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It isn’t as though the announcement is unexpected. As princess and sole heir of her kingdom, her hand in marriage has been sought after from the moment she was returned to her parents. Yes, everyone had waited a few months — ostensibly out of respect, but, she suspects, was more to make sure she wasn’t feral from years of living with upjumped commoners far away from the castle. Fully aware that she was sent away to ensure her safety amidst a raging war was, apparently, not enough of an assurance for certain folk.
Five years past when she came of age, the discussions increased in fervor, and despite her pleas to be able to choose her own consort, she has steadfastly been overruled.
“He’s a good match,” says Queen Jiaying, not for the first time. Likely not for the last, either. “Not too much older than you, handsome, accomplished —”
“— and second in line for King Christian’s throne, where we don’t have an alliance. But I’m sure that’s irrelevant.”
“Prince Grant is a sound choice, Daisy. Alliance or no.”
“He makes me ill at ease.” She doesn’t know why; he hasn’t exactly done anything out of turn the few times they’ve met. Something about him has just always sent a shiver down her spine, no matter how warm the ballroom.
“You cannot reject everyone,” Mother says with pursed lips. It’s an expression with which Daisy is quite acquainted.
“What have Lord and Lady Coulson said? They’re good judges of —”
“They are not your parents,” Mother snaps. It’s a sore point that Daisy tries not to tread upon, how attached she’d grown to the couple in their years of guardianship. Mother and Father had chosen them because of their discretion, but had not anticipated that Daisy would enjoy that guardianship.
(Usually enjoy. Lady Melinda’s glare, Daisy’s certain, could strike fear into the heart of Prince Grant himself.)
She wonders if Mother would be so unyielding if Father were still around. She doesn’t remember him near as well as she would like, so young was she sent away, but she remembers enough. How he made Mother smile, for one. But he’d been killed in the war, and scarlet fever had taken Kora years before that, and Daisy’s rarely seen Mother smile since.
“I did not mean it that way,” Daisy says. “Only that you trusted them with me, so perhaps you would value their opinion.”
Mother looks partially appeased. “Value, perhaps. Obey, no. This is not some silly tradition that can be bent. It’s what’s done.”
“It doesn’t have to be what’s done.”
“Yes, Daisy, it does.”
“Well, it shouldn’t. I shouldn’t have to do this.”
Mother’s face is immovable, as is her stance on the matter.
Today, at least. Daisy still has a few months yet until her twenty-first birthday. She will not give up.
“I’m going for a ride,” she announces abruptly. It has always calmed her to feel the wind on her face and the earth rattle in her bones as she gallops through the countryside.
“Your lesson is not till noon,” Mother frowns.
“I know. I want an early start.”
While arguing about marriages may not be an acceptable activity, Mother deems this one unobjectionable. “Go on. But this discussion is not over.”
Daisy gives a curtsy of farewell, then hastens to her room to change into her riding leathers. Her stomach gives a familiar flutter.
The stables are empty but for the horses when she enters, her boots echoing on the flagstone. She could traverse these aisles blind, each nook, cranny, and stall as memorized as her own name. None so much as the stall third from the end, in which stands a jet-black mare that nickers when it sees her.
She combs her fingers through the waves of Shield’s mane and shuts her eyes. More loyal and better protection than any knight, Lord Philip had told her long ago when he gifted her the foal. He hadn’t been wrong; though the palace guards provide adequate physical protection, the mare is what makes her feel safe. Normalcy amongst the organized chaos of her life.
“I won’t let it happen,” she murmurs. “I’ll bite my damn arm off before I become that man’s bride.”
“Whose bride?”
Despite her dour mood, Daisy feels a grin tug at her lips. She looks up as the stablehand approaches, an apple held in his palm that Shield perks up for. The man had been brought into the castle’s employ a few years back, apprenticed to old Master Canelo. No nobility in his lineage to speak of, but a prodigious talent for riding and husbandry. While Lord and Lady Coulson had taught her the basics of sitting a horse, Mother had tasked the quiet Master Roberto Reyes with her improvement.
What was not amongst those tasks was capturing her heart, yet he’d done that, too. Daisy’s kept that part well close to the vest. No one, most especially the queen, needs to know she was irrevocably smitten from the minute he’d looked at her with intent and a soft, Just Robbie, princess, if it please you.
“Prince Grant’s,” Daisy answers. Shield plucks the apple from Robbie’s palm with a satisfied crunch. “He’s the latest suitor who’s been pushed upon me, and Mother’s pick.”
