“Lord who? And I did tell you, it’s just not the same as actually feeling it.”
“Lord Tanvir—the new High Lord of the Delsachts. I’d never seen him before I ran into him in the forest this morning—well, technically, he tried to come to my rescue, which was absurd—but then he was at my training today, and he’s an excellent marksmale—”
“Wait—what?” Ceren cut in. “You ran into him in the forest? When he tried to rescue you? From what? Or who?”
“Myself, I suppose. Though he didn’t know that. He said he was good with wounds from being on the warfront. And, as I said, he’s a very good marksmale; apparently that is why Kelwyn asked him to help with my training, because of how skilled he is.” Evelayn continued, talking so fast Ceren couldn’t help but laugh, resigning herself to questioning her friend for details later, when she’d calmed down a bit. This was the Evelayn she knew and loved—the one almost no one else ever saw. When other Draíolon were around, she was demure, collected; she tried to be the perfect princess everyone expected her to be. But in private, she was still the same girl Ceren had grown up with. The girl who had raced through the castle halls, and explored the forest for hours with her, heedless of their dresses—until their mothers saw the damage they’d done and halfheartedly scolded them.
But everything had changed when King Bain had suddenly sent an army across the border and attacked the city of Ristra when they were eight.
Evelayn was in the middle of describing the look on Lord Tanvir’s and General Kelwyn’s faces after she hit the target on her third try, when the door opened and Tyne bustled in.
“Good afternoon, Miss Ceren.” Tyne nodded toward her and then turned to Evelayn. “I apologize for intruding, Your Highness, but I must get to work if I’m to have you ready in time for tonight.”
Evelayn sighed, most of the happiness and exuberance draining from her face to be replaced by the polite mask she wore in public—when she was concealing her true emotions. “Of course. Ceren, if you’ll excuse us.”
Ceren nodded and stood up. “I’ll see you tonight?”
“Of course,” Evelayn repeated with a half smile.
Ceren curtsied, conscious of Tyne’s presence, and left her friend behind to be transformed into a royal princess ready to attend her coming-of-age ball.
AUNT RYLESE HADN’T LEFT EVELAYN’S SIDE ON THE dais even though the princess had already been presented to the glittering mass of Draíolon and had eaten the first piece of the five-tiered cake, as was tradition to start the celebration. The cake had been as light as air and the buttercream frosting was perfection, decorated with beautiful fruits that were so vibrant in color they’d almost looked like jewels, but it had turned to ash in Evelayn’s mouth and lead in her belly as she looked out over the gathered crowd and forced a smile. The earlier exhilaration of training had long since left her and what remained was an aching hollowness. A strange sensation of being completely alone even though she was surrounded by hundreds of younglings and adults, males and females, including Aunt Rylese, who had been kind enough to lecture her for only five minutes about what was expected of her, rather than the usual fifteen or more.
But Evelayn’s last hope that her mother would somehow make it back in time had died when she’d had to take Aunt Rylese’s elbow and allow her to escort Evelayn onto the dais to the cheers of the royal court and all the other Draíolon who had come for the ball, while her senses were assaulted by all the scents and sounds and colors of so many gathered in one room.
The dancing had begun an hour ago and the cake was now down to the last layer, but still Aunt Rylese stood there, glaring at anyone who dared try to approach the princess. Her idea of decorum seemed to amount to Evelayn’s becoming an ornament of sorts—an object to be viewed, not a living being to be included in her own party. Her mother would have made sure she was dancing, eating, enjoying herself.
“Sighing will make you seem bored, Evelayn. You don’t want your subjects to be concerned that you aren’t having a good time,” Aunt Rylese scolded. “This is your special night!”
“I’m not having a good time,” Evelayn retorted, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice any longer. “Honestly, I’m quite miserable. I will stay for another fifteen minutes and then I will retire to my rooms for the night. I have a headache.”
She didn’t have to look at her aunt to know that her earth-colored eyes—the same color that her father’s had been—were probably wide with astonishment. “You can’t possibly leave that early, what will your subjects think—”
“I don’t know that I care what they think at this point. It’s my ‘special night’ as you said, shouldn’t someone care what I think—or how I feel?”
Aunt Rylese put a hand on her arm, probably meaning to be soothing, but it only irritated Evelayn further. “Of course we care, darling, but you must consider what’s proper. You are not like the other females in éadrolan, be they noble or not. You are a princess. The only princess, and you must act in accordance with—”
“Do you think I’m not aware of that?” Evelayn cut her off yet again, this time glancing over to see her aunt blanch at her audacity. Part of her felt guilty for causing Rylese distress; though she was annoying, she meant well enough. But the other part, the part of her that had responded with exhilaration earlier today at the sudden increase in her power, felt only the need to escape—to leave behind the limitations and restraints of her position, at least until the morning. The dress the seamstresses had designed for her special night had been inspired by a butterfly, made of layers of iridescent lavender, white, and palest blue fabrics that hugged her curves and swooped up to attach to her arms—giving the appearance of wings if she stretched them. How she wished to be a butterfly right then. Or even better, to have mastered the ability to shift into her swan form, so she could fly away from the crowd and the emptiness inside that hollowed her out.