Layle

Closing the door to my quarters once I’m inside, I walk over to the massive four-poster bed and climb atop it, exhausted from a long day of pretending to be someone I’m not.

What I really want to do is fall down onto the plush comforter, but the bed is just too tall. Settling for the next best thing, I snuggle in and roll onto my back.

“Ow!”

Sitting up quickly, I yank the tiara off my head, cursing as it gets caught in my hair, and frown at it with accusation. I’d forgotten I was wearing the stupid thing, so when I fell backward, the gold points poked me in the head.

Scowling, I rub my head then look at my hand. Good, no blood. Imagine, coming all the way here to Season to find a husband, only to be done in by my own tiara!

Setting it on the wooden table next to the bed, I lean against the massive headboard and stare at the empty right side of my bed.

How am I ever going to share a bed with another man? Or a kingdom, at that?

I’ll be giving up my independence. My bed, in an odd thought, has always been my own. Something away from my father’s silly requests and princess training. Something that after a long day of putting on a brave face, I could truly. . . be myself.

Providing that I am able to win over a man to be my husband, it’ll become a space that I have to share.

If I’m able to find a husband, that is. If not, I won’t have to worry about my private space, or ever having the chance to rule the kingdom, either. . .

In that case, I’d be able to spend as many lonely nights alone in my bed as I wanted to, should I lose my status as heir.

Anger surges through me as I replay what my father had sprung on me over supper. “If you fail to find a suitable husband this Season, I will be forced to choose a new heir for the throne. The Moorgrave royal lineage will die with me.”

His words burn through me. It doesn’t seem even the slightest bit fair that my birthright hangs in the balance. After all the lessons and studies I’ve been through, it feels unfair that it can all be ripped away from me in an instant.

No, failure is not an option.

I am only twenty-four years of age. I feel it is too young to make such a rash decision on who I want to sit next to me as I oversee my kingdom. I should have time. . .

Not so fortunate for me, it is what is done, and what is expected, of course. I just don’t like being forced to conform to society’s—or my father’s—ideas of right and wrong.

Maybe that’s why I’ve been fighting against the idea of submitting myself to marriage. I’ve never been a follower, especially when it comes to norms and what’s expected of the sexes—it’s not a luxury I’ve had, as my father’s heir.

Having no sons to pass the throne to, I am my father’s only option, and that’s allowed for my. . . somewhat unique upbringing. The balance between lady and future leader of our kingdom has never been easy for me to maintain.

But whether he likes it or not, Father has always been aware that Lorcia needs my mind sharp more than it needs me plastering on a pretty smile and minding my manners.

Still. . . without a husband with which to secure my own heir. . . our line would be as good as dead after me anyhow. As much as I hate that my father has forced my hand, I do see his point.

The smell of. . . roasted pig? Something delicious at any rate—pulls me from my spiraling thoughts, causing me to sit up and glance curiously around my quarters.

It’s very spacious, nearly the size of my bedroom at home. Three doors lead off of it. Straight ahead, there’s the main door that opens into the hallway outside. To the left is a privy, thankfully updated with the newest plumbing that includes hot water.

To think, this sort of technological advancement has only been made possible within my lifetime, thanks to inventors sponsored by my father’s coin. It’s amazing what changes can be made when we’re willing to strive for progress.

On the right, there’s a tall door, wider than the others, which I know from my past stays here, opens into a huge closet for clothes and accessories. There’s even a long blue velvet covered bench in the middle for sitting down while maids lace up my riding boots.

Between the privy and the main door is a large hearth, big enough for three people to stand shoulder-to-shoulder inside.

But where is that wonderful aroma coming from? Swinging my legs off the mattress, I push myself to my feet and take a few steps, my gaze searching the room.

Ah, there it is. In the alcove in the corner is a food bench, set there so that I can sit on the window seat and look out over the gardens outside.

