it cleaned this quickly?” she asked, running her fingers over the bodice. There wasn’t a trace of blood. She couldn’t even tell where the cut in the fabric had been.

“What are you talking about, miss? I just finished the embroidery last night.” Leigha pursed her lips, then nervously added, “I can certainly have it cleaned for you before the ball though.”

“But the ball was last night? I…” she trailed off, not wanting to remember the knife.

“No, my lady,” Leigha said with a grin. “The ball isn’t until Saturday next. Oh you must be so nervous to meet your intended. His delegation should be arriving any time now. Let’s get this fitting done and get you dressed to meet him.” She began loosening the laces on the dress so Eiley could try it on.

“Excuse me a moment, I’m not quite feeling myself,” Eiley said, and walked towards her wash room.

“Yes, miss, but do hurry. Your father will be quite impatient today.”

Eiley nodded but didn’t respond further. She closed the door to the washroom behind her and leaned on the counter to support her weight. She looked into her own eyes in the mirror. They were her normal bright blue. Her golden hair hung around her face, still in her usual loose curls. But the shadows under her eyes were haunting.

She’d already met Price Warren. Days ago. She didn’t like him.

And at their engagement ball, she’d been stabbed?

Her eyes widened at the memory, and she frantically pulled up the cloth of her shift.

Afraid to look, her fingers tentatively touched the soft skin of her stomach, but it was smooth. She poked one finger where she remembered the knife being, and felt a memory of pain, but the skin was unbroken.

She braced herself to look down, and relief flooded her face when she found her flesh smooth and unblemished. Her fingers traced the spot where she knew the knife had been.

She looked up and asked her reflection, “How am I not dead?”