Page 8

Chapter 8

Julius

J ulius didn’t want to leave the terrace and return to the ballroom. He wanted to be part of the conversation and maybe finally get some proper answers. But his father was right. The girl from the hill had said little of help so far. Lady Marigold was the one to provide answers. Clearly her hand had been involved in the evening’s disaster, and he wasn’t in the least surprised.

How could his mother have selected Marigold for him? And how had Cade dared to look him in the face and say he wouldn’t be disappointed!?

Except he hadn’t looked him in the face.

“I knew it,” Julius muttered under his breath. “I knew he wasn’t being sincere.” He should have taken more warning from his friend’s weak praise. Maybe even tried to talk to his mother before everything was completely locked in.

Except it wasn’t locked in even now. He bit his tongue on a louder, stronger exclamation. He had stood ready to sacrifice even his own future, and yet everything was still a mess.

He strode through the ballroom, ignoring all the people who tried to speak to him. Thankfully, ignoring all attendees at the ball except one was part of the tradition for that particular Midsummer Ball. He only hoped his wandering the ballroom alone wasn’t causing too much comment. The chosen girl should have been at his side. The last thing they needed was for everyone to know something had gone wrong.

They needed a solution before the problem was exposed. And for that they unfortunately needed Lady Marigold.

He gritted his teeth and pushed on, circling around the dancers as he tried to scan every whirling couple. Where was the outrageous girl? This was exactly why she was the worst possible choice of queen.

Well, worst except for one. He had been comfortably telling himself he would never meet the girl from the hill again, never dreaming she might turn up like this. He had been struggling to contain his horror ever since the crowd parted, and he got a proper look at the face of the girl in the glass slippers.

It was almost enough to make Marigold seem like a good alternative. She might be rash and unsuited to a life of protocol and restraint, but at least she had never pierced the charming facade that duty required Julius to wear. No matter how much she irritated him at times, she had never made him fail in his duty or caused him to question his sense of self. Even Marigold would be a more comfortable life companion than the girl currently outside with his parents.

The girl from the hill—Olivia, she had said her name was Olivia—was anything but comfortable. Marigold might behave poorly, but Olivia somehow caused him to behave in a way unfit for royalty, which was even worse. The sooner she was sent on her way the better, and that meant finding Marigold as quickly as possible.

Except, no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t see her anywhere. And with her bright hair, she should have been more obvious than most. If only the crowd wasn’t constantly shifting. It was impossible to be certain he had seen every person present. She had to be there somewhere—Olivia had said they arrived at the ball together.

As he circled the room for the third time, his eyes fell not on the flaming hair of Marigold, but on golden hair above pink silk. His insides clenched.

Olivia. What was she doing in the ballroom and not safely shut out on the terrace with his parents?

He shouldered his way toward her, keeping her locked in his sights. She had come to a stop against the far wall, looking panicked, and hadn’t yet seen him.

The crowd had noticed both his passage and his quarry, however, and people began to melt out of his way with soft sighs and giggles. Their false assumptions irritated Julius, although he knew he should be relieved. If they thought he had been searching for his dance companion, it would explain his solitary passage through the ballroom as well as his abstraction.

The other ballgoers had left space around Olivia, so she stood alone in a bubble near the wall, still clearly lost and confused. But as he watched, a footman approached and bowed to her.

At first, Julius thought his parents must have sent a servant to fetch her back and felt relieved. But the man offered her a small silver tray, a single letter resting on top.

Even from a distance, Julius could see the red seal, and while he couldn’t make out the shape of it, he knew his parents wouldn’t have sent her a sealed letter from the terrace. He frowned and picked up his pace as Olivia accepted the letter, still obviously confused.

Her hands were visibly trembling as she tore it open, and Julius strode more quickly through the ballroom, although he couldn’t explain his sudden need to reach her side.

“What is it?” he asked in a low, rough voice as soon as he reached her side. His eyes jumped from her white face to the page in her hands.

“It’s…Oh, it’s…” She looked up at him, lost for words. “It’s Marigold,” she finally managed to choke out.

“What about her?” He lost patience and rescued the letter from her shaking hand.

But he retained enough decency to pause, giving her an inquiring look and waiting for her nod of permission before looking down to read the words scribbled across the page.

He had never seen Lady Marigold’s handwriting before, but he had no trouble believing it was hers. The words were scrawled, running together as if written in a hurry by someone who thought they had better things to do than use care in their penmanship.

