Chapter Three

Lizzie

The night before...

"His Majesty has requested your presence in the ballroom."

Lizzie looked up from the book that had been open to the same page for the last fifteen minutes and noted the familiar, brown hair and round, matronly face of the speaker. "For what purpose?"

Audrey, her lady-in-waiting, ventured further into the cozy library. There was a larger, grander one on the ground floor of the Nedran palace, but Lizzie had always preferred this one, with its warmer colors and more intimate feel. Many of the books had been carefully curated during her adolescence to include texts on all of her favorite subjects.

Not that she had any of those anymore.

"He didn't say, only that I was to make you suitable and bring you down at once." Audrey took the book from Lizzie's hands, snapping it shut and turning it over to view the title. "Going back to birds again, are we?"

Lizzie shrugged dispassionately. "It was something to pass the time, though I can't see what I ever saw in ornithology in the first place. Birds are birds."

Audrey hummed and set the book on a low table near Lizzie's chair. "There's nothing wrong with having interests, Your Highness. Why, when you were young, I could hardly get you to talk about anything else." She turned her attention to Lizzie's hair, gently tucking back the curls that had come loose during the course of the day.

"I don't have interests," Lizzie admitted with a sigh. "I know I did, once. But everything is just so…dull." She leaned against the arm of her chair, resting her chin in her hand.

"Well, I have a feeling things are about to get a whole lot more interesting." Audrey finished with her hair and pulled a small container of rouge from her apron pocket. She began dabbing a bit onto Lizzie's pale cheeks, blending it upwards towards her temples.

"Why is that?"

"Don't you know? Just how long have you been shut in here?"

"I don't know. Since just after breakfast, I suppose." Lizzie felt a sharp pang of hunger shoot through her stomach at the reminder.

Audrey frowned. "All day? Haven't you eaten?"

"It hardly matters. But what have I missed?" A tiny spark of curiosity, the first she had felt in what seemed like weeks, burned its way to the surface.

"Only a whole parade of guests that His Majesty has invited."

The spark was immediately snuffed out. "Father often has guests; that's nothing new."

"Not a whole slew of handsome, eligible guests," Audrey countered. She applied a little of the rouge to Lizzie's lips, then stepped back, giving her a once over before nodding in satisfaction. "Even Prince Shea of Cabriole is here. That boy has certainly done some growing since the last time he was here. I never thought one could look dashing with an eye patch, but I was proven wrong."

Lizzie raised her eyebrows. "Aren't you married?"

"I'm married, but I'm not blind. The more important point is that you are not married, and neither is he."

Lizzie rose and smoothed out the blue fabric of her skirt. "Prince Shea is betrothed to a princess of Brisia as part of their peace treaty. He might be unmarried, but he is far from available. For that matter, so am I." She looked down at her left hand, at the sparkling teardrop diamond that glittered on her fourth finger. She wasn't entirely certain why she still wore it, to be honest, other than the fact that some small part of her, buried deep beneath the icy wall of her heart, protested the idea of losing the last link she had to Freddy.

Freddy.

His name alone brought forth whispers of regret, and the thought of his face, with his bright, laughing eyes and perpetual smile, was one of the few things that caused her to feel strongly enough to allow the emotions to push through the barrier of her curse.

But since it was exactly the kind of dull, aching pain that she had been trying to avoid in the first place, she shoved the thoughts of his face away.

Her sister's voice echoed in her thoughts where Freddy's name had been.

"It's simple, Liza. If you don't feel, you can't be hurt."

"Your Highness?" Audrey's voice brought her back to the present.

She straightened her shoulders. "The ballroom, you said?"

"Yes, though I believe he may be waiting just outside. Don't worry, though. He seemed to be in good spirits when he sent me to fetch you."

Lizzie nodded in acknowledgement of her lady-in-waiting's words. King Alfred's mercurial temper was known and feared by all the staff, but it had been years since she had trembled with fear in his presence. "I never worry," she stated as she passed through the elaborately carved door and into the hall beyond.

"I know." Audrey's quiet words followed her into the hallway. "And that's what troubles me."

