Page 98 of Falling Princess

BLAZE

CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE

Of the eight provinces, only the noble families from the closest three usually came to The Walled City for Midwinter. Timberlands, the Mountain District, and Central Auralia always sent their Councilors.

This year, my father invited every high-ranking family to send their best candidates for my hand under the transparent guise of celebrating the Midwinter holiday. Most brought along a coterie of parents and siblings, all accompanied by favored servants. Finding places to house them all, even in a palace as large as ours, was no small feat.

Undoubtedly, there was war planning going on, too—but my father had found the perfect way to keep me too busy to ask questions.

I was instructed not to show favoritism until I had met and considered each prospective candidate. There was no escaping the constant onslaught of overeager men, some younger, mostly older, all vying for my attention over breakfasts and luncheons and intimate dinners.

Their faces were a blur. All I could think about was Lorcan. Should I put his name forth? What if he doesn’t want to marry me? How could I ask him such a fraught question?

We’ve kissed once. Hardly the basis for a wedding.

Never mind that a princess and high priestess should have better priorities. Like writing her Midwinter speech.

As more of the provincial nobles and their families arrived at the castle, it became increasingly difficult to justify hiding in my tower room. I finished composing my speech—thoroughly uninspired, recycling the usual themes of light returning to the world and the eternal sun goddess—and sent it off to the priests to review. After that, I couldn’t hide any longer.

Dread hovered over my visit home like a noxious cloud only I could sense. Everyone else’s jovial festivity only made me feel more isolated and alone.

I missed Cata. I missed Raina. Most of all, I missed Lorcan. At least the first two sent messages regularly via my father’s satellite phone. After my princess fail last summer, I was no longer permitted to have one, and my iPhone didn’t work here.

Lorcan, however, was radio silent. As expected. Still, I counted every moment until his return. Perhaps this time he would come earlier than the dreaded Midwinter ceremony.

Each day brought disappointment. I know he has a family. A sister and a mother. I don’t know their names. It felt intrusive to ask, and he has never volunteered that information.

What else does he do in that remote village he’s from?

It’s not my business to know. It isn’t my place to inquire.

He tells me nothing about himself. Eighteen months, give or take, of constant proximity, and the man is as much a cipher to me as he was that day when he stared me down on the field of the Colosseum.

“Did Lorcan say when he would return?” I asked my father halfway through the visit home, when I could bear it no longer.

“He said he’d be back in time for the Midwinter ceremony. That’s all I know.”

Our interactions have been more distant and stilted than ever, since he ordered me to the altar. That momentary breakthrough of affection wasn’t real. It was a dodge, and it crushed me.

He hasn’t treated me like a daughter since my mother died. That day, I stopped being Zosia, his little girl and became Princess Zosia, Auralian High Priestess.Idon’t matter, only my ability to produce a baby.

Which, considering my mother’s struggle to provide me with a sibling, is hardly guaranteed.

I know he means well, but I can’t not resent my father for doing this to me. When I’m queen, I won’t be deferring to any man. I intend to rule without interference.

I must therefore tread carefully for the next few months, because I am not wriggling off this hook. Choose badly, and I set myself up for a lifetime of constant battles with my spouse. There is so little chance for happiness ahead of me that the very best outcome I can envision is someone who won’t undermine me. But how am I supposed to know which men bearing flowers and trite poems and other gifts would grant me the one thing I value, my independence?

I hold no illusions about my ability to claim it. I can’t even stand up to my own father. Part of me desperately wants his approval, and it’s devastating to know I’ll never have it no matter what I do. He’s my only living family. Our estrangement is the wellspring of my isolation and depression.

My only escape was to take daily exercise by visiting the stables in trousers, boots and a warm overtunic to ride Sky. A child’s name for a magnificent stallion. He was my twelfth birthday gift.

“No jumping,” my father informed me, his second command of my visit home. “We can’t risk your neck.”

Right. Last of my precious line and all. Weird that it wasn’t an issue at the Olympics, but my father will do anything for a bit of positive press.

Sky and I remained earthbound.

Afterward, I returned to my rooms, accompanied every step of the way by uniformed guards.

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