“I see.” As always when the subject of her impending nuptials arises, an edge laces Robbie’s voice. “Another ball is on the horizon, I hear. We’ve had to stable half the horses with outlying farms to make room for new arrivals.”
Daisy lets out a groan. “Yes. I think they want it to be a pronouncement. They think I’ll give in by then.”
“And will you?”
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
Robbie takes a half-step forward, then reaches out to curl a strand of her hair around his finger. “Maybe one.”
It hasn’t gone further than this. Not yet. Coy conversations and fleeting touches is all it’s been. She wants more, desperately, but the threat of discovery has kept her at bay. For her part, Mother’s chastisement is probably all she’d get. Robbie, however, would undoubtedly be sent away before a single syllable of objection could leave her mouth. Banishment, even, if the infraction were dubbed egregious enough. There are eyes and ears everywhere on the grounds, any of whom would be happy to tattle in order to reap a reward.
Still, the thought of being wed to Prince Grant, her approval be damned, injects a thread of boldness inside her, and she takes his hand in hers. Currently, it is callused and sticky with juice and horse slobber where a pampered princeling’s would be smooth and clean. There’s a streak of dirt on his cheek, he’s absent a fresh shave, and he would be utterly out of place in silk and brocade, but she cares not a whit. He knows what keeps a household running, something she’d gotten a taste of herself in her years helping Lord and Lady Coulson tend to their modest estate. She would rather that than politesse any day of the week.
The words coming easier than she would have expected, she declares, “I love you. Do you know that?”
Robbie looks stunned, but not surprised. “Yes, I know that.”
“Good. Then you know they could throw a hundred balls and it wouldn’t matter.”
Robbie’s warmth grows cooler. The edge in his voice is back. “It would matter. The only thing of yours anyone thinks I’m worthy of touching is your horse.” He lets out a sigh and rests his forehead against hers. “We’re being stupid, Daisy. Stupid and reckless.”
“Maybe I want to be stupid and reckless.” To prove it, she leans up and kisses him. For all his caution, he returns it without hesitation, letting go of her hands to place his on her waist. The shiver that goes up her spine this time is nothing like that with Prince Grant. She could kiss him forever, she thinks, if their stations allowed such a thing. Lord and Lady Coulson might turn a blind eye, were she still their ward.
But she’s not their ward, she’s a princess with all the gilded entrapment that entails. Robbie’s right — in the eyes of most, Shield is all he’s worthy of touching.
She breaks the embrace to gaze at him. There is only one solution: “Run away with me.”
For a moment, she’s sure he’ll say yes. Then, the consideration in his eyes fades, and her hope fades with it. “To what end? Few would believe you went willingly, and no expense would be spared in getting you back.”
“I don’t care.”
“What of your kingdom?” Robbie asks, knowing that above all would silence her. “Should you run, the heirship would fall to the chief adviser, would it not?”
“Lord Gordon.” The man holds her mother in high regard, and in turn, her mother trusts him explicitly. He has been kind enough to Daisy herself, but she also knows that he’s a man unafraid to make the ends justify the means. His morality is … fluid. He is not someone she would wish to be her kingdom’s puppetmaster. Worse, she’d be the one who put him there.
Nevertheless, that brings them back to the starting line. “You suggest we do nothing?”
“You act as though there is a choice. We both knew this day would come eventually.”
Indeed, it’d been the primary reason why she’d resisted her feelings for so long. No use falling for anyone less than a high lord, let alone a stablehand.
Fat lot of good that had done her. She’d fallen for him anyway, and now is in a mess of her own making. The ball is merely a formality, she knows that much. She’ll be wed before the year’s out whether she wants to or not. By proxy, if necessary.
All the finery in the world at her disposal, yet, in this, she may as well be of the peasantry.
“So, that’s it? You and me.”
“I don’t see any other way.”
He’s serious, that much is clear. Resolution is written in every inch of him, a far cry from the open affection to which she’s accustomed. She hates it.
With effort, Daisy suppresses the rising panic and desperation. “Very well. Retrieve Shield’s tack, then. I wish to go riding.” She affixes him with an indifferent stare and adds, “You know, I hear Prince Grant is quite the equestrian. Perhaps that shall be our pastime.”
“Daisy …”
“You are too forward by half, Master Reyes,” she snaps. “What right have you to say my name?”
Robbie looks as though he intends to challenge her, but decides against it. Eyes downcast in deference, he replies, “None. Your Highness.”