Page 33 of Magic of Sins

Well, well, well. Erin’snice, is she?

Before I can say anything else, Ophelia claps her hands, visibly eager to change the subject.

“Let’s find you something to wear. It’s not like I can let you walk around in those clothes.”

She points to my black tights and dress lying in a heap beside the bed. No, I certainly don’t want to be seen walking around the palace wearing that outfit.

“We should be about the same size,” Ophelia murmurs as she pulls open her wardrobe and slides a few hangers from right to left.

Her selection of clothes is considerably larger than mine, even if the colors are just as muted. She pulls a gray skirt off a hanger and tosses it on the bed where I’m still sitting.

“Try this one on!”

I stroke the fabric reverently. It’s so much softer than the skirts I usually wear. Ophelia hands me a black and blue, long-sleeved top to go with the skirt and then disappears into the bathroom.

After getting ready, we head for the royal breakfast room. Erin accompanies us, always walking three steps behind the princess. I cast furtive glances at her. Did she really just bring Ophelia the croissants out of kindness, or is there something more going on between them?

From old books I know that there was such a thing many years ago —love between two women. Today, it’s unthinkable.

Loveis unthinkable.

The only reason a union between a husband and wife is permitted is procreation. Ophelia, too, will one day be married to produce an heir to the throne.

“Oh, and we’re going to need a dress for you,” Ophelia says as we pass a large hall where the floor is being polished. Maids are sliding on their knees over the black and white pattern, scrubbing each tile until it shines.

“A dress?”

“For the reception tomorrow night. Father has invited some influential people. There’s even going to be dancing. Should be fun.”

I’ve heard of the receptions of the nobility. Usually on such occasions, young ladies are introduced into society or presented to their future husbands. Ophelia waves me off as she notices my questioning look.

“Father is always trying to set me up with some suitor or other. This time, the suiter’s name is Lord Ernest Diligence. His family is very wealthy and has been instrumental in the construction of the cathedral.” Ophelia rolls her eyes. “I’ll dance with the boy once and then declare my disinterest. After that we can enjoy ourselves the rest of the evening.”

“You shouldn’t take this lightly.”

Erin’s voice is just a whisper, but Ophelia jerks to a stop anyway. Her head whips around to her guard.

“Well, Idotake it lightly though. It’s just a dance, nothing more,” she says firmly.

The two stare at each other for what seems like a moment too long. Then Ophelia turns away and we walk on.

Last night, I barely noticed how many hallways we passed on the way to Ophelia’s bedroom. Now I have to admit to myself that without Erin I would have gotten completely lost in the winding halls of the palace.

We go down a small flight of stairs and reach a room with large windows. A brown-haired man in a suit sits at the head of the long table dominating the room, his newspaper spread out in front of him. My stomach clenches.

“Father!” Ophelia’s instantly alert. “I didn’t think you’d still be at breakfast.”

The king takes his time folding up the newspaper and setting it aside. His steel-gray eyes are unyielding as he scrutinizes me, forcing me to curtsy awkwardly.

“Don’t be silly, Chastity. I finished having breakfast hours ago. But I learned of Miss Ashton’s unexpected visit. What is the meaning of this?”

Apparently, the king calls his daughter by her middle name. And it’s very apparent that she doesn’t like it. I can tell by the way her shoulders tense in her father’s presence.

“Where—” she begins, but her father interrupts her gruffly.

“Did you think you could keep your visitor a secret from me?”

The king shakes his head, an annoyed frown on his face. Ophelia kneads her hands nervously.

---