Page 25 of Dreams and Dragon Wings
But someone ungrateful. Cruel.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have listened to Mama. Perhaps I should have better explained the situation—about Papa’s worsening condition, about my pending engagement to Lord Reginald. But would it have made any difference?
Or would it have simply made it all the more difficult to say goodbye?
Bene will understand, I reassure myself even as I worry my fingers against one another and stare straight ahead at the looming palace. Its marble towers gleam against the twilight sky, drawing my attention upward to where more of King Friedemar’s banners snap in the breeze.
Bene is an adult. I am an adult. It is long past time we both grew up.
These are the things I tell myself as my mother appears at my side and slips her arm through mine.
But they bring me little comfort.
“Can I not at least open the birthday present he left for me?” I whisper, casting a look back toward the carriage and the beautifully wrapped box still resting on the seat. “Or read the letter that accompanied it?”
“Absolutely not,” Mama decrees, her tone leaving no room for argument. Pinning a smile to her lips, she gives my arm a squeeze. “Remember to breathe, my love.”
I inhale shakily and nod, willing my pulse to slow, trying to ensure my dreaded glow remains firmlybeneathmy skin. Right where it belongs.
Lanterns shimmer like fireflies in the dying light, leading us onward past a row of royal guards. Each one stands encased in a suit of armor polished to a mirror sheen. Stoic. Imposing.
Yet their eyes follow me as I pass, making me fear that against my best efforts, I am still shining too brightly.
At the door, the footman bows and extends his hand. “Your invitation, please, my ladies.”
While Mama presents him with the gilded card we received a fortnight ago summoning all of Briarhold to the king’s ball, I sneak a peek inside.
I have never been to the palace, though it was always Papa’s dream to one day be summoned here and asked to tailor something for the royal family.
A dream he never achieved.
Fresh pain wraps my heart in iron bands as I commit myself to memorizing every detail about tonight so that I can relay it to my father later this evening after I return home. I study the yawning foyer with its checkered floor and glittering crystal chandelier. The grand staircase leading upward to the second floor. The brief glimpse of the ballroom I spy beyond a carved stone archway.
“Here, my lady.” The footman holds out a mask of golden filigree, so fine I almost mistake it for lace at first glance.
I hesitate. “What is this?”
“All unmarried women in attendance are to wear one this evening, at His Majesty’s request.” His smile is tight as he presses the mask into my hands. “So that he knows which ladies are eligible and which are not.”
“But—” I start to protest, about to explain my predicament with Lord Reginald. We are not formally engaged, it’s true, but there is still anunderstanding.
Before I can speak, Mama snatches the mask from my hands and nudges me forward. The moment we’re inside, she briskly ties it over my face.
My brow furrows. “But what about Lord Reginald?”
She waves me off with a dismissive, “Rules are rules, darling. We do not wish to upset the king.”
I sigh, weary of arguing with Mama today. I let the moment slide. Wearing the mask is a small concession to make in the name of peace. Besides, there is no danger at all that King Friedemar will notice me.
My gaze wanders, tracking the many women who float past me, laughing and chattering on their way into the ballroom. Younger women.
Prettier, too.
And then I feel it—a presence just behind me. A warm, familiar presence that smells of ink, machine oil, and peppermint.
Mama’s smile brightens. “Lord Reginald! There you are.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I pin a smile to my lips and reluctantly turn to face my future husband.
