Page 47 of Of Curses and Courtship

“You’ve already given your blessing,” Minetta says, giving her father a sharp look. For just a moment, she’s more than the soft princess she became after the ball. “I’m pleased with my choices, and I trust that the party will be brilliant.”

My betrothed continues speaking, and I stare into space, the ringing in my ears blocking out whatever they say next. I’m not a part of this at all, am I? This is happening whether or not I approve of it.

King Douglas thinks he has no say in these matters? Ha. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be me.

From this moment on, nothing I feel or say matters.

I am to be wed.

CHAPTER TWELVE

OPHELIA

“The prince is to be wed,” Helena says grandly, as if it’s news—but it is not. Not to me, not to most in the palace.

Prince Emyr will marry Princess Minetta. It’s a good fit, and I’m supposed to be happy for them.I will be. That’s all there is to do.

I cast her a withering glare from our vanity as I braid my hair at the nape of my neck. “So I’ve heard. I have heard it plenty, as a matter of fact, so it may be best for us to stop dwelling on the fact.”

“But you haven’t heard that it is happeningsoon—in two moons,” she whispers. “There is a betrothal party this evening, and guess what?”

Should I truly entertain the question? Helena seems excited; I wish I could share her enthusiasm.

“What?” I press my lips together.

“I am attending the party!” She practically squeals the words. “Can you believe it?”

No. No, I can’t. I try not to let the sour feeling in mythroat show in my expression. Emyr claims he and I are friends. How did Helena get an invitation, but I didn’t?

My brows furrow. “Did you truly receive an invitation?”

“Well…” She holds her head higher. “Not exactly. I’m working at the event.”

A strange sort of relief settles over me. It’s not that the prince invited her, while neglecting me—it’s part of her job.

“Ah.” I tie a ribbon at the end of my braid. “For a moment, I thought you were befriending the prince.”

“No.” She waggles her brows. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”

I frown at my reflection. “Hush. He and I haven’t spoken since you locked us in that dreaded room.”

His bedchamber is not dreaded, not at all. It may have been a bit dark for my taste, and entirely too cluttered, but it was nicely decorated. There was something warm about it, even in the darkness. Emyr carries sunlight in his smile.

“How did you do that, anyway?” I turn to Helena. “The locks.”

“My father is a locksmith.” She chuckles. “Can’t say I’ve always used his skills for the greater good, but… a girl’s got to make her way somehow.”

I don’t flinch. Helena isn’t the first thief I’ve known, and she won’t be the last. “I’m relieved the skill has kept you safe this long.”

“Forget about the locks,” Helena says. “The betrothal party… well, they needed other workers, and I gave them your name.”

I drop my hair, and the strands break apart. “You didn’t.”

“They needed more workers?—”

“And you volunteered me?” I grumble. “Fantastic.”

“What’s the problem?” There is laughter in her sweet, treacherous voice. “If you don’t have feelings for the prince, this shouldn’t bother you.”