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Nora knew the kingdom needed someone who would help her people, because she saw the suffering herself, perhaps even lived it. She didn’t say the words, but the insinuation struck me as clear as a cloudless day. She thought I turned a blind eye because it’s unpleasant.

Not married. Surprising, since she had a beauty that radiated even in drab clothing surrounded by a sea of elegant attire. I hadn’t asked her age, and wondered if she took on the role of chaperone because she didn’t fall within the range. Perhaps we’d limited the parameters too much.

She and her sisters wasted no time scurrying away, except for packing some untouched sweets. My fault for keeping her away from the spread. The sight amused me—no other lady had been so bold—until it saddened me.

Unpleasant conditions. Despite the ladies dressing in their finery today, I had no idea what they’d left to come here, and what they’d return to. Perhaps the bundled treats were to fend off starvation. Thin, possibly too thin, were most of the ladies in attendance today.

Forced smiles that didn’t meet my eyes consumed the rest of the luncheon, along with those automatic responses that Nora saw right through. Listening to the other ladies with half a mind, my thoughts drifted to the dark beauty mark, a lone freckle that dotted the upper part of her cheek. The one that raised upward slightly when she’d laughed and smiled. The one that fell when she’d realized her candor came out blunt. That’s where part of my mind remained until the afternoon concluded.

I sat on my throne, knuckles digging into my cheek while Ricks rattled off the top contenders from the day. He beamed, bragging that if South Harbor offered so much promise, the others were sure to present the next queen.

I reflected again on what Nora had said. She wanted to emphasize that we should see their poverty as something to benefit the throne, not hinder it. The grating task of selecting a cordial queen shifted to something more. Another opportunity to change the kingdom and help the people that didn’t involve donning a black outfit. What started as a public relations assignment evolved into something that could change the entire course of Highcrest’s history if I chose well.

Now to find the right woman for the job.

16

Nora

After an hour of repeating myself through incessant interrogation, Kenzie finally relented. Eucinda sat in her chair, embroidery hoop in hand, the usual scowl plastered upon her otherwise pretty face as she dissected every word.

My palms had become slick from having to admit the onslaught of blunders I’d committed, and her silence only added to my nerves. She was the only other one to know what depended on securing the prince.

“What happens next?” Melody asked her mother, hugging her arms, back propped against the doorframe.

Eucinda paused her stitch and rested her hands on her lap. She inhaled, and I braced for ridicule. “The counselor announced a series of events. My guess is they’ll announce the next one after the other luncheons.” Her lips twisted, wrinkles creasing the skin, but I didn’t dare ask what thoughts darkened that mind of hers.

“I have to go get ready for my shift,” I announced, too eager to flee.

Her sharp gaze sliced like a dagger, a flicker of warning that I could afford zero mistakes when it came to Caine. To keep my blunders today a secret. I dipped my chin, the gesture so subtle that I doubted my sisters would notice, before I stepped past Melody. Placing my hand on her elbow, I squeezed gently and offered a tight smile before making my way upstairs to change.

The bar became irritatingly busy even before my shift began. After a day of daughters and sisters vying for the Prince of Highcrest’s hand, the men in their families decided to celebrate the possibility of ascertaining access to the royal bounty. Round after round clinked together, foam cresting over mugs in waves, spilling onto the floor faster than I could keep up.

I’d been so focused on the rush that when a hand gripped my shoulder, spun me around, and I found Caine grinning at me, my mouth floundered. “I-Sir, I…I didn’t expect you in this evening,” I finally managed to string a coherent sentence together. Hopefully my face hid the fact that his unexpected presence was less so a surprise and more a horror.

“Once you finish with that mess, come have a chat with me.” The smooth purr of his invitation only added to my unease. His smile remained cocked to one side before he turned away.

Judging from his tone, this wouldn’t have anything to do with shift chores. The situation was already murky and daunting, at best. Anything else he’d have to say on the matter wouldn’t leave me feeling hopeful, of that I was sure.

Once I tackled the spill, ignoring the other three that had been made in the process, I rolled my mop and bucket to the bar and leaned it against the wall. Helena cut me a glare that warned me not to slack off. I pointed my thumb, gesturing to the back office where Caine spent most of the evenings.

She nodded, returning to tend the line up of men shouting their orders for more pitchers. My knuckles rapped on the open door, and Caine’s slimy stare slid up to me. A serpentine smile carved his cheeks, and he motioned with his fingers for me to join. I brought myself to sit in the chair opposite him, hating the privacy and humidity in this wood-paneled room.

“So.” He laced his fingers over his stomach, reclining in his brown leather chair as the material groaned. The twinkle in his eye was eerily out of place. Usually cold anger poured out of those brown irises. “Today was the luncheon.”

“It was.” Simplicity was my best option.

“And how did it go?”

“Fine.”

The twinkle faded, and my stomach dropped. He took a more serious, probing tone this time. “You have three chances to win over the prince out of hundreds of swooning chits. Was fine the level of effort you put into that today?”

His emphasis only made the task seem increasingly insurmountable. He was right. There would be hundreds of candidates, some from well-established, wealthy families who had been schooled in formality. Such as not spilling fruit juice on the future king. “No, sir.”

A shadow fell from the increasingly bulging vein along his temple. “Tell me what happened.” An order, not a request.

Simplicity was clearly not working in my favor. “The castle sent carriages into the market and we took one up. We were prompt and in the early group. Once we arrived, we waited in line for our designated five minutes with Prince Nicholas. He engaged in conversation with my sisters, then we were excused to dine at the congregation of tables. They served handheld foods and desserts—”