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A little before Elizabeth arrived at the castle, I opened my eyes to a familiar yet unusual ceiling above me. I cast my gaze about to find a portrait of my mother—it was my parents’ bedchamber. I had hardly set foot in the room since I was a child.
I was lying on a sofa a short distance from the large bed. My head felt heavy but airy and empty, and I felt oddly emotionally strained.
“So you’re awake, Vincent?”
Mother stood from the bed. Beside her, Harold was standing at stiff attention, his face pale. The sight of it stirred my memories.
Right… We were assaulted by Plum, the King Cait Sidhe. It appeared in a cloud of smoke and attacked me, but what happened? I can scarcely remember what happened right before or after that.
“Do you feel all right?” Mother pressed. “Anything off? Does your head hurt?”
“No, not at all.”
I had to assume Harold’s complexion was from horror due to letting me come to harm. Nothing hurt, however.
“Can you think clearly?” she asked again.
The odd sensation I’d felt right after waking up came to mind, but that had already faded. Instead, I noticed my mood had taken a turn.
“I… Well, I feel oddly capable.”
I stood to face the mirror. My hair was silky and well-kept, and I had an immaculately balanced face. I was a crown prince; I excelled in the arts and duels and had impeccable manners. If I remember right, I was even called a miracle, a gift from the gods. As a child, however, I distinctly remembered taunting my tutors, running about the courtyard, and refusing to study to take the throne. For the life of me, I couldn’t recall what had made me such an obedient child, though I was certain there was a single decisive factor. Whenever I felt on the verge of recalling, fog descended upon my brain, and I lost it.
“Odd. I didn’t think it would have such a positive effect,” Mother mused. She looked up to meet my gaze. “I’ve sent a messenger to the duke already. Once we’ve assured Lady Elizabeth’s safety, we’ll proceed to catch Plum.”
I looked at her blankly.
Mother folded her arms. “Is something the matter?”
I know what she said, but…
“Who is this Lady Elizabeth? Do I know her somehow?”
Mother and Harold exchanged glances. Behind them, I finally noticed Father was asleep on the bed, his face somewhat pale. While I was puzzled, Mother nodded in understanding.
“Ah, that would explain it. Lizzie is safe, then.”
“Lizzie?” I repeated the unfamiliar nickname.
Who in the world is that?
“It only stole that which was within you… And here I’d assumed that little troublemaker could not harm anyone!”
Mother cackled to herself, and Harold looked at her in confusion—no, barely concealed disgust. I was likewise appalled she could laugh so readily when her husband and son had fainted.
“It seems you understand what has transpired, Mother,” I observed. “Could you kindly explain?”
If we didn’t get answers soon, poor Harold might actually break.
She smiled warmly at me. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”
A moment later, Duke la Montlivere’s arrival at the palace was announced. The door opened, and he and his daughter entered. The sight of the daughter took my breath away. My breathing and heart stopped apiece. Then, they spurred back into motion, working harder than ever before.
She looked at me, and the grace she moved with and the pure-hearted worry in her eyes utterly enraptured me. Every last motion, down to her fingertips, was trained to perfect elegance. I could tell at a glance that she was a lady to her core.
This must be fate.
I smiled warmly and stepped forward to greet her—whereupon my perfect proposal ended in miserable failure as the truth of the matter came to light.