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)
Isabel takes my arm between dances, kisses both my cheeks, and wishes me another happy birthday.
“You’re leaving?” I ask.
I looked for her during the dances, and she seemed flushed and bright-eyed, following her husband’s lead. He bows to me and wishes me well. “I wish you a joyous anniversary of your birth day, and may the heavens bestow their grace upon thee for many seasons to come."
“So royal of you,” Isabel mocks her husband with a playful smile and he returns the expression to her. There’s a spark there.
“We are taking our leave, Princess,” he says and glances at Isabel.
Jealousy makes it difficult to breathe for a moment. Isabel and her prince have a chemistry between them. No wonder she is so insistent that I’ll be happier when I’m wed. She’s certain that I will have a marriage just like hers—a handsome husband who is young enough to have his life ahead of him but old enough to be confident in his responsibilities. More than that, he seems to adore her. They’re leaving the ball to ride back to their own lands, not far from ours, and sleep in their own bed tonight.
Or perhaps they won’t sleep.
I bid them farewell. Not long after, it is time to dance again with my father to officially close the ball.
This is done at a reasonable hour to ensure that there’s enough time for everyone to make their way out to their carriages without causing long lines or short tempers. There will still be dancing and conversation. The musicians will keep playing as people filter out in small groups.
But my father and I leave, saying goodbye and receiving more congratulations as we go. This is also something we do to make it easier for the guests. If we retire to the more private parts of the castle, the guests can relax about protocol and concentrate on getting themselves out to their waiting carriages or, for those closest to the family, tucked away into our guest rooms.
As my father escorts me up the grand staircase, I wonder—perhaps for the first time—if our guests think this decision is one of mine, not my father’s. Before my mother passed, the balls held at the castle would go late into the night. She had many close friends and would make new ones at every ball. The servants knew to prepare all the castle’s guest rooms far in advance, because most of them would be filled by sunrise.
There would be breakfast the next morning, food laid out on an enormous buffet in the great hall, with many people taking seats at the lower tables once our high tables were filled. Carriages would depart all morning, though some people came straight back. My father used to laugh fondly about a ball that went on so long that the musicians started playing the next night, too, and all the guests weren’t gone until Monday afternoon.
“Sleep well,” he says at the top of the stairs. “Happy birthday, Cora.”
“Thank you, Father,” I murmur and kiss his cheek. His hands leave mine and the deep sadness comes over me once again as he turns and the smile slips from his lips.
He goes off down the hall, his closest guarded man emerging from the shadows to walk at his side. And I find myself alone in the confines of the castle, ready to make my way to bed. My father’s rooms—and the queen’s rooms, though my mother only used them to dress and relax during the day—are in a more secluded wing, which looks over the back gardens and the royal forest.
My rooms are the opposite way, overlooking the royal gardens. From my favorite window seat, I can see the terrace where I stood with Isabel.
I move toward it slowly, passing by the massive windows at the front of the castle. It is darker now, and all I see from this distance is my own reflection.
My gown glimmers slightly in the light from the sconces, which have been turned down for the night. For a few moments, I consider myself in the glass, trying to look as I would to a stranger.
I have my father’s large blue eyes and the same color hair he used to have, before it went gray. I have a wide mouth and a straight nose.
No, I do not take after my mother in looks. She was dark-haired and dark-eyed, and yes, she was beautiful.
But that was also because she was bright and funny and smiled easily at everyone she met. She moved like she couldn’t wait to get wherever she was going. She had endless energy.
In the reflection, I lift a hand to touch my face. There is still some heat there from the ball, but I do not look like I’m in any great hurry to get to my rooms and go to sleep and wake up to—