Lizzie spied her father, King Alfred, pacing back and forth in front of the tall, gilded doors of the ballroom like a caged tiger. He looked up as she came to the edge of the wide landing at the top of the splendid, curving staircases that encompassed half of the entrance hall. His dark brows were drawn together in a scowl. "There you are."

She moved with unhurried grace, scooping her skirts in one hand and lightly sliding the other down the railing as she descended. "Audrey said that you wished to see me?"

He didn't answer her directly, instead looking her up and down with a critical eye before walking in a slow circle around her. "You look presentable enough." He halted when he stood in front of her again. "Though you would be far more pleasant to look at if you smiled."

She pasted a serene smile on her face, relying on muscle memory from the many hours spent in front of her mirror perfecting the pretenses that would be required of her at social events. "What is the occasion, Father?"

Alfred began pacing again. "Your sister should have reached her new home by now in Cygnus."

"Yes, I would imagine so."

"After that fiasco with Anura, it was hard enough to find a country that would take her."

Lizzie had nothing particularly interesting to say about either her sister Belinda or the dour-faced, aging king of Cygnus who had married her nearly three weeks before, and so held her tongue.

"Her marriage did not end up being nearly as beneficial to our kingdom as I had hoped. Even if she does bear him a son before Aves dies, he has seven other heirs that will be in line to inherit first." Alfred blew out a frustrated breath. "All that beauty and intelligence, and it's wasted."

"Perhaps Lindy should have considered the consequences before deciding to use magic as petty vengeance." Lizzie spoke her thoughts matter-of-factly.

Her father's face reddened, and she involuntarily flinched away. "Perhaps you should consider the consequences before speaking with that attitude."

She clasped her hands in front of her and waited, paying attention to the logical thought that warned her she was skating on thin ice. "Yes, Father."

Mollified, he continued. "With Belinda gone, that means I have you alone left to leverage for our kingdom's advantage."

"The trade agreement with Kysta has been in place for years."

"Kysta." His nose wrinkled with disgust as he practically spat the word. "That tiny country was a suitable enough partner when Belinda promised to secure something truly advantageous. Its position on the coast and nautical prowess are the only desirable assets it can boast of. Their prince is a soft, short-sighted fool who would bleed his treasury dry for his citizens at the least sign of economic trouble. We can do better than Kysta."

Lizzie blinked, her shock great enough to pierce through her icy exterior. "The betrothal has already been signed."

"A betrothal is not a marriage."

"It was signed and ratified by both countries," she repeated. Lizzie was surprised by the strength of her own reaction. She felt nothing for Freddy, so why would it matter whether or not she married him?

Because there are legal consequences to these actions. It's illogical to think that we can break the betrothal without ramifications.

As if reading her mind, Alfred brushed her words away. "Kysta will never actually do anything. Nedra holds the upper hand in terms of military might, and the prince is far too soft to push for anything more. He'll simply roll over and accept the circumstances."

A tiny voice of protest rose up in the back of Lizzie's mind.

Freddy is kind, but he isn't spineless. He simply views his crown as a privilege and a responsibility, rather than a right. If he thought it would negatively affect his people, he would push back.

But the weak thought, buried deep as it was beneath the frosty wall of her curse, simply collided with the barrier and remained unspoken.

"Which is why I've arranged for a pool of more worthwhile suitors for you to choose from." Alfred gestured towards the ballroom doors. "You can take your pick."

She started. Nothing about the evening was transpiring as she had expected. "Take my pick? Of what?"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Of suitors. I thought I made myself perfectly clear."

"But Kysta—"

"I will deal with Kysta. Right now your concern is to march that pretty face into the ballroom and choose a husband. Any of them would be acceptable."

Before she had a chance to argue, her father placed a hand between her shoulders and all but shoved her into the room. She was instantly surrounded by the buzz of conversation, punctuated now and then by the sound of laughter. There were no fewer than twenty young men, scattered about the room in pairs and small groups. She knew by their dress and comportment that the majority must be foreign princes and the sons of powerful families from her own country, but it was hard for her to place names with their faces—an unfortunate side effect of her curse was that her memory was not as keen as it once was, especially for people she met only once or twice a year. Alfred escorted her around the room, introducing and showing her off as if she were the most precious jewel in his crown.

