Page 4 of Fit for a Prince (Fit For A Crown #1)

Chapter four

O ne season to either marry a prince or die trying.

The guards escorted me back to the suite I’d gotten cleaned up in.

Everything looked different somehow. Walking into the throne room had felt like stepping into a coffin, but now that I’d made it out alive, I could feel the true weight of my chains.

I was still a prisoner, but now I had the chance to become a princess.

And I wasn’t going to waste it.

“Here you are, my lady .” The guard’s pale lips practically foamed as he spoke the temporary title the king had bestowed upon me.

The second guard unlocked the door, gesturing for me to enter the extravagant new cell.

I hadn’t walked further than the floorspace of a four-foot prison cell for weeks, and my legs were already shaking from forcing them to keep up with the guards.

I stepped slowly into the room, struggling to keep my heavy breathing quiet and controlled. “Enjoy your stay. ”

The door slammed behind me, shaking the walls and making me jump enough that my knees finally buckled.

I caught myself on the back of an armchair, my arms straining from the weight of my limp body.

The lock clicked behind me, and I looked back at the door with a disdainful glare.

The king thought that sealing me away like a jewel in a box would make me inclined to shine for him.

He should have done himself a favor and killed me.

“M-my lady?” a small voice peeped from the corner of the room.

A rush of energy forced my legs to straighten the second I realized I wasn’t alone.

I whipped my head around to search for the voice’s owner, surprised to find a lone maid with a maroon dress and cotton apron.

An Ivalonian. “May I be of some assistance? You look a bit unsteady.”

I let my guard drop a touch, taking in the deep inhale my body was craving. It was unsurprising that only Ivalonians had offered me any assistance since entering the palace.

“Thank you, I think I just need to sit down,” I said as I attempted to maneuver to the front of the armchair. I was weaker than I thought. My legs wobbled with every step, and my head was spinning after so much walking on a stomach that was ready to digest itself.

“Please, let me help.” The servant rushed to my side, gently grabbing my arm and easing my weight onto her.

She was surprisingly strong, or perhaps I was just surprisingly weak.

She aided me into the chair and didn’t take her hands off of me until I was safely seated.

“I already requested a meal be brought up. Can I get you some tea in the meantime?”

The armchair embraced my weak body, sinking me into the plush cushions and soft velvet. The thought of a warm cup of tea sounded blissful, but no part of me could relax while I was distracted by the kind girl’s face.

A long, nasty scar stretched from her light hairline to her soft jaw.

Her pale skin and light eyes were similar to mine, showcasing her strong Ivalonian blood and drawing an unfortunate amount of attention to the ugly mark on her pretty face.

Her hands were marked too, but with patchy discoloration that could only come from severe burns.

She was petite, with dark lashes, full lips and a willowy figure.

Despite being small-framed, she looked to be at least a year or two older than me—either that, or trauma had aged her faster than she deserved.

“What’s your name?” I asked the girl, my back stiff despite resting in the cushy chair. The girl moved to the fireplace, adding a kettle to the flames before wiping her hands on her apron.

“Mara, my lady,” she said quietly. “I’ve been assigned as your handmaiden for as long as, um...for as long as... ”

“For as long as I’m courting the princes,” I finished for her, watching the fear flash in the girl’s eyes as she looked down at the apron. “I understand. I presume I’ll only be served by Ivalonians while I’m here?”

“I’m afraid so,” Mara said with a sad nibble on her lower lip. “I apologize for the inconvenience, my lady.”

“Apologize?” I sat up straighter, my voice commanding the girl’s attention.

“Listen closely, Mara. Never apologize for being associated with Ivalon. Do you understand me?” My blood burned as I watched the girl’s eyes widen.

It was clear that she had heard my words, but I wasn’t sure if she was able to accept them.

“Y-yes, my lady,” she said in a shaken voice. What have they done to my people? “Forgive me. I’m simply trying to follow the rules I’ve been given.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” I said sincerely. “I don’t mean to frighten you, Mara. In fact, I’m in great need of an ally right now. Do you think you could tell me more about the rules you mentioned?”

“Of course, my lady.” She nodded as she prepared a tea cup. I watched her spoon the tea leaves into the small sieve, the leaves lighter than the teas I’d seen in Ivalon.

“You don’t have to call me that,” I said, and the word don’t made the girl jump. “I’m hardly a lady here. Please, call me Diaspro. ”

“I...” The girl gulped, setting down the teacup with a sharp inhale. “I can’t do that, my lady. That’s one of the rules.”

“You can’t even call me by my name?”

“No, my lady.”

“Not even when we’re alone?” I raised a brow, studying Mara’s forehead beading with sweat and darting eyes.

“One can never be certain they’re alone in the palace,” Mara said quietly, her serious expression speaking far more loudly than her words.

Understood. Rule number one, never trust that you’re not being watched.

“I see,” I said. “Call me whatever you’re comfortable with, then.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Mara removed the kettle from the fire, then carefully poured me a cup.

The tea had a bitter scent that I could smell from across the room, like burning flowers mixed with pond water.

“The rules for you are different from mine, but the principles are the same. Do as you're told and don’t draw attention to yourself.”

“That might prove to be difficult given the task the king assigned me.” My stomach growled as Mara placed the teacup in front of me. As terrible as Aemastian tea smelled, it was preferable to a parched throat .

“Yes, I heard about that.” It sounded like she pitied me.

