Page 8 of The Midnight Blizzard

“Nothing can ever happen between us. He’s a mage,” I said, internally cringing as I thought of my brief bout of flirting that had caused Jack so much discomfort.

“Too bad. So now you can’t be with your stepfamily and you don’t have anything to wear?”

“Exactly.”

“Then come up to my room so you can choose. We’ll make sure you look beautiful for the prince since you can’t have the advisor. Who knows? Maybe if you charm him, Prince Stephen will give you the money you need.”

“I don’twantto marry the prince,” I told Trista as we left the banquet hall. “And I’m not going to exploit some poor man just for his wealth. Anyway, I only need to find my father’s will so I can get theschool back up.”

“How do you know you wouldn’t want to marry him? Have you even met him yet?”

“No,” I admitted. “Father never brought me on his work trips, so I’ve never met anyone in the royal family.”

“Keep an open mind, then,” Trista said. “My room is in the next hall. My parents insisted on a whole new wardrobe for me since they’re hoping I’ll marry the prince. You can choose any of the dresses to borrow.”

She pulled a key out of her handbag and unlocked the door. “Mama, Papa, I’m back!” she called as she entered the room. “Do you remember my friend Noelle? We used to skate together all the time.”

“A pleasure to see you again, Noelle,” her mother said graciously, extending her hand, but Trista’s father frowned.

“First ice skating competitions and now the prince? You’ll beat her this time too, Trista.”

“Robert!” her mother scolded, shooting a cold look at her husband. “You’re welcome here, Noelle. Never mind him.”

“I just came to borrow a dress,” I said awkwardly.

“What’s wrong with your own wardrobe?” Trista’s father asked.

“It was lost on the journey over,” Trista lied for me. “I told her she could borrow one of mine for tonight.”

Her father continued to scowl but made no additional comments as Trista led me over to the closet. It was large enough for two men to stand in and packed with an array of gowns in a variety of colors. “This one would look good on you,” Trista said, pulling out a pale-pink gown. “And it would go better with your hair than it does with mine.”

I held it up in the mirror. “Thank you, Trista. I really appreciate it.”

After Trista and I got ready and Trista sent my dirtydress and cloak to be laundered, it was nearly time for the first ball to start. Trista’s father was still grouchy, and I was more than glad to leave him behind as Trista and I went down to the ballroom.

“So after you finish with your nose-picking and belching and are sent home, will you and Cal get married?”

“That’s the plan,” she said with a crafty smile. “But don’t tell Papa. He was happy enough about the engagement when we first announced because he knows how I feel about Cal, but the allure of his daughter marrying a prince was too tempting to pass up. What are you going to do when you see your stepmother tonight?”

I heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. If I confront her immediately and stir up trouble, I’m sure the prince won’t keep me around, and I need time to figure out the inheritance situation.”

“If you win the prince’s heart, I bet he would give you whatever you wanted,” Trista said slyly.

“I’m sure he would, but I won’t gamble my future on it.”

The ballroom was lit with hundreds of lamps, and the chandeliers overhead glittered as the candlelight winked through the crystal, casting the entire dance floor into a soft, sparkling glow. On the stage, the orchestra tuned their instruments, wafting gentle, melodious music over the girls already gathered there. It didn’t matter that the prince wasn’t due to arrive for another hour; it seemed as though none of the girls could wait any longer.

I looked around for my stepfamily but didn’t see them. They might be waiting to make a grand entrance. Vanessa was particularly fond of having every eye on her whenever she entered a room.

“I don’t see them,” Trista said, also looking around formy stepmother and stepsisters. “How long does it take them to get ready?”

I chuckled. “Hours, actually. My stepmother always spends ages primping in front of the mirror every day.”

“What did your father say?”

I shrugged. “He always said she was beautiful and could take as long as she wanted.”

“Men,” Trista said with a small snort. “Always willing to overlook bad behavior if a woman is attractive enough.” Then a stricken expression crossed her face. “I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to speak ill of your father.”

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