A large, shiny tray with matching cover graces the middle of the food bench. As I walk toward it, I can see plates and eating wear placed next to the tray. I’m not quite sure when the staff came in to deliver this, but I’m certainly not ungrateful.

Mouth watering, I pick up the lid and set it aside. I was right. Roasted pig sits in the middle with potatoes covered in sauce surrounding it. There’s two more covered dishes inside the tray.

One has an assortment of cheeses. Popping a thick slice into my mouth, I open the last dish, and what I see fills me with delight.

Chocolate! Never before during my last visits here had there been chocolate. It’s not easy to get, made exclusively by the fairies who are particular about who they give their treats to.

I’m reaching for the large chunk of deliciousness before I realize what I’m doing. With a jerk, I pull my hand back.

As much as I want to eat it, I want to savor it, too. I will allow myself a small piece after I’ve eaten supper.

To that end, I heap my plate full of roasted pig and potatoes, then sit on the plush window bench, plate resting on my lap. How many dinners will I be able to enjoy in solitude once I’m married? Or. . . should I fail, will I feast at all? Father threatened to remove me as his heir, but would he force me from the castle too?

The thought ruins my appetite.

It’s dark outside now, but the moon casts a pale, yellow glow that lights some of the gardens. From up here in the tower, I’ve got a good view.

It’s kind of eerie, though. The landscaped gardens look more like animals or other beasts roaming the grounds than they do bushes and shrubs.

The trick of the moonlight, I know, but it’s a little disconcerting. Reaching down, I pull up my skirt and run my fingers along one of the daggers strapped to the side of my calf. The feel of it comforts me.

As I gaze out the window, I eat my food. The potatoes are delicious with some kind of sauce I’ve never had before. It’s sweet, like honey, but with a bit of tang as well. Maybe lemon? The roasted pig melts in my mouth and I actually groan in pleasure.

Did the food always taste this good or is it because I know this is my last Season? I’m not sure, but in no time at all, I finish my meal and lean back on the bench.

Drawing my knees up to my chest, I wrap my arms around them and stare out the window. This is my last Season, and my only chance to find a husband.

How am I to choose knowing my choice will have an impact on my kingdom? What if I pick a man that ends up being controlling and who tries to turn me into an obedient wife?

That would never do!

What about Tiernan? my inner voice interjects. He knows you’re not conventional and doesn’t care. He just wants to rule together.

I scoff at myself even though I consider his proposal. As a general, he is considered a nobleman, so status-wise, he is a good match.

Of course, Father would be horrified and might even forbid it. There’s never been a union between a Moorgrave and a Northgard—it simply isn’t done. The feud between our families has gone on for so long that no one even remembers why it started in the first place, and Tiernan and I. . . we’ve honored it since our first meeting.

It would serve my father right if I did marry a Northgard, though. I snort and get up from the window bench. Going into the small sink beside the privy, I wash my face with cool water.

I imagine telling Father I’m engaged. He would be ecstatic—and probably relieved. But that would only last until he found out who I’ve pledged my life to.

I can see it now. His face would turn red, and he’d practically be breathing fire. I would argue and remind him that he didn’t give me much time to find a husband.

Just how badly does he want me married? If he’s desperate enough, which I have to think he is since he’s given me this ultimatum, then maybe he wouldn’t fight too hard.

After all, Tiernan Northgard is a good catch, even if I won’t admit it to anyone else. He has his own coin, so he isn’t marrying me for money.

He has power and is well-respected. His father has made the family famous, and Tiernan’s military accomplishments are nothing to be ashamed of.

Yes, Tiernan is a good catch.

But that doesn’t mean I want him.

There’s too much bad blood between us. We would fight all the time if we wed. The man has the uncanny ability to anger me with just a few words.

The towel is warm and soft as I dry my face and grimace. The court is full of eligible bachelors. I don’t have to settle for the one man that drives me crazy.

Going back into the bedchamber, I finally smile. As a princess, I will have my pick of pretty much any man here.

And there are a lot to choose from.