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)
A furious blush heats my cheeks. I wish I could tell her, but my throat gets tight. It certainly wouldn’t be right to do so in this room.
“No,” I say quickly. “I’m too warm. Let’s find a drink and…and get some air.”
Princess Isabel takes charge, nodding briskly at everyone who compliments us. She has a way of moving through the crowd of guests that makes it seem as if she is on an urgent errand without ever walking too quickly—or God forbid, running—that people would feel obligated to follow and help us. I know she’s wearing her high-heeled sage-dyed leather boots under her gorgeous dark sage gown just by the sound of the click on the cobblestone. Her brooch adds a decadence to the otherwise simple linen gown. And yet, with its gold embroidered edges, and the manner in which her hair has been kept back with a delicate pin, she reeks of luxury and wealth.
It doesn’t take her long to be offered a tray of champagne. Isabel puts a chilled glass in my hand, thanks the cupbearer, and whisks me away again.
With her, I feel peace that I haven’t felt in quite some time. Peace, and now giddiness with a glass goblet detailed with silver. The base is heavy with the metal, but the feel of it in one hand and her hand in the other is exactly what I needed.
We move in the opposite direction from the room where the men tend to gather. The ballroom glitters around us. The lit candle chandeliers reflect in the large cathedral windows, without a single smudge to ruin the illusion that there are dozens of chandeliers extending into the evening. The wall hangings have been changed out to match the color of my gown and accented the silver of my tiara. The musicians play with their harps, fiddles, and lute on a raised stage, bows flashing in time with the music, and it all looks a bit like a painting.
I think of myself on the dance floor, frozen in paint, captured in a moment where I would appear to be dancing, but I wouldn’t. I would be completely still, unmoving, a smile permanently on my lips. A sadness settles deep in my chest. Will it be my last true bit of happiness etched in a canvas?
I’m relieved when Isabel pushes open a discreet door between two sets of tall windows and we are outside on the terrace.
I take a deep breath of the warm summer air. We cross the terrace and lean against the carved stone railing, as breathless as if we’d run.
Isabel laughs. Her voice echoes over the royal gardens. The green fields are large and sprawling, with hedges and fountains and many blooming beds of the most beautiful flowers to be found in all the kingdom. A couple moves down one of the paths farther ahead and disappears into the shadows.
It reminds me of the man on the balcony. The thud of my heart in my chest is nearly unbearable. With a sip of champagne, I swallow down the unwanted feelings.
“Well?” Isabel raises her glass. “To your nineteenth birthday.”
“To being nineteen.” I clink my glass against hers, and we drink. The champagne is sweet and bubbly and sends more energy racing through me.
“I thought you’d fallen for one of your dance partners,” Isabel says when we have caught our breath. “You hardly looked away from them.”
“They weren’t mine. They were chosen by my father.”
“As suitors?”
I shake my head. “It was the same as last year. They were not present for my interest. They were…acceptable for my father, I suppose.”
A small frown crosses her face causing a wrinkle to settle between her brows.
“What?” I question.
Isabel takes a sip of champagne, buying herself a few moments to think. “I had only thought—since another year has passed—that your father would be more interested in finding you a prince.”
“He did mention it.”
“Did he?” she asks nearly comically. “My younger sister is nearly sixteen and my father has already begun taking court.” She pauses and studies my expression. I don’t know what to say to be honest. Perhaps he does not wish to give me away. Perhaps we want the same.
“When we danced together to open the ball. He said this would be the year he would make arrangements for me.”
Isabel cocks her head, seeming to read something in my expression. “And now you don’t want arrangements made?”
It’s my turn to sip my champagne and gather myself. Damn this goblet, I wish it held more. There’s a chance it was excitement over the ball, and being surrounded by so many people, and dancing back to back with—was it four men? five?—dancing for long enough to make my head spin. There’s a chance I caught a glimpse of that person on the balcony and let my imagination run wild. There’s a chance I let my thoughts get away with me.