Page 23 of Not Another Happily Ever After

He leans into our routine, his dangerous smile climbing higher upon his golden cheeks.

“No,” he answers coolly, lighting a spark of hope in my belly. “Not here.”

I sit back, even more disoriented than before.Though that could be the liquor.

I’m not the only one. The ridges between Father’s thick brows cave inward as he looks to Thoren’s father for explanation. A detail, it would appear, he wasn’t made aware of.

“We were thinking it would be best to have the engagement ceremony back in the Kingdom of Riches.” Lucius shifts in his seat, scratching at the irritated skin beneath his robe.

“Ofcourseyou were,”I hiccup.

Father cuts me a scathing look, but it’s Lucius whose nostrils flare.

“That is not how we do things, Lucius. We have traditions,” my father interjects, puffing out his chest.

“Exactly. Traditions!”And consent would be nice too.I raise my glass of wine, only to have it swiftly stolen from my grasp by the prince of petulance himself.

First my heart. Now my wine. Where does it end?

“We need this to work, Oren,” Lucius sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Our people are gravely ill. Our harvests, plentiful as they are, are ripe with the taste of rot. And your soldiers, once the strongest men in all the realm, are little more than mad men, afraid of the ghosts haunting their shadows.”

I’m no stranger to the burning shame of thinking of all the lives counting on us to break the curse. But Father? He would rather die than accept what we’ve become, let alone have it thrown in his face.

The silence that follows is sobering. The heat from Father’s boiling blood creeping into his hardened gaze.

Lucius is quick to surrender, offering up his palms. But even with the obvious fear bobbing in his throat, the heaviness of the truth lingers in the smoky air around us.

“I believe what my father is trying to say is that we are all very eager to start anew. But of course, we defer to your best judgement, your highness.” Thoren placates. “If you’d ratherwe have the ceremony here, I am certain it could be arranged. Though, I do wonder…”

He pauses, bringing the weight of his gaze to fall on me. On the pale blue hue of my arms.

“Perhaps the price was always meant to be paid in the place where the debt was made.A daughter for a son, in the place where the Evil Queen and her son were slain. I might be wrong, but do we really have the time to test that?”

Father looks to me, contemplating the prince’s words, and even I must admit it’s hard finding holes in Thoren’s theory—especially when I have none to offer up in its place.

I see it in the way Father’s eyes linger over the faint blue tint already climbing its way up my body. He’s no longer considering Thoren’s idea. He’sacceptingit.

I grab a lemon posset and quickly stuff it into my mouth, but all I can taste is bitter resignation. It’s almost poetic how well Thoren’s plan fits the timing of everything. If what Galahand said is true, there isn’t much time to break the curse and save the kingdoms.

“Very well, then.” Father pushes to his feet, towering above everyone at the table. Commanding nothing short of their full attention.

“I will agree to this arrangement—on one condition. My men will be the only ones to escort Sunday to the Kingdom of Riches. There they will remain with her until a proposal has been made. Only then will I withdraw them and place Sunday in your care.”

Aurelia and Lucius share a triumphant look as they rise to their feet. Thoren is quick to follow, finally releasing his grip on my leg to shake my father’s hand. Our mothers share a clumsy embrace, giggling and smiling, paying no mind to what their happiness has cost me.

I suppose I can hardly blame them for leaping at the opportunity to bring back the world they knew. The one filled with unfathomable amounts of wealth and violent plunders.

Yet, I do.

I know what I am to them. What I was born to be.

I was not made to be loved.

I’d just hoped they would grow to love me anyway. But this isn’t a fairytale. And it’s certainly not another happily ever after.

While the restof the royals are busy sorting the details of a future I have no say in, I slip into the cold night air, to the place where flowers once bloomed.

Though they have all long wilted away, the lightest current of columbines still laces the wind, a gentle reminder of what could not stand the test of time.