By the time he had made it to the end with the looped signature that clearly read Lady Marigold, the only clear thought in his mind was that they both needed to be out of sight of the rest of the ballroom. Looking about him, he found the last of the closed doors to the terrace.

Seizing Olivia’s hand, he pulled her toward it. Opening one of the doors, he almost pushed her through.

He heard a loud sigh and an audible whisper of “So romantic” as he stepped through himself and closed it behind her. He clenched his teeth as he tugged Olivia further from the door and any prying eyes.

At least the abrupt movement and fresh air seemed to have snapped Olivia out of her shock. She was looking at him with wide eyes, but she no longer looked incapable of thought or speech.

“I couldn’t find any sign of her in the ballroom,” he said grimly. “I suppose there’s no question Marigold wrote this?”

Olivia gasped. “I didn’t even think of that! I couldn’t find her either, but it didn’t occur to me that she might have been abducted.”

So Olivia had been in the ballroom looking for Marigold as well? It was odd of his parents to send her to do such a task after already sending Julius, but he was too consumed with his own shock to think much about his parents.

“I hardly think she’s been abducted. You do know her, right? Know what she’s like?” He raised an eyebrow at Olivia, who was clearly grasping at straws.

When she didn’t respond, he pushed harder. “Have you seen her handwriting before? Does it match?”

Olivia looked down at the letter still gripped in his hand and bit her lip.

“Well?” he asked when she still didn’t answer.

Reluctantly she nodded. “It does look like hers. It’s a…rather distinctive style.”

Julius almost snorted. That was one way to put it.

“But perhaps she was coerced into writing it!” Olivia exclaimed. “If she was seized by someone after she left me, then?—”

“Why are you wearing glass slippers?” Julius asked abruptly.

Olivia looked down at her feet, currently hidden beneath her skirts. “Why does everyone keep talking about that? I thought everyone had to wear glass slippers to the Midsummer Ball. I must have heard it discussed a hundred times over the years.”

“Usually that’s true,” Julius said grimly. Apparently Olivia was even more clueless than he’d suspected. “But one year in every generation is different. The royal family always has only one child, and the Legacy ensures it is always a prince. So when the prince reaches adulthood, the king and queen host a special Midsummer Ball. And that year, at the ball, no one is permitted to wear glass slippers except the girl chosen by the king and queen to be their son’s betrothed. The prince—along with the kingdom—discovers the identity of the chosen bride when she enters the ballroom to a fanfare provided by the Legacy.”

“What?!” Olivia gasped. “No, that can’t possibly be right. My cousins would have mentioned…” She trailed off, looking to the side.

Julius watched her, trying to work out the meaning of the emotions that flittered over her face.

“Well?” he asked, unable to help a sardonic note in his voice. “Did your cousins mention it?”

Olivia turned a soft pink. “I thought I couldn’t go to the ball with them because I didn’t have slippers, but I’ll admit I knew there were other reasons they didn’t include me.” She sighed. “And maybe I avoided talking to them about the ball much. But I talked everything over with Marigold, and she never said anything about this ball being different. She was wearing glass slippers too. She?—”

“Precisely,” Julius said in clipped tones. “And that is the proof that this isn’t some abductor’s ruse.” He shook the letter. “Lady Marigold clearly planned this from the beginning. Would her letter be so apologetic if all she’d done was leave you to attend the ball alone? She set you up to take her place!” His hand clenched into a fist, crushing the letter. “How dare she! This is the future of Sovar, not some child’s game.”

Olivia gaped at him. “You’re telling me this year’s ball was an elaborate drama designed to trick the Legacy?”

Julius shook his head impatiently. “Every ball is an appeasement to the Legacy. This one is just…more complicated. Even my parents can’t do anything about the existence of the Legacy. We’re all saddled with it, so of course it’s my family’s responsibility to do what we can to ensure it benefits our people rather than harms them.”

“But I came in wearing the slippers,” Olivia said slowly, as if piecing the last of it together in her mind. “So the Legacy turned all its focus on me.” Her words sped up. “And then you approached me, and we danced together, and that only confirmed it. And now everyone in that ballroom thinks I’m your betrothed, and…” She broke off the hurried words, slicing her arm through the air in a gesture of repudiation.

“No!” she exclaimed. “This can’t be happening. I don’t care what the Legacy thinks. Your parents may be king and queen, but they can’t demand I marry you because of a misunderstanding !”

Julius’s stomach clenched, his whole body tensing.