I hated that. My situation might be grave, but I was the one being poured a cup of tea while she wore the colors of a slave.

I refused to be pitied before the fight had truly begun.

“You’ll simply have to hope that being polite and respectful is enough to gain the princes’ affection. ”

“Is that the type of thing the Aemastian princes are attracted to?”

“Well...I’m not certain,” Mara admitted. “I’ve never met them.”

“Neither have I. Therefore, I won’t decide how to approach the task until I’ve assessed my targets.” I twisted the ring on my finger, my heart pulsing as Damon’s memory fueled my desire for victory. I highly doubted that being polite and respectful would attract any Aemastian.

“I beg you to be cautious, my lady,” Mara said, clutching the tea tray to her chest. “There is little forgiveness for disobedience.”

“It’s not disobeying if I’m doing what the king asked,” I said, taking a slow sip of my tea.

As expected, it tasted terrible. It was a quick reminder that I would never find comfort in Aemastia, only tools to survive.

“He wants me to marry one of his sons. Can he fault me for using the most efficient methods? ”

“He can fault you for whatever he pleases,” Mara said with a quiver in her voice.

I’d expected as much.

“Noted. Now, what other rules must I adhere to?” I asked, gulping back another sip of tea. Flavor aside, the warmth soothed my throat in the same way my bath had revitalized my crusty skin.

“Other than following commands, you’ll have a variety of living limitations,” Mara continued.

“All your clothing has already been assigned to you, you’ll be given designated times to leave your suite and a list of locations you’re allowed to visit in the palace, all your meals will be decided for you—”

“What about the princes?” I asked, my stomach suddenly disagreeing with the tea as I circled back to my task. “When will I be permitted to seek audiences with them?”

“Whenever they see fit to see you.” Mara curled her fingers around the tea tray, pressing her lips together as she watched me absorb the cruel reality of my situation.

I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without permission, dress how I pleased, or seek out the princes without an invitation. I could see why Mara pitied me so much; she already knew my task was an impossible one.

Damon didn’t believe in the word impossible .

I closed my eyes, inhaling slowly as I suppressed the emotions that came with remembering his name.

He was gone, and I needed to accept that.

I twirled the ring on my finger, letting it spin in sync with my thoughts as I gathered all the lessons I’d learned from him.

If I was going to survive, I needed to be as strong as I had been when Damon was still with me.

But I also needed to be so much more.

“You’ll get to meet all of them tomorrow, though,” Mara quickly amended, offering me a thread of hope. “Prince Lochlan, Prince Atlas, and Prince Cedric have been ordered to have dinner with you for an official introduction.”

Ordered ...meaning that none of them had any real interest in meeting me. What a grand start to all of this.

“Lochlan and Atlas are twins, correct?” I ran through all the facts I knew about Aemastia’s family tree.

The twins had been born first, but they were mixed up at birth, so no one knew which was the true heir.

Cedric had come later, and once Queen Cheree had birthed three sons, King Leopold decided that King Septimus had already grown powerful enough.

“ Prince Lochlan and Prince Atlas,” Mara corrected me. “Referring to them so informally is a direct breach of the rules. ”

I sank back into my chair, my shoulders slumping far enough to cause Mara to wince again. Was slouching against the rules too? I had a funny feeling that the Aemastian servants didn’t have to adhere to anything even half as strict.

“Tell me, Mara, what happens when someone doesn’t perfectly follow the rules?” I asked. She looked at the floor, her hands twitching as she placed the serving tray down.

“The rebellious ones don’t last very long here,” she whispered with a low rasp.

“I’ve been here since...since the beginning.

The only reason I’ve lasted so long is because I’ve been compliant.

The same goes for the other low-class servants you’ll see around here.

The ones who don’t obey are replaced without question. ”

Replaced. I thought back to all the times the guards had swiped prisoners from the dungeon without any explanation. Were they being used to replace the slaves that they couldn’t control?

That would certainly explain why they needed replacements so often. Ivalonians had fire in them and rarely behaved well on a leash.

“I think I understand,” I said, my teeth clenching as I considered all the ways I wanted to see King Septimus crushed under my boot.

He thought he owned the life of every Ivalonian.

The only person I’d ever belonged to was Prince Damon.

Losing him may have destroyed part of me, but it had freed the rest. “Thank you for explaining. I think I know what I need to do to survive here.”

Surviving would be where it started. The princes would be where it ended.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Mara said with a relieved nod.

“Oren should be ready with your meal tray soon. I’ll go check on it for you.

” She curtsied for me, then moved toward the servants’ door concealed in the corner.

To open it, she produced a silver key that glimmered with magic.

It was the first magic I’d seen in Aemastia so far, and if I were to guess, I’d say it was likely used to mark the key’s user so the guard could tell who was unlocking doors if anyone were to escape.

Once alone, I sat up taller in my chair to glance out my narrow window. The cliffs dropped off directly under my suite’s walls, meaning there was no chance of a lucky escape, but that was fine. I didn’t need to escape, not when I was already in the optimal spot of a vengeful bride-to-be.

I took in a long breath of Aemastian air, taking in the bitter scent of tea, the chilly air, and even the foreign scent of the upholstered chair. Ivalon was gone, my home was gone, Damon was gone, and all that was left was the last stage of grief.

Acceptance .

My kingdom’s castle may have fallen, but Ivalon lived on in its people. If marrying a filthy Aemastian blue-blood was my best chance at freeing them, then I’d become the princess no man could refuse.