Page 7 of Losing Wendy

But to have it mixed with paint…I’m starting to wonder between the decorations and my dowry what my parents will have left. What my brothers will have left.

My father’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “May I introduce to you Wendy Darling, heiress of the firstborn’s portion, the next lady of Darling Manor, my lovely and precious daughter.” My father’s voice breaks on that last bit, and I have to swallow the lump that forms in my throat. He never wanted it to come to this either. He wanted a nice flock of lords’ sons to court me when I was sixteen, for me to fall in love over the span of several years, then marry the man my heart truly desired.

My Mark ruined that dream of his before I was old enough to let it become mine.

Unable to meet the hungry gazes of the roomful of suitors, I search the ballroom for Michael. The flanks of the room are where I check first. Since the wallpaper is velvet, John and I used to drive the staff mad, writing messages to one another in the soft hairs of the fabric. Of course, Michael continues to drive them mad, being only seven years of age and a free spirit even beyond what is typical for those his age. Though he prefers to trace out the alphabet rather than messages.

I find him at the edge of the stage, standing on his tiptoes as he’s apt to do, tying a complex knot in a shoestring he carries with him everywhere, blissfully unconcerned with the large crowd gatheredin the ballroom. He’s wearing a suit like John’s, except Ma had the tailor design his without a collar.

I’ll have to see if I can get him to draw me any pictures on the velvet walls before I leave.

I stop that train of thought, not wanting to consider which way I’ll be leaving this manor—in the carriage of a stranger intent on taking me to his bed this very night, or in a whirl of shadows intent on stealing my very soul.

When John elbows me in the side, I curtsy toward the crowd of men, and a few of them whistle and holler. My grip tightens around John’s arm for support. I try not to look at him, lest I have to witness him gritting his teeth in rage.

The ballroom itself is dimly lit tonight, other than the gentle glow of the faerie dust. The theme is “An Eve in the Stars,” but that’s mostly a back-up plan in case my mask were to slip. At least if it’s dark in here, there’s less chance anyone will spy the scar-like tissue of my Mark.

“As you all are well aware, given your invitations, tonight my daughter, Wendy, will choose from among you a husband of her liking. Win the affections of my firstborn, and you’ll find yourself wed to the heiress of Darling Manor, as well as a man whose pockets bulge considerably with the weight of the finest dowry in all of Estelle.”

The whistles and hollers are slightly less pronounced this time. I can’t decide how I feel about the men deeming the money the less exciting of the two prizes.

“Idiots,” John grinds out through clamped teeth.

“At least I’ll know which ones to avoid,” I whisper placatingly under my breath. I say it in jest, but I’ve already marked an oily-looking male wearing heeled boots to make him appear taller in the corner.

My father dismisses me to make my rounds about the room, and John escorts me down the platform’s stairs.

My heels click against the floor, the sound cueing my racing heart in on the fact that everyone’s attention is directed at me.Although, this whole ball being about marrying me off probably should have done that already.

Thankfully, the string quartet launches the event off with a festive tune that soon masks the clacking of my lone set of heels.

There were other women invited, of course. It wouldn’t do to have all the men in the room waiting around awkwardly as I danced with each partner.

At least, I’d convinced my parents it wouldn’t do.

I think if it were up to them, they would have made sure the men were forced to stare at me all night long. Until the clock strikes twelve.

As the music fills the hall, several men pair off to dance with the select women Mother invited. They’re all a bit homely-looking, and something pricks at my heart—how obvious it is that my gentle mother chose them for that particular quality.

I suppose I can’t fault her for what she does to protect me, though.

Servants pass out faerie wine, the tangy scent filling me with longing. Father pulled me aside earlier to apologize for the presence of faerie wine at the ball. Said he’d commanded the servants not to offer me any, even if I asked.

That’s likely for the best.

I follow John through the swarm of men, all of whom are strangers to the kingdom of Estelle. That’s rather intentional. Over the years, the Darlings have approached just about every available bachelor in the kingdom, and even if there were any left, they’d have at least heard of the Marked Girl by now.

The Lost Girl. That’s how the papers refer to me. They have no idea about my true curse, the one that promises me to the Shadow Keeper. But the fact that I’m Marked is enough to make me lost in their eyes.

The last few months have been spent inking invitations. My parents, John, and I each took a stack. We soon cast them upon the waters, cajoling any aristocrat we could track down from the continent,hoping the Shifting Sea would provide enough of a barrier between the gossip surrounding me and their ears.

We shall see if our hopes prove effective.

So far, the men seem intrigued by me, if not leering.

My stomach whirls, and I clench my fingernails into my palm through my silk gloves to remind myself I need this.

I want this.

---