Lizzie went through the motions, smiling when it was required and offering polite responses. After the third or fourth man, it became clear that Alfred had made no secret of the purpose of the gathering. The majority of his guests looked at her with undisguised interest, and some with altogether too much. The conversations were mostly centered around their comparative wealth or standing, with more preening and posturing than a group of peacocks.

"Well?" Alfred asked in a low voice as they left behind a group of particularly self-important men. "What did you think of the Duke of Ophidia?"

The image of the rotund, ruddy-faced man with thinning hair popped into Lizzie's mind. She felt no need to censor her words. "Too fat."

"Ah, I suppose looks are important to you young people. What about Prince Felix? He's young and attractive, and Felida's spymaster's guild makes them a desirable ally."

The prince was fairly tolerable—he was at least one of the few men present who seemed to view her as a person, rather than a trophy—but he was barely out of his teen years. With his long, graceful limbs and narrow shoulders, he reminded her of a stray kitten left to survive in the streets.

"He's practically a maypole."

Alfred's jaw worked back and forth. "Prince Jacques?"

"His face reminds me of a dumpling."

Her objections kept coming, one after another:

"Too pale. He looks like he's never seen the sun."

"He's as red as the comb of a rooster."

"He can't even stand straight."

With each excuse, Alfred's face became redder and redder. They made their way through the entire room before finally coming to Prince Shea of Cabriole. Lizzie was fatigued, and she wanted nothing more than to be allowed to retire to her room and escape. She bit back a sigh as she offered her hand to Shea in greeting.

"Good evening, Princess Eliza." Shea gave her fingers a gentle squeeze that seemed at odds with his broad shoulders and rigid posture. His red uniform jacket was a stark contrast to the opulent dress of most of the crowd, though the decorations on the front and epaulets on his shoulders marked him as some sort of high-ranking officer. A black eyepatch covered his right eye, but his left, warm and dark, studied her with something akin to compassion. "I hope you've been having a pleasant time?"

"It's been an evening."

A smile pulled at one side of his mouth, and Lizzie decided it was almost worth the scolding she knew she would receive later about her lack of decorum.

Truth be told, she didn't much care about decorum.

"I'm sure it has." With one last squeeze, Shea let her fingers fall. He turned his attention to Alfred. "I can't help but notice that your guest list is missing your neighbors to the south."

Alfred shifted back onto his heels and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I'm sure if Prince Frederick wanted to be here, he would have."

A ball of lead formed in the pit of Lizzie's stomach, pulling it down to her toes.

She ignored it, focusing instead on the wall of ice around her heart.

Shea clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head thoughtfully. "And I'm sure you would never have neglected to inform him of this little gathering?"

"Of course not." A muscle underneath Alfred's left eye twitched. "What are you getting at, Cabriole?"

"I just wanted to confirm that all the proper parties had been notified." He smiled at Lizzie. "But it seems that everyone who is supposed to be here tonight is present."

"Of course they are. I invited everyone who I deemed relevant to the question at hand."

"I'm sure you did."

The conversation dwindled after that. Alfred insisted upon asking pointed questions about Cabriole's recent war and the state of their economy, while Shea remained tightlipped about all but the most surface details. Lizzie kept a loose hold on her father's arm, but mentally distanced herself from the conversation.

It's a pity. Of all the guests here, Shea is the one man that I could perhaps stand to be in the same room with for more than a quarter of an hour. But he's mentioned their peace treaty and his betrothal at least twice now, which means it's still in place. Strange that he's here, of all places, though perhaps he's just present to see what Father is up to. I suppose it's good to know if your ally is ready and willing to break binding, legal agreements without real cause.

She curtsied mechanically as they took their leave, still puzzling over Shea's behavior in her mind.

"Well?" Alfred asked once they were a few steps away. "Is it Cabriole?"

It took her a moment to realize what he was asking.

Even after all that, he still believes that an engagement between Shea and I is possible.

She thought for a moment. "Too procedural."

