I listened to His Majesty’s explanation with an expression somewhere between shock and disbelief on my face. I had no idea what “slight” this unnamed person could have possibly committed, but if it was enough to trigger a diplomatic incident of this magnitude...a simple “I’m sorry” definitely wouldn’t suffice.
Yet, I wondered, what did all of this have to do with me?
“I know that look,” the king said with a sage nod. “You’re thinking, ‘What does this have to do with me?’ aren’t you?”
Caught off guard, I let out a surprised gasp, much to the amusement of His Majesty. He let out a bright chuckle at apparently having so precisely interpreted my thoughts. “Patience, Carolina. This next part is where you come in. You’ll want to brace yourself.”
“Y-Yes, Your Majesty...”
Even with his outwardly composed and amicable demeanor, an undercurrent of intensity emanated from him. Instinctively, I straightened my posture, feeling a surge of nerves.
He stood up and began to pace slowly around me, creating an atmosphere in which I felt examined, almost scrutinized. “An envoy from the empire arrived the other day, bearing news concerning the incident with the duchess. Now, they’ve assured us that they have no designs towards escalating tensions with us, but”—he paused here, evidently for effect—“they were equally clear that such an incident cannot, and will not, be ignored. So they proposed a plan. As a gesture of our goodwill and in the spirit of reparation”—he halted his pacing directly in front of me before continuing—“we are to offer a suitable candidate for marriage to none other than their esteemed second prince.” This revelation was punctuated with a snap of his fingers. I could barely pay any notice to his theatrics as my mind raced to grasp the implications of his little speech.
Prince Edward Ruby Martinez: the second prince of the Empire of Malcosias, as well as the commander and founder of an elite band of knights known as the Pyreborn. He was a master of both spell and sword, as befitting his status as their leader. Under his guidance, this fledgling knightly order had racked up countless military successes, earning them far-reaching renown. From this description, one might think Prince Edward ought to have been celebrated as a national hero, a symbol of Malcosian might, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
No, in fact, Prince Edward was feared by his own subjects—as a cruel slayer of women and children, as a ruthless conqueror who shed neither blood or tears in his pursuit of glory. His moniker was the “Bloodthirsty Prince”—a reflection of his insatiable hunger for battle, a dubious honor for a man who loved war...for a man who was loved by war. Truly, it was a contemptuous nickname in every sense of the word. And to earn such a title from not one’s enemies, but one’s own countrymen? The cynicism of the situation was not lost on me.
“This has put us in a rather difficult position, as you can imagine,” continued His Majesty. “We are compelled to produce a suitable bride for Prince Edward, and quite quickly, I might add.”
“Is the matter truly so difficult?” I interjected. “Must not we only produce the highest-ranking unmarried noblewoman? What of the princess of the royal family?”
If memory served, her name was Estelle Phillips. Though she rarely made public appearances due to her poor health, she was indeed His Majesty’s daughter. The solution seemed clear.
His Majesty flashed a wry smile in response. “If you are referring to my daughter, then unfortunately she is already promised to the third prince from a neighboring country, a little piece of information we’ve refrained from publicizing due to her condition.”
I see... That would definitely eliminate Princess Estelle from the running. If her betrothed had been a domestic match, then perhaps the wedding could still be called off, but breaking an agreement with a foreign nation would be far more problematic.
In that case, the burden should fall to the next unmarried woman in terms of rank and status, but she...would never be allowed to go. Celestian nobility would be up in arms. After all, that woman was Flora Sanchez—the Saint-to-be. In fact, if it came down to it, I’d wager His Majesty would sooner forcibly cancel his own daughter’s engagement than let someone of Flora’s ability go, but then...
A chilling realization washed over me.
“Surely you can’t possibly mean to offer me as a bride to Prince Edward?”
His Majesty’s face lit up with a knowing smile. “Precisely, Carolina! With Estelle and Flora unavailable, you emerge as the most suitable candidate.”
In my mind, I’d dismissed the possibility, never imagining myself as even being in the running. So this unexpected turn of events felt like a blow to the head. And, once that initial shock wore off, a bitter understanding settled in: in the end, I was to be nothing more than a stand-in for Flora.
I’d thought I’d always known my place in the grand scheme of things, yet my heart grew heavy nonetheless. While anyone could fill my shoes, no one could truly replace Flora. She would never be chosen to go abroad, not while I was still here, uselessly existing. Clearly, this had nothing to do with me as a person and everything to do with my status—next in line after Princess Estelle and Flora. It was always going to be me, even if I was the Sanchez family disgrace.
I clenched my jaw, struggling to choke back tears as His Majesty continued on, indifferent to my plight. “Now that you know the who, what, and why, let’s return to my original question: Carolina, do you have a lover right now?” He waggled a finger in my direction and smiled. The intensity of his gaze weighed on me, and I was convinced that the pressure I felt wasn’t merely a product of my own imagination.
This was it. If I answered honestly, there was no doubt that I’d be forced into marriage with Prince Edward, and if I lied—well, I could hardly lie to my own king. Besides, would admitting to a romantic attachment even change anything? Unless the betrothal was to a foreign power, would His Majesty even respect such a bond, or would he merely sweep it aside for political expediency? Was he truly giving me a choice, or just the illusion of one? Fighting back the blur of moisture clouding my vision, I returned his amethyst gaze. “No, Your Majesty, I do not.” The words came out easier than I’d expected, and my voice was calm—far too calm for the turmoil that gripped me from within.
His Majesty exhaled audibly. “Well, that’s a relief. Believe me, the last thing I’d wanted was to break apart a budding love. And you’re certain? Not even a fleeting fancy?”
“No, not particularly,” I replied, a touch of resignation in my voice. “Romance has never held much appeal to me, if I may admit it. If a union serves House Sanchez, I shall willingly step forward.”
He let out a hearty chuckle. “A pragmatic one, aren’t you? At your age, I’d expect a little more head in the clouds, a little more dashing prince riding in on a white horse.”
“I’ve never been one for idle daydreams, Your Majesty,” I replied, only a little bitterly.
Indeed, I’d always been grounded in reality, deeply conscious of my station and the role I was required to play. My worth to my house lay in a beneficial marriage. It was the only chance a disgrace like me had to repay my family for the patience they’d shown me all these years. Strip away the prospect of a strategic union, and what value did I truly offer?
“In that case, Carolina”—His Majesty’s tone shifted, becoming gravely earnest—“I have but one final question for you—nay, a plea. For the sake of our kingdom, I implore you to wed the second prince of Malcosias.” The playful monarch from moments ago was gone. Before me now stood a ruler, burdened with the destiny of an entire nation.
Meeting his intense amethyst gaze, I responded flatly, “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Little did I know at the time the extent to which that decision would change my life.