Page 1 of Don’t Look Down

One

“Really? A white dress?”

“It’s beautiful.”

I glance at the full-body mirror to find my mother standing behind me, fiddling with one of the smooth ivory buttons that span the length of my spine. “It looks so… bridal.”

She purses her burgundy-painted lips but doesn’t respond.

That tells me exactly what I need to know. She’s dressing me in white for one reason and one reason only.

“I’m not a bride, Mother.”

“Not yet,” she corrects and circles around to my front, surveying me with cool, calculating hazel eyes. A twin to my own. Her mouth turns down slightly in disapproval, and I look back to my reflection, searching for whatever flaw she sees. There’s always something that could be better.

“You’re not a bride yet, but that will change soon. It’s best you start honing that image for him.”

Him. Not His Highness, but that’s because it’s just the two of us here. If we had a crowd, I’m sure she’d overly emphasize the title to ensure everyone around heard.

She continues as she brushes invisible specks of lint on my shoulder. “He’ll love to see you in white today. Give him a picture of what’s to come.”

I sincerely doubt Lockwood will take notice of the color of my dress. Men don’t usually notice those kinds of things, especially ones who have an entire country to worry about. But I’m sure in my mother’s mind, she expects he’ll take one look at me today and decide to make a courtship between us official, and therefore fulfill the unofficial arrangement between our families.

“Don’t you think it’s a little impractical for the event today? I believe Juliette said it’s to be held outside on the academy’s field.” A vision of dirt and grass staining the delicate fabric of the knee-length dress flash through my mind. I shift in the baby-pink kitten heels she also chose for me to wear.

One day, I’ll have an entire team of stylists at my beck and call, with designers frothing at the mouth to be featured in the headlines for dressing the future queen. For now, that’s my mother’s duty. And she takes it very seriously.

“It’s not like you’ll be participating in any of the events,” she says, mild disgust hidden in her tone. “You’re meant to be the face of the organization, not the leader of such activities.”

I do my best to refrain from rolling my eyes. His Majesty, King Harold, started this charity because of his friendship with my father, and now it’s up to their children to take up the mantle of it. Over the next few months, I’ll be working closely with the Caulfield-Penner Scholarship in partnership with Prince Lockwood, the King and Queen’s first-born son, and my future husband if our parents have anything to say about it.

Our fathers met in boarding school as boys, however my father didn’t come from money. My late grandparents made just enough money to send him off to school in hopes that he could earn a good education, garner a mind for business, and return home to take over the family farm business. While he was away at school, he met Harold, the future king of our small country, and they became fast friends. Then, in adulthood, the two of them created this charity to help give children that may not have the means otherwise the opportunity to attend school. It also funds recreational activities, including any equipment or fees required to do so.

It’s a great cause, and one that I’m sure my family would have greatly benefited from if it wasn’t for my father’s friendship with the King. And now, it’s my chance to help bring more attention to the charity—although, I’m quite sure I could not show my face today and it would still be front-page news tomorrow morning.

All because Lockwood and I are committing this summer push of the charity together, not only to boost his public charitable profile obviously, but also to attain money for the grants for the fall semester.

And as my mother keeps reminding me, it’s the chance for Lockwood and me to get to know each other not as the kids we once were at family events and a few royal gatherings, but as the adults we are today.

As the future husband and wife we were raised to be.

Well, that I was raised to be when my older sister passed, and with that, the expectations of being a future queen and eventual wife to Lockwood passed down to me.

I sigh and take one final look in the mirror. My fair, blonde hair frames my face in soft curls. I opted to do my own makeup today, despite my mother’s insistence that we hire a professional. We’re not royals yet, as I have to keep reminding her, and therefore the expense of having someone doll me up for each of these events over the next few months would cost a small fortune.

“The dress is beautiful”—though impractical, I think—“thank you for helping me. I appreciate it.” Even though I’m a twenty-three-year-old woman perfectly capable of styling herself, I do have to admit that I’m grateful for my mother’s help today. Nerves churn in my stomach, and I place a gentle hand over it to try to calm them.

She gives me a faint smile and brushes a warm hand on my arm. “You’re beautiful, Briar. Don’t let your nerves get the best of you. Just be yourself, remember your manners, and smile. It will all be as planned.”

A plan that was decided the moment King Harold and Queen Hilda had a son, and my parents had a daughter.

A plan that wasn’t meant to be mine, until Beatrice took her final breath.

I quickly lock away the memory of my sister, needing to keep my emotions in check today. This event isn’t about me, or Lockwood, despite what the hidden intentions are behind our tour this summer. It’s about bringing attention to the cause and dipping my toe into the charitable waters that I will eventually be dedicating my entire life to as a future queen consort.

Although, none of the reporters there will know that today. As far as the media, the country, and even those closest to us, no one knows about the strings being pulled to dictate Prince Lockwood and my hand in marriage. He and his brother are still known as two of the world’s most eligible bachelors. Women would die to wear the crown I’ll one day bestow on my head.

It used to terrify me. And hell, maybe it still does a bit. But I’ve had fifteen years to prepare for the weight.