“What?” he demanded in low tones. “What did you say? My parents want to go ahead with the betrothal? With you ?” He shook his head. “You must be mistaken.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” Olivia said, her tone ice cold. “I can assure you I have even less desire to marry you than you seem to have to marry me. This whole thing is a farce. They can’t be serious.”

Julius wanted to assure her they weren’t, but brutal honesty prevented him from doing so. His family had been controlling the Legacy for generations with the Midsummer Balls. He had been raised to know they played a significant role in the well-being of the kingdom. Was he sure his parents wouldn’t insist on the betrothal?

But no. He shook his head again. It was madness. They couldn’t do so. Olivia was a total stranger. They knew nothing about her. They couldn’t make her queen!

“What exactly did my parents say?” he asked, trying to stay rational.

But Olivia turned away from him, crossing to the edge of the terrace and back again, apparently taking his sudden calm as a bad sign.

“This is outrageous!” she exclaimed, pacing back for the second time. “The Legacy is a mindless force. It doesn’t know what’s best for the kingdom! Why should it be allowed to control our lives? First it makes me a servant, and now it’s making me a princess—and I get equally little say in either fate.” Her voice dropped. “I never should have left Henton.”

“A servant?” Julius stared at her in horror. “You’re a servant!?”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed, her fury turning on him. “Do you have an issue with servants, Your Highness?”

Julius frowned. “If you mean do I have an issue with their existence—of course I don’t.”

“No, I imagine not,” Olivia said contemptuously, gazing out at the vast manicured gardens shining in the moonlight, before turning to look at where the warmer light of the ballroom spilled through the glass doors.

Julius stiffened, his manner becoming formal. As usual, Olivia had gotten under his skin, causing him to behave unlike the charming prince he was trained to be. He had lowered his guard and forgotten himself. He needed to be more careful.

“You seem to be laboring under a misapprehension,”

he said. “I have no objection to the lower-ranked members of my kingdom—I wouldn’t even object to falling in love and marrying one of them.”

Olivia’s eyes snapped back to him, her brow creasing.

“But I did not fall in love with you ,” he continued, frustration creeping into his formal tone, despite his efforts. “I agreed to an arranged marriage because it would bring wealth and influence to the crown—wealth and influence that could be used for the good of Sovar and all its people. If I’m going to marry someone without a single resource or material advantage to her name, surely I should at least be able to choose her for myself!”

Olivia looked taken aback, and he expected her to erupt again. But instead her gaze dropped, her expression thoughtful rather than offended. Perhaps even she was forced to concede he had a point.

“You talk about not having a choice,” Julius continued, driving the point home. “But pray tell, what choice do I have? If my parents are demanding we go through with a betrothal, you could refuse them. You could turn your back on their wishes and return to Henton, leaving this whole farcical situation behind. I have no such luxury. I must stay here and do what is best for Sovar.”

He built up steam despite his resolution to remain calm. Why did Olivia have that effect on him?

“You must have had the same choice about becoming a servant,” he added. “If you don’t like being a servant, you could leave and find another job. You’ve always had a choice.”

Her chin rose, and she stood facing him, her eyes flashing, apparently undaunted by their comparative ranks. Clearly he wasn’t the only one who let his emotions get the better of him when they were together—yet another reason why a betrothal between them was a terrible idea.

“So if we refuse a betrothal, it could cause untold damage to the kingdom?” she demanded, her voice quivering with anger. “So much damage, that you couldn’t possibly refuse your parents’ wishes. And yet I am free to walk away? Do you truly believe only princes have any sense of responsibility? Do you really think I would feel free to go home and leave countless others to suffer for my decision?” Her voice calmed and turned cold. “I may not have been born to rank and wealth like Marigold, but apparently I have at least one advantage. Their Majesties seem to think I’m an excellent funnel for the Legacy’s power, and if I need to use that for the kingdom’s benefit, then I will do what needs to be done.”

Julius had been listening to her with narrowed eyes, his stance rigid. But at that, his eyes widened.

“Of course,” he breathed.

He had been too distracted by his own personal perspective. He should have seen the full significance of her being a servant at once.

He strode over to the edge of the terrace, stopping at the stone railing that ran along its length. No wonder his parents were contemplating betrothing him to a stranger. It wasn’t just the glass slippers or the attention he had given her at the ball. If Olivia was a servant, she was far too perfect a fit for the original Queen Ella. The power of the Legacy must be pouring into the palace already. What would happen if they flouted it and turned her away?

But even so. Making a stranger into Sovar’s future queen was going too far. He gripped his hand into a fist and pounded it once against the railing.