Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 72146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
At the same time, I’m short of breath with how much I want to take control of my body—if only for a night. If only for an hour. I don’t want to marry a rich, distant asshole. I don’t want to know only the man my father deems appropriate for me.
My father has been good to me. He’s paid more attention to me than some royal fathers pay to princesses. But he will never know what it’s like to be me. He’ll never know the deepest parts of my mind.
Only I can know that. Only I can do anything about it.
And if my father is serious about making arrangements for me this year—if he’s finally decided to focus on it—then I might not have much time.
A flush of heat centers in my throat and moves down to cover my chest. I’m a princess, but I’m not completely naive.
And right here, in this heavy dress, surrounded by people who don’t really know me at all, I want to be free of all the weight. I want someone—a man—to unlace my gown to explore what’s underneath. Because he desires such arrangements. Not because a promise from him to me will award him my kingdom. I do not wish for my body to be a bargaining chip.
I fan myself with my hand, only half-listening to the chatter around me. I smile and incline my head when I’m supposed to, but I’m quickly becoming overheated from the press of the people around me and the weight of my clothes and all the thoughts I’m not supposed to be thinking.
Someone touches my arm, and I let out a gasp.
I whirl around, expecting to find another dance partner vetted by my father or maybe, maybe, the man who stood in shadow on the balcony, or maybe—
The person standing far too close to me is neither.
Chapter 2
Cora
“Princess Cora,” my friend and a royal in her own right, Princess Isabel says, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed. She’s been dancing, too. Isabel takes a tiny step back and curtsies to me, and I curtsy back. We’re both princesses and of the same rank, so it’s a shallow bob more than anything. With the warmth of the smile on my face, I quickly embrace her in a tight hug.
Isabel hugs me back. A few ladies passing by comment on what good friends we must be, and they’re right. We are good friends, and I treasure Isabel. She’s one of the only people in this ballroom who knows what it’s like to wonder who you’ll be married off to. We would lie awake at night wondering about our marriages and their arrangements. Which alliance would be formed and for which benefit to the kingdom. Very few in our shoes are able to give their opinion on a match, though that opinion might not be honored if there are more pressing problems to be solved.
For the kingdom, it’s a spectacle and celebration. For us…well I’ve had plenty of nightmares about being unloved for the remainder of my life because I’m shackled to the crown. Growing up, we used to have a plan…an escape, just in case. Those stories come back to me now in the evenings.
“Cora,” she says brightly and lets go of me, though she takes my hands in hers. The hum of chatter surrounds us but I can still hear her. Isabel has long, dark hair that falls down her back in waves when she lets it loose, though tonight she has it all up in a gorgeous, pinned style that’s popular with married women. A gold tiara glitters in her hair. “Did I scare you?”
“No! I was lost in thought,” I answer and offer her a smile.
“In the middle of a dance?” Isabel’s dark eyes sparkle with laughter. “Were you lost in thought about a duke? Did he capture your imagination with his plans to build the best warships the world has ever seen?”
“The dance was over!” I laugh too, but more out of relief. I thought for a moment that the man on the balcony standing in those shadows saw the thoughts on my face and came down to the ballroom to—
“You’re doing it again!” Isabel scolds. “Are you so interested in warships?”
“He didn’t say anything about warships,” I tell her, and shake my head to clear away the thoughts I can’t have while I’m at my own birthday ball. “Let’s find a drink. Where is your husband?”
Isabel points. I can’t see much through the crowd, but I know she’s pointing in the direction of a quieter sitting area off the ballroom where the men like to gather and talk when they’re not dancing.
“Didn’t you see us?” Isabel asks. “We must’ve passed each other ten times at least during the last few dances.”
“I—”
“You were thinking of something naughty,” she teases, and hooks her arm through mine. “Tell me what it is. Do you have a suitor?”