Page 2 of Not-So-Perfect Princess
A lump of guilt lodged in her throat. Jules had been relieved when she found out Niko wouldn’t be able to annul his first marriage and marry her. From the start, she’d hoped he would fall in love with his long-lost wife so Jules wouldn’t have to get married.
Oh, she’d liked Vernonia with its loyal people and lovely lakes for sailing. The handsome crown prince wanted to modernize his country, not be held back by antiquated customs. She would have had more freedom than she’d ever imagined as his wife and future queen. But she didn’t love Niko.
Silly, given her country’s tradition of arranged marriages. The realist in her knew the odds of marrying for love were slim to none, but the dream wouldn’t die. It grew stronger with the end of each arranged match.
Too bad dreams didn’t matter in Aliestle. Only duty.
Alaric shook his head. “If your mother were alive…”
Mother. Not stepmother.
Jules felt a pang in her heart. “If my mother were alive, I hope she would understand I tried my best.”
She didn’t remember her mother, Queen Brigitta, who had brought progressive, almost shocking, ideas to Aliestle when she married King Alaric. Though the match had been arranged, he fell so deeply in love with his young wife that he’d listened to her differing views on gender equality and proposed new laws at her urging, including higher education opportunities for women. He even took trips with her so she could indulge her passion for sailing despite vocal disapproval from the Council of Elders.
But after Brigitta died competing in a sailing race in the South Pacific when Jules was two, a heartbroken Alaric vowed never to go against convention again. He didn’t rescind the legislation regarding education opportunities for women, but he placed limitations on the jobs females could hold and did nothing to improve their career prospects. He also remarried, taking as his wife and queen a proper Aliestlian noblewoman, one who knew her role and place in society.
“I’d hope my mother would see I’ve spent my life doing what was expected of me out of respect and love for you, my family and our country,” Jules added.
But she knew a lifetime of pleasing others and doing good works didn’t matter. Not in this patriarchal society where daughters, whether royal or commoner, were bartered like chattel. If Jules didn’t marry and put at least one of her children on a throne somewhere, she would be considered a total failure. The obligation and pressure dragged Jules down like a steel anchor.
Her father narrowed his eyes. “I concede you’re not to blame for the three matches ending. You’ve always been a good girl and obeyed my orders.”
His words made her sound like a favored pet, not the beloved daughter he and her mother had spent ten years trying to conceive. Jules wasn’t surprised. Women were treated no differently than lapdogs in Aliestle.
Of course, she’d done nothing to dispel the image. She was as guilty as her father and the Council of Elders for allowing the stereotyping and treatment of women to continue. As a child, she’d learned Aliestle didn’t want her to be as independent and outspoken as her mother had been. They wanted Jules to be exactly what she was—a dutiful princess who didn’t rock the boat. But she hoped to change that once she married and lived outside of Aliestle. She would then be free to help her brother Brandt, the crown prince, so he could modernize their country and improve women’s rights when he became king.
Her father eyed her speculatively. “I suppose it would be premature to marry you off to the heir of an Elder.”
A protest formed in the back of her throat, but Jules pressed her lips together to keep from speaking out. She’d said more than she intended. She had to maintain a cool and calm image even if her insides trembled.
Marrying a royal from Aliestle would keep her stuck in this repressive country forever. Her children, most especially daughters, would face the same obstacles she faced now.
Jules fought a rising panic. “Please, Father, give me another chance. The next match will be successful. I’ll do whatever it takes to marry.”
He raised a brow. “Such enthusiasm.”
More like desperation. She forced the corners of her mouth into a practiced smile. “Well, I’m twenty-eight, father. My biological clock is ticking.”