A low growl rose in the king's throat, and he gripped her upper arm roughly, dragging her to the side of the room so quickly that she nearly tripped over her own feet. "I have gone to the trouble of inviting every eligible man in this and every surrounding country, and still none of them are good enough for you?" His fingers squeezed, and she knew there would be bruises in the morning.

Lizzie pulled her arm free and stepped back, straightening her back and shoulders. It was times like these that she appreciated her curse, as it allowed her to stand before him without any of the fear and trembling that had characterized her younger years.

"It seems we have a very different taste in men."

Alfred's eyes widened and his face started turning purple with rage. Lizzie watched from the corner of her eye as Shea casually approached, stopping just far enough away to give them the illusion of privacy. He caught her gaze for a brief moment and nodded once, as if to reassure her that he would intervene if needed.

Truly a pity.

"A different taste?" the king seethed. " A different taste? I'll show you just how different our tastes are. I don't care who he is; you'll go to the next man who comes to the door. We'll see how much you dislike my tastes then. Spiteful, ungrateful child!"

An awkward silence rang in the room as Alfred's volume rose throughout his speech. Lizzie could feel every eye in the room on her as she lifted her chin and met her father's gaze, but she ignored them as easily as she did a cold draft. It mattered little whether they knew or not.

"Your Majesty?" the timid voice of a footman broke the spell. He stood at the main doors of the ballroom, slightly to the right and behind the king.

"What is it?" Alfred growled, pulling his hot stare from Lizzie only at the very last second.

"There is an…entertainer here who claims to have been invited?"

The words were no sooner spoken than a rumpled and unkempt figure pushed his way past. His dark hair was long and dirty, nearly reaching his shoulders in the back and hanging down over a pair of bright blue eyes in the front. Tanned skin on his hands and face spoke to a lifetime spent out of doors, though between the shaggy hair and the bushy beard, Lizzie could see only his nose and upper cheeks. He carried a lute over his shoulder, which he swung around to the front and began playing as soon as he walked in.

"Let me sing you a song of a maiden so fair,

With the sky in her eyes and with gold in her hair.

But more beautiful still was her charm and her grace,

And the kind, tender heart that brought smiles to her face."

His voice, though obviously untrained, was still rather pleasant. He could carry a tune, at least, and it had a warm, mellow quality that paired well with his instrument. Despite his worn clothing and otherwise shabby appearance, he moved with a comfortable confidence that immediately grabbed attention. All in all, he was one of the better traveling performers she had seen, and Lizzie was rather puzzled when the crowd of men in the room started heckling him.

Until she realized what they were actually saying.

"A tender heart? Ha! It's about as tender as cold steel."

"She's only fair until she opens her mouth. No beauty can make up for a tongue that sharp."

"I've seen a slug with more charm." This particular comment came from Prince Jacques, and Lizzie realized belatedly that perhaps she had not been as private in her criticisms as she had thought.

Although, if they dislike me that intensely, it's very unlikely that they'll push Father for my hand.

She glanced over at King Alfred as the thought passed through her mind. He was watching the minstrel with cold, calculating eyes. Slow, loud claps echoed through the room as he brought his hands together, despite the fact that the minstrel was obviously still in the middle of his song.

Every sound in the room was immediately snuffed out. The bearded minstrel turned and squared his shoulders to the king before bowing low with a flourish. From this angle, Lizzie was afforded a much better view of his scraggly beard.

It looks like he has the nest of a wood thrush hanging off his chin. I wouldn't be surprised if a bird flew out of it.

"Your Majesty, please allow me—"

Alfred cut him off with a swift flick of his wrist. "Are you unmarried?"

Lizzie's critical thoughts about the minstrel's beard slammed to a sudden halt as she comprehended the direction of her father's question.

He wouldn't. He's too concerned with increasing Nedra's influence and advantage.

The thrushbeard minstrel's eyes flicked over to her for a fraction of a second before he answered. "I am not."

The boom of Alfred's humorless laugh filled the room as he slapped his knees, as if the whole situation were one big joke. "By tomorrow morning, you will be." He turned, fixing his angry, unyielding gaze on Lizzie even as he continued speaking to the minstrel. "Congratulations. You're going to marry the princess."