Seated at the dining table, I maintained the careful composure expected of me, observing my father as he conversed animatedly with the foreign minister. I sat beside Margaret, my father's wife, forced to endure the sight of her leaning into the discussion at every opportunity, her laughter a shade too eager, her interest too deliberate.
"What do you think, Adelaide?"
I blinked.
"I beg your pardon?"
My father regarded me expectantly.
"What are your thoughts on a political marriage between our two nations?"
My gaze shifted to the gentleman at his left — the Minister of Foreign Affairs from a kingdom I had never troubled myself to admire.
"Ah… yes," I began carefully. "It would be a splendid arrangement. It would strengthen diplomatic relations and create opportunities for both our—"
"Splendid?"
The word struck the air like a blade.
Silence swallowed the table.
"Margaret," my father said evenly, "what troubles you?"
She turned to me slowly, her smile syrup-sweet and venom-laced.
"Splendid, you say? And what of poor Marquess Fredericksburg? Your… 'acquaintance'?"
A faint scoff escaped me.
How predictable.
"Dearest Mother," I replied coolly, "how does so grave a matter summon discussion of my acquaintances? Or are you… unsettled by them?"
A flicker of irritation broke her porcelain composure.
"You know that is not my meaning."
My father's gaze bore into me. Heavy. Judging.
"Then what is your meaning?" I pressed.
The minister shifted uncomfortably.
Margaret inhaled and regained her theatrical calm.
"Is it not true," she said lightly, tapping her fingers upon the table, "that you share a rather… special understanding with the Marquess?"
"Mother," I answered, "you speak as though it were my marriage under discussion."
A brittle gasp escaped her.
"Oh, sweet Adelaide," she cooed. "Is that not precisely what we are discussing?"
My breath faltered.
I turned sharply to my father.
"Mine?"
"You are of age," he began carefully. "And this alliance would secure—"
"Excuse me."
I rose abruptly. My chair scraped sharply against the polished floor.
"We shall discuss this privately," I said, my voice steady despite the cold dread spreading through me.
"Adelaide."
I began walking.
"Adelaide."
I did not stop.
"ADELAIDE!"
I froze.
"I forbid you from leaving this dining room in such a heedless and disrespectful manner!" my father thundered. "You are a princess! The future ruler of this kingdom! You will comport yourself with honor and—"
"I am your daughter!" I shouted, the words tearing from me before thought could restrain them.
"But you are a princess first!"
"Then when am I to be a daughter?" I turned, fire burning openly in my gaze.
"When it is called for and needed," he replied coldly, rising from his seat. "There is a time for sentiment and a time for duty. One day you will rule this kingdom. I will not be here to guide you."
"You speak as though it is your throne I shall inherit!" I retorted. "Regardless of your training and ambitions for me, I remain not a man! I shall never be acknowledged as the true sovereign — not while the laws favor a husband over a queen!"
"Adelaide!"
"And yet you would marry me off — no — hand your cherished throne to a man whose character I know nothing of! I do not even know the name of this 'eligible' gentleman!"
"You are out of line!" my father snapped, striding toward me. "I will not allow you to disgrace this house. Sit down and finish your meal."
Behind him, the servants stood rigid with lowered heads. The foreign minister looked positively pale. Margaret's lips curved faintly.
This had never been a debate.
He was King.
And I — merely his daughter.
I walked past him and returned to my seat. The maids resumed service with trembling hands as my father reclaimed his place at the head of the table.
What had I imagined? That I could win?
I resumed eating, swallowing both pride and fury.
"Very well," I said evenly. "When am I to meet him?"
The minister cleared his throat nervously. "In… in approximately one month, Your Highness. He shall arrive during the Autumn State Visit."
"I shall ensure he admires your kingdom," I replied, stressing the word 'your'.
I finished quickly, though not indecorously, and rose once more.
"I take my leave."
No one attempted to stop me this time.
As I departed, I felt Margaret's satisfaction like heat against my back.
This had not been spontaneous.
This had been arranged.
"My lady," the attendant behind me called out.
"What is it, Penelope?" I paused midway down the corridor, though I did not turn to face her.
Her slippers hurried lightly against the marble before stopping a respectful distance behind me.
"I beg your pardon for intruding, Your Highness… but His Majesty has requested that the seamstresses attend you tomorrow morning."
Of course he had.
"For what purpose?" I asked coolly.
"A new wardrobe is to be commissioned. For the Autumn State Visit."
The words settled like lead in my stomach.
It was moving quickly.
Too quickly.
"I see," I replied after a moment. "Very well."
Penelope hesitated.
"My lady… may I speak freely?"
That made me turn.
Her expression was troubled — loyal, concerned in a way no one else in this palace permitted themselves to be.
"You may."
"Is it true?" she asked in a whisper. "About the marriage?"
The corridor felt suddenly narrower.
"It would appear," I said carefully, "that I am to be presented like a prized jewel to a gentleman I have never met."
Penelope's brows knit together. "But… what of the Marquess?"
Ah.
Even the servants had noticed.
"What of him?" I replied, perhaps too sharply.
She lowered her gaze. "He has always looked at Your Highness as though… as though—"
"As though what?"
"As though you were not merely a princess."
Silence.
I turned away from her once more, resuming my walk down the corridor. The chandeliers above cast long shadows along the walls, stretching thin and distorted like my patience.
"The Marquess," I said at last, "is not the matter under discussion."
But he was.
He lingered in my thoughts as insistently as ever — his steady gaze, his quiet defiance of convention, the way he spoke to me as though I were something more than a political instrument.
And yet…
Had he ever spoken of marriage?
No.
Had he ever offered anything beyond carefully measured devotion?
No.
Hope, I realized bitterly, was a dangerous indulgence.
"My lady," Penelope ventured again, "what will you do?"
I slowed.
At the end of the corridor, tall windows revealed the darkening sky. Evening had finally claimed the palace, shadows swallowing the last traces of gold.
What would I do?
"I will smile," I said quietly.
Penelope looked startled.
"I will wear the gowns they select. I will greet this foreign suitor with grace. I will be everything they expect."
And then I allowed myself the smallest, coldest smile.
"And I will be easily claimed."
Penelope's eyes widened in alarm. "Your Highness—"
"It is what is required," I interrupted gently.
My anger had burned itself out at the dining table. What remained was not fury.
Only exhaustion.
"And if the Marquess learns of this?" she asked carefully.
I paused.
The question did not wound as it might have earlier.
"If he cares," I said softly, "he will not remain silent."
But even as I spoke, I felt the hollowness of it.
"Yes…" I murmured, resuming my steps. "If he cares."
My slippers echoed faintly along the marble corridor.
He had never promised me anything.
Never declared himself.
Never knelt beneath chandeliers or whispered reckless vows.
Those were fantasies. Pages in novels. Summer fields that did not exist.
Reality was colder.
Reality wore a crown.
By the time I reached my chamber doors, the decision had already settled in my bones.
I would not fight this.
Not again.
If I were to be a bridge between kingdoms, then I would be a silent one.
And tomorrow, I would begin preparing to become a wife to a stranger.