Page 7 of Anwen of Primewood (The Eldentimber #2)

“Yes.” I smile at Marigold, who watches us from a chair near a balcony in Leonora’s dressing room. “Our family visits King Windom’s family frequently.”

“And we knew each other from before…” Marigold trails off.

“Of course.” Leonora looks up, nodding in understanding. “And your father is Baron Thomas Millner?”

“That’s right.”

“He is a merchant? A very successful one, if I remember correctly.”

I nod.

Leonora chooses another gown from the large wooden wardrobe. “And how is it you came to be dressed as a tambourine girl?”

“It’s a long story.”

One I don’t feel like sharing again. I look around Leonora’s quarters. They are large and grand, just as I expect the future queen’s chamber to be .

“You really don’t have to do this.” I motion to the dresses I’ve already tried on.

Leonora laughs. “Look at me.” She waves her hand over her pregnant belly.

“I can’t wear any of these now, and by the time I can, I’ll want new ones anyway.

Besides, you’re just the right size, and Pippa will never let me dress her up.

” She examines another gown, a rose one this time, and nods.

“This one,” she says to the maid helping us.

I hold up my arms as the girl slides the gown over my head. The whisper soft velvet settles against my skin.

“Yes, that will do nicely.” Leonora clutches her hands together as she admires me. I believe I’ve become the princess’s favorite doll.

The maid finishes with the ties, and I twirl for Leonora. “What do you think?”

With a twinkle in her eye, she declares, “Irving will love it!”

Marigold chokes on her tea.

I stumble but catch my balance. “Irving?”

Leonora walks to a dressing table and idly runs a brush through her long, golden-brown hair. “He sent a message to your parents taking responsibility for your well-being.”

Perhaps she doesn’t know Irving well. I glance at Marigold, helpless. She widens her eyes and shrugs.

“I was in love with Irving once,” I admit.

Leonora’s face lights up like the sun.

“He told me he loved me as well.”

The summer evening is etched into my mind and my heart. It was several years after the childhood marriage proposal I teased Irving about at the wedding feast.

“I was fifteen.” Unable to help myself, I sigh. “He kissed me under the stars.”

Marigold gives me a soft, regretful look.

Leonora has practically melted in the chair by the dressing table. “And?”

I wave my hand. “And nothing. We were secretly in love for exactly five weeks, and then I couldn't stand the sight of him.”

Leonora’s face falls. “What happened?”

“Irving is charming and wonderful to every single female he’s ever been in contact with. Perhaps one day he’ll find a woman that will besot him so completely he will adore and dote on her—and only her—but that woman wasn’t me.”

“That’s horrible, Anwen,” Leonora says.

“I hated him, but he finally won me over. He’s a good friend now.” I look at Marigold. “You both are.”

Marigold stirs her tea. “I still feel awful, like I’m responsible for him.”

The world knows her as King Windom’s ward, but her close friends know she is truly the king’s daughter—Irving’s half-sister. It causes her great distress when she tries to make a respectable man of the prince.

“Surely there must be someone in your life, Anwen? Secret longings? Unrequited love?”

I’ve decided I adore Leonora. She’s a horrible gossip in a perfect princess veneer. I sit on the bench and thank a handmaid when she hands me a cup of tea. “There is a man. His name is Dimitri.” I wait for their reactions .

Marigold’s eyebrows knit, and then they rise at the scandal of it. “Dimitri is a Bandolian name.”

I nod.

“You fell in love with one of the traveling performers,” Leonora says. Her voice is accusing, but I can tell she’s dying for more.

I give her a wry smile and wave to the discarded skirt on the floor. “He’s a prince of Bandolia.”

“Or he would be,” Marigold says, leaning forward. “If the kingdom still existed.”

Over two hundred years ago, the northern kingdom was besieged by Errinton and overtaken.

Instead of staying to be governed by their rival king, the nobles and most of the subjects fled.

Many, including the kingdom’s royalty, became nomads, traveling the kingdoms, bartering their unique goods and entertaining commoners with their stories and song to make a living.

With wide eyes, Leonora asks, “Is he handsome?”

Hiding behind her teacup, Marigold smiles.

I think of Dimitri and his dark hair and inviting eyes. “Yes.”

“Has he kissed you? Told you he loves you?” Leonora demands.

I nod again. “Oh, yes.”

“And?” Marigold asks.

“I ran away with him, and he robbed me of everything I had with me.”

Marigold’s mouth falls open. “Anwen!”

“I just don’t understand. I thought he loved me. I keep thinking there must be some reason—some explanation. I would have given up everything for him. Sometimes I think I still would.”

“You still have feelings for this man?” Leonora asks, appalled.

“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s very foolish if I do, isn’t it?”

“Yes!” They both exclaim.

Leonora sits forward. “You are a lady of Primewood. You can marry anyone—anyone at all. A real prince! Don’t pine over this wandering rogue!”

Marigold gives me a pointed look. “No matter how handsome he is.”

I blow on my steaming cup, knowing they are right even if my heart is not ready to admit it.

“What of you, Marigold?” Leonora asks. “How are things progressing with Galinor?”

I choke on my tea, and they both give me questioning glances. I wave for them to continue.

“I don’t know,” Marigold says, still eyeing me. “He’s as nice as always, but it’s so hard to talk to him.”

I take another sip, keeping my eyes averted.

“I was telling him about a cartography lecture I had hoped to go to in Vernow next year, and his eyes glazed over.”

Leonora laughs. “That’s shocking. A cartography lecture sounds scintillating.”

Marigold rolls her eyes. I’m surprised how comfortable she is around Leonora. I feel a little wisp of jealousy and wish I had been here for the tournament as well.

“You don’t have to talk to Galinor.” Leonora smirks. “When you can look at him. ”

We all laugh, but I swear I blush deep red. They don’t notice.

“It’s not really enough, though, is it?” Marigold sighs. “There must be a man out there that looks like Galinor, but is willing to discuss migratory cycles with me.”

Leonora gives her an odd look that says, not likely , but she doesn’t argue. She turns toward me. “Let us find you more dresses.”

“Do you have anything I can ride in?”

“Sidesaddle?” she asks, hopeful.

I shake my head. “Astride.”

Her face falls, and she runs a hand through her hair. “I don’t—but I know someone who does.” She gives me a feline smile and pulls me out of her quarters.