Chapter 3

R osamund stared in shocked silence at the queen. “My what?”

Her mother wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her away from Queen Adele back into the castle. But Rosamund was having none of that. She shrugged out of her mother’s embrace and spun to face her. Her heart thudded against her chest.

Certainly, she understood what the word betrothed meant. However, she never expected her future husband was the prince of their neighboring kingdom. A kingdom, she understood, that was their enemy.

No, enemy was too strong a word. Perhaps they were more of a rival kingdom.

“What does she mean my betrothed?”

“Just that,” Reginald said, following them inside. “You’re to marry my son, Prince Phillip.”

The heat of shock coiled through her, making her gut clench. She glanced from the rotund king back to her mother. “You never told me this.”

Adele didn’t bother to hide her gasp of surprise.

Her tone was accusatory. Her mother gave a half smile and reached for her again, but Rosamund stepped away.

“You never told her?” the queen asked. “Why ever not?”

Rosamund crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes. Why not, Mother?”

“Eleanor, please,” her father said, his tone hushed and urgent. It was a desperate plea to get her away from the visiting royals, no doubt.

“Come, Rosamund and we will discuss it.” Her mother held her hand out to her.

She stole a quick look at the other royals, then her father, who had a desperate look on his face. At last, she reached for her mother’s hand and took it. She grasped it, wrapping her fingers in her tight fist and pulling her along behind her. It was clear to Rosamund her mother wasn’t going to release her.

She led Rosamund from the great hall through the castle, up the winding stone staircase, to her private sitting room. The queen enjoyed this room daily with its balcony and the gossamer curtains billowing at the windows and open doors. She often had tea here in the afternoon with tiny sandwiches and lemon cakes.

The room was furnished in plush, comfortable chairs, a chaise, a luxurious rug in a floral pattern that came from Rothbridge in vibrant colors of red, yellow, green and blue. A fireplace was on one wall to warm the room in the chillier months. When they were safely inside the room, her mother closed the door and motioned for her to sit. Then she went to the gold cord and rang for tea.

Rosamund waited, watching with her breath in her throat as her mother pulled open the balcony doors. The fresh spring breeze trickled in, giving the stuffy room a breath of fresh air. She stood there a long moment, her back to Rosamund. She was stiff, the muscles pulled taught under her gown.

The princess perched on one of the chairs, her hands in her lap, her ankles crossed like a proper lady, and waited.

Finally, her mother turned to her, her face flushed. “I see it was a mistake not to tell you sooner. For that, I ask your forgiveness.”

Rosamund stared at her mother, who, for the first time in her life, seemed to be at a loss.

“However,” she continued, and her voice turned stern, “you are never to act like that in front of the king and queen of Woodhaven again.”

Before she could stop the words, she said, “Act like what , Mother? Like I was in shock? Because I was.”

She clenched her jaw so tight, the muscles flexed along the edge. Her lips thinned. Clearly, she was trying to contain her anger.

“You are never to question me or your father in front of the other royals,” she said, her voice hard.

“Then perhaps, Mother, you tell me exactly what’s going on.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I deserve to know.”

Her mother blew out a breath and turned back to the balcony, the slight breeze ruffling her hair and skirt.

“You do deserve to know,” she said, her voice quiet. “Your father didn’t want to tell you until you were of age.”

“Of age?” she asked.

“You turn eighteen soon.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Irritation clawed through her as she peered at her mother’s perfect posture.

Before her mother answered, a knock sounded on the door. She called for them to come in. The servant wheeled in the tea cart with a silver tea service and porcelain cups rattling as he pushed it across the floor. Rosamund spied the tiny finger sandwiches and lemon cakes next to the tea and her stomach rumbled. She’d forgotten to eat breakfast.

“Thank you, Albert,” her mother said in her dismissive tone.

He gave a brief bow and scurried out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Her mother moved to the cart and poured a cup of tea. She placed two lumps of sugar in the cup and stirred. She didn’t offer Rosamund a cup.

She waited to see what her mother would say next.

“When you were six months old, your father invited the royals of Woodhaven to treat with us,” she said. She held the cup between her hands, then blew on the steaming liquid.

Rosamund waited, peering at her with interest. She seemed genuinely unnerved.

“Your father believes the Fae royals have an interest in expanding their borders,” she continued. She cut her daughter a sharp glance. “I trust you are familiar with the geography of the land.”

Rosamund stifled the snort. Instead, she said, “Of course, I am. They’re the realm to the east.”

“Yes,” her mother said, then took a sip of the steaming tea. “In an effort to unite the kingdoms of Stonebridge, your father offered your hand in marriage to Prince Phillip of Woodhaven. King Reginald agreed. You are to be married shortly after your eighteenth birthday.”

Had they been planning her wedding all this time without telling her? Rosamund stared at her mother in shocked silence.

“My birthday is in a week,” she said.

“It is,” she said, her face devoid of all emotion. “All the wedding arrangements have been made. All we have left to do is fit you for your gown.”

Panic began to set in, her heart pounding so hard in her chest she thought it might burst. There were so many things wrong with this situation, she didn’t know where to begin.

“I suppose that’s already been decided for me as well.” A bitter taste was in the back of her throat.

“It has.”

“I don’t want to marry a prince I’ve never met.” It was the first thing that came to mind.

“You were supposed to meet today. That is why they came. And yet…” Her words trailed off.

“He decided hunting was more important.” Rosamund almost laughed out loud.

How fortunate for him that, as a man, he could run free and do as he pleased. While she was forced into a marriage in which she had no interest. Forced to participate in a wedding she had no input in planning. Forced into a life she didn’t want.

“They also came to finalize the plans for the wedding,” her mother added.

She shot to her feet. “And I’m just supposed to be okay with all of this?” Rosamund demanded.

Her mother plunked the tea cup down on the tray with a thud, the ire in her face evident. “You are a princess, Rosamund. It is what was agreed to between your father and King Reginald. You are to marry Prince Phillip.”

She clenched her fists so hard, her nails bit into the palms of her hands. “And I have no say in this whatsoever?”

Her mother straightened, looking down her nose at her and giving Rosamund her most regal look. “You do not.”

Rosamund inhaled a breath, then blew it out slowly. “Very well, Mother. If that’s what you and Papa wish, then so be it. I will marry the prince. But know this. I will never love him. I do this out of duty to my kingdom and nothing more.”

“That is the price of being a princess,” her mother said.

Her words cut deep. Rosamund spun on the toe of her slipper and stomped to the door.

“Where are you going?” her mother asked.

She paused at the door, her hand on the knob, and cut her mother a glance over her shoulder. “Nowhere, Mother. I have nowhere to go.”

She flung open the door and left.