Evie

Yelena already looks like the May Queen with her ash colored hair braided through with wildflowers. Her clear pale eyes sparkle and seem to reflect the colors all around her, the vibrant pink shades of her expensive dress, the ruby flash of my mother’s brooch pinned to her breast…

The Stuart house sits at the top of the hill overlooking Mistleton, and we descend as a family into town where the festivities are just getting underway, Yelena walking between Father and her mother, arm in arm with each while I follow behind. Everyone looks bright and festive in their new clothes; only I wear an old gown of slate blue, dull and plain with my worn out shoes. I’ve made an effort to braid the side of my too-short hair and managed to stick in one of the leftover wildflowers, but there’s little else to distinguish this from my everyday attire. Not that it matters. No one will be looking at me today anyway.

The streets of the usually sleepy Mistleton are teaming with brightly colored bodies. Flowers are displayed everywhere, garlands are draped from lamppost to lamppost, the fountain at the city center is full of floating blossoms. Seeing it all gets me a little excited in spite of the rotten morning I’ve had.

I’m glad to break away from my family to enjoy myself, speaking casually with the townsfolk who see me more as one of their own, and not as one of the elite like they do the rest of the Stuart family. Stopping to talk with an elderly friend of mine, Mrs. Cooper the barrel maker’s wife, I hear a little of the local gossip about the town’s newest inhabitant, Mr. Livingston.

“He has a younger brother, I’ve seen him about, young Master Jeremy Livingston. He’s a bright lad.”

“I heard our famous Livingstons would be at the festival today—any sign of them yet?”

“Why,” Mrs. Cooper exclaims, her drooping eyes widening with appreciation as certain figures come suddenly into view, “here they are now!”

I turn with curiosity to view the small group that seems to be flocked on all sides by the locals, three men I’ve never seen before. Two are very finely dressed in regal blue, with golden hair and brilliant blue eyes, a young man of about fifteen who I must assume is Jeremy, and his brother, the elder Mr. Livingston, who seems at least ten years older. He’s flanked by a severe looking man in somber clothes who wears a sword on his belt, a bodyguard, I assume. I suppose a man like Mr. Livingston would need one in a setting like this where everyone’s clamoring to be the first to greet him. Those that get too close to the pleasantly smiling aristocrat are sent scurrying back a pace by his bodyguard’s fierce glare.

“That’s him, Mr. Alexander Livingston. His mother recently passed away, leaving him the heir of her vast fortune. Young Jeremy too, will inherit, when he comes of age.”

“A vast fortune, you say?”

“That’s right,” Mrs. Cooper confides with certainty. “The Livingstons own farmland in six provinces, and an enormous townhouse in the capitol.”

“The capitol?” My eyebrows go up as I watch the famous Mr. Livingston move pleasantly among the locals, smiling genially and trying the samples offered him without turning away a single person’s goodwill. “If he has such a grand home in the city, why take a home in a place like Mistleton?”

“Rumor is he’s looking for a bride. Not a fancy lady with aristocratic manners, but a charming, wholesome country girl. Someone that matches his kind and generous manner.”

A noble sentiment, and he certainly seems pleasant enough. But I’ve dealt with enough two-faced people in my lifetime to suspect anyone of ulterior motives who smiles as much as Mr. Livingston. 

Seeing my stepmother forcing her way through the crowd with Yelena in tow, I cringe a little as she introduces herself to Mr. Livingston, and my dignified father Lord Mayor Dennis Stuart is left running to catch up with them, red faced and breathless.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mayor Stuart, and your family,” Mr. Livingston’s handsome face lends itself easily to smiling, and I get the impression he does it often, and that it is genuine in spite of my suspicions. After greeting my parents, his blue eyes go very naturally to Yelena’s beautiful figure, and they widen in appreciation as the pair of them perform the polite dance of introduction. I can see in an instant he’s as smitten with her as everyone else.

“Yelena, is it? What a pretty name.”

“Thank you, Mr. Livingston.”

“Your daughter is very charming, Mr. Stuart.”

“You flatter us, Sir,” my father simpers at the aristocrat’s elbow. 

“Not at all, I’m sure. But, I do seem to recall being told you have two daughters.”

Is that my cue? I wish it weren’t. If I had it my way, I’d fade into this crowd and disappear. I think my stepmother would prefer that as well, but my father happens to spot me in the crowd, and he summons me forward. I have no choice but to obey.

“A pleasure, Mr. Livingston,” I murmur quickly without bothering to give my name, eager to get it over with, as I’m sure he’s merely going through the motions for the sake of politeness. His smile for me is just as genuine, though, and there is no mockery in his eyes as he bows to me courteously. I’m a bit taken aback.  

“You are truly blessed, my lord mayor, to have two such charming daughters. Both so cute,” he looks to me meaningfully, and then to Yelena, “and lovely.”

Did this man actually just compliment me? Me? I’m not sure I can believe my ears.

All my life people have compared me to my younger sister. Yelena is pale with an adorable round face, while I am darker, with narrow rust colored eyes and a pointed chin. Her hair is long and fawn colored, while mine is short, chin length and dark red. Our faces aren’t similar at all, and our bodies likewise are dissimilar; Yelena is shapely and feminine while I am built like an adolescent boy. This may be the first time in my life I’m hearing someone praise our looks in the same breath. While it’s true Mr. Livingston said I was only cute while he called my sister lovely, it still might be the nicest compliment anyone’s ever given me.

In spite of this, though, I can see his focus has already returned to my younger sister. It’s clear between the two of us which has caught his eye. Not that I’d been expecting any different. I’m not even disappointed, rather, I’m still just stunned.

“Close your mouth, girl,” my father hisses to me, and with a start I realize I’ve been staring with a gaping mouth all this time. Though Mr. Livingston seems hardly aware of my gracelessness, I can’t help but notice his little brother is scoffing while his bodyguard actually snorts with undisguised amusement.  

Coloring deeply, I turn and run away without another word. I’m no good in these type of situations, I think as I hurry through the crowd. But that’s hardly my fault. Father and Stepmother spent all their efforts training Yelena to navigate social circles, while I was left outside running errands. It’s embarrassing to see our glaring differences, especially when I’m five years older than her, but what can I do? This just isn’t my world.

The festival progresses and the embarrassing incident fades from my memory. There’s so much to do and see, so much fun to be had, that for a few hours I’m able to forget my miserable circumstances.

Now and again I catch a glimpse of Yelena through the crowd. She walks arm in arm with Alexander Livingston, and I can’t help but think how well they look together, like a prince and princess from a fairy tale. Later as they announce the winner of the May Queen competition, no one is surprised when Yelena gets the flower crown. I’m not at all jealous of her; in fact, I’m relieved. If she had been passed over and the crown had gone to another girl, I would have had to listen to her cry and scream about it for a week…