Page 10 of Not Another Happily Ever After

And the fall.

I domy best not to leap from my seat and chase after the old man. To have him decipher his nonsense.

Me? Free a dead man?

I shake my head. It must be a metaphor for something I’ve yet to understand, because that simply isn’t possible. And even if it were, why would I? If, by some miracle, Father hasn’t found a way to see this final act completed, why would I help him too?

I huff out a frustrated breath, dismissing the ridiculous idea entirely. It’s doing nothing but stealing the only hope I have left, and that is something I am not strong enough to live without.

A tap from my handmaiden tears me out of my head back in to my seat, where I quickly slap on a smile and shove my worries deep, deep down.

“How is this, my dear?” Her tired fingers finish pinning my long, thick hair into a low romantic updo. Heavy curls frame my gaunt features, the flickering glow of the rushlight giving my dark black hair an oil-like sheen.

I swallow the lingering ball of emotions bobbing in my throat and resign myself to my fate. If these are to be my last hours, I don’t want to spend a single second thinking of the horrors yet to come. Not when there are still beautiful moments to behold.

I sit back and truly admire my handmaiden’s work, her delicate attention to detail. A talent like hers is wasted on someone like me. Sure, the jagged gash across my throat is easy enough to hide with ribbons. But the ghostly pallor of my unseeing eye or the sunken hollows below my cheek bones?

Tragically unavoidable.

Yet Peony still manages to make me feel beautiful despite it all.

“It’s lovely, P. Thank you.”

My handmaiden offers me a coy smile, her frail hands giving my shoulders a gentle squeeze before moving on to my makeup.

While she busies herself readying the eye shadows and finding the perfect shade of lipstick, I reach into the vanity’s drawer and pull out the small box containing my ribbons.

I open it slowly, careful not to pull the worn wooden lid free from its rusted hinges. Inside are ten ruby red ribbons, the newer ones brighter than the others, but none are more favored than the first.

My fingers glide over the frayed slip of fabric, because really, it’s a memory I’m holding in my hand. I had just turned ten when this box arrived at my door. No note, nobody waiting in the shadows to watch me open it.

At first, I thought it might have been a mistake. Dropped by a tailor, or a parcel meant for one of the ladies’ maids whose bedrooms flanked mine. But then another appeared the following year. And the year after that. They just kept coming. Every year on the same day. The anniversary of the day I was born.

It took me some time to understand what they were. I had never received anything like them before.

Agift.

From whom remained a mystery for many years. Being as there weren’t many here keen on celebrating the occasion, and even fewer who knew how I feel about my scars, the pool of possibilities was nearly stagnant. It wasn’t until one night, on the eve of my seventeenth birthday, that I figured it out.

I waited up, my breath bated as I listened by the door for footsteps I knew would appear on the other side. It was almost too easy, I think now, giggling at the memory. The way the box fell from his hands, like he hadn’t been prepared for me to open the door. He bolted toward the end of the corridor, faster than I’ve ever seen him move. But the shadows did little to hide what his speed could not, and it was in the dim lighting that I saw it. The silver glint of armor.

I should have known it would be him. Rhidland. Who better to know my secrets than the man who chaperoned half of them?

Yet even as I fashion the cherished ribbon around my neck and into a small bow at its side, I can’t help but wish I didn’t need it.

If Peony notices the insecurity blooming in my pale cheeks, she says nothing. Her gentle hands continue to work their magic, concealing the dark bags beneath my eyes and restoring the pink to my purpled lips. I almost look normal. More like a princess and less like a beast.

Knock. Knock.

Peony and I turn at the soft rap on the door.

Surely Father hasn’t sent for me already? I haven’t even had the chance to change into the gift he’s laid out for me—a stunning gown with deep red bell-shaped organza sleeves and a matching satin bodice, tailored to my exact measurements. A detail I didn’t believe him privy to, but then, Peony would know. Though, she has been rather cagey about the gown.

I suppose I can hardly blame her for appearing just as surprised as I upon seeing it. The mere fact that the king and queen took from the reserves to have a dress made is enough to have the castle buzzing. But to have had one made forme? It’s simply unheard of.

In all my twenty years I have never received anything from them that wasn’t deemed an absolute necessity. I own a single stained nightgown and one ash-gray day dress. Not that I’m ungrateful for either; if anything, it’s touching to think my mother cared enough to offer me what she no longer used. I have more than most. A semi-warm place to sleep. At least one hot meal a day. It’s all a girl should ever want for. And yet…

Another round of knocks sounds at the door.