Chapter Text
It was an honour to be chosen to represent Preaston.
That was what Penelope was told, weeks ago, along with the news that she would be moving to Orian. Marrying an imperial prince. A Bridgerton. That she would be the official Preastonian representative.
It was an honour.
Those words were said to her that first time, and Penelope had felt the ground slipping away from under her feet. And they were repeated many, many times after that—different variations of the same statement. It was what she had been repeating to herself, every day, every week, every hour, every waking moment.
Out of hundreds of other girls whose names were suggested, Penelope Featherington was the one who was chosen.
It was an honour, Penelope knew. It would’ve been nice if it felt that way too.
“This is for the greater good, Penelope.” Her mother was saying, “For the good of Preaston.”
That felt like a shot through the heart.
I've always tried to do the right thing, Mother. I've tried to be a good daughter. Someone you could be proud of. Maybe those efforts were somewhat lacking. Perhaps, I was not as good a daughter as I believed myself to be, but really, was I that disposable?
“I’m glad they chose me, Mama. It’s an honour. I’m glad to represent my home.”
Portia Featherington smiled. It was more sad than anything else. And maybe a little bit proud too.
“It’s an honour for them.” She said firmly.
Penelope said nothing. It was not true and both of them knew it. She didn’t stop her though. She let her mother say her part. Not that it was going to do much good. There was no changing destiny. Penelope had stopped fighting the rolling tides a long time ago. She had stopped running after shadows.
“You shouldn’t be anywhere near these—” Portia started, but then seemed to remember herself before saying too much.
Penelope noticed she hadn’t raised her voice and her expressions remained smooth, but there was still a hint of bitterness seeping in that tone. Open hatred. Pen once again found she had no words to offer.
She could understand her mother’s state of mind. She could understand where the woman was coming from. Portia Featherington, along with rest of their planet, hated Orian. Handing one of their own over to one of them—one of them war hungry barbarians—it could not have been an easy pill to swallow. Not for their government. Not for her family. Especially not for her mother.
Penelope tried to think of something to say. A word of solace. An expression of sympathy. Nothing came to mind. Despite the frequent arguments and recent differences in opinions, Penelope knew her mother loved her. And Penelope loved her too.
“I know I’m asking too much of you, Penelope. But you have to understand, this treaty needs to be signed.”
She knew that. But why did it have to be her?
“I understand, Mother. I've never disappointed you before, and I’m not starting now. I know what needs to be done. You can at least trust me to do the right thing.”
There was no way she could resist destiny. No way she could fight the fates. It’s not that she hadn’t tried. Just that she had failed.
“We have all made sacrifices, Penelope. This is your turn. Do your part. Do the right thing, for the sake of your family. For the sake of your people.”
Pen just nodded. What else was there to do?
“I've never asked you for anything. Just this one time—”
This one time Mother, you asked for everything I had. “I know my duty, Mama. I was born to it. And I will be true to it, to the best of my ability. You can rest easy.”
“And it might not be so bad.” Her mother carried on, her voice suddenly hopeful, “I've heard nothing but great things about your husband. Maybe you'll like him.”
Yeah, Penelope did not think so. They were born on the opposite sides of the spectrum. They were not supposed to like each other. No, Penelope could not even bring herself to consider the idea, especially not with the kind of power Colin, his family, and his whole planet held over her.
“Given the time, you might even learn to love him, and I've heard that he's—”
Try as she might, Penelope could not make sense of the next words. She tried desperately to hold on to here and now, focus on the task at hand, but despite all her efforts, she found herself losing threads of her sanity. Past. Present. Future. It was all a cold, dark blur. There were too many thoughts in her head. She did not know which one to focus on.
Her mother was still speaking, offering whatever explanations, whatever reassurances she could. It was not her fault, and Penelope knew it. In a perpetually flawed system, Portia Featherington was just one woman. There was nothing she could have done. Even if she had put up more of a fight—it would not have made a difference.
It was the inevitability of the situation. Penelope knew what was at stake. Her mother did too. The treaty had to be signed. Their marriage was just one of the conditions. The price for their survival. It was their chance to put an end to a decades old war. A useless power struggle. Amidst all the chaos, their marriage would mean peace. It was, well, it was necessary evil.
Just then, she heard a knock at the door. Penelope tried not to jump out of her skin. She looked back automatically, and—fuck.
The stories she had heard back home had not been exaggerated it seemed.
Their eyes met for a brief moment. Penelope found herself frozen, rooted to the spot, eyes fixed on the man in front of her. It was Colin. Colin Bridgerton—her husband to be. Most handsome of the imperial princes. Four years Penelope’s senior. Prince Royal of Orian.
In the blue green of his uniform, Colin cut an imposing figure. His hair was slicked back, and his eyes were… intense, to say the least. Penelope had seen photos of him. But it was different, seeing him from this close. Those striking eyes. That height, that stature. The hard stare. It felt like looking right into the sun.
Pen took in the width of his shoulders, his beautiful features, and the sun-kissed glow of his skin. She felt transfixed. It felt as if all sound was suddenly sucked out of the room. Her own heart might have stopped beating.
Portia Featherington cleared her throat. Penelope, realising she had been caught staring, looked down, embarrassed. She did not know what to say or how to react. This man was about to be her husband. The word itself felt foreign on her tongue.
Colin came all the way inside, and unexpectedly, bowed to her mother.
Penelope could tell the gesture had jolted Portia too.
She watched, confused and uncertain, as her mother and soon to be husband exchanged polite greetings.
Before Pen could figure out some way to offer introductions, Colin turned towards her, and bowed to her too. For a second, all she could do was stare. She had expected Colin Bridgerton to be an arrogant arse. That was what she had been preparing herself for. She had hardly expected this show of respect. It felt like something entirely new and hard to swallow.
Colin outranked both her and her mother, then what was up with the niceties? It had to be for the optics. But really, there was no one around. It was supposed to be a private meeting room. Why was Colin being civil? What was he planning?
Colin, who must have felt Penelope’s eyes on him, raised an inquiring eyebrow. Pen, realising she was caught staring yet again, felt her face heat up.
Great first impression, Penelope Featherington, way to go.
Her mother coughed. That broke the frozen moment.
Belatedly remembering her manners, Penelope bowed.
“It's an honour, Your Highness.”
“Please, call me Colin. And we’re honoured to have you here, Miss. Featherington.”
“I go by Penelope.”
It came out harsh, and way too unkind. Rude. She was being rude. Her mother gave her a sideways glance. Of course. Even Portia Featherington—patient and understanding woman that she was—would not appreciate this kind of undignified behaviour.
She had to get a grip.
Colin gave her an uncertain look, but then smiled politely. “I'll keep that in mind, Penelope.”
“Please forgive my daughter’s manners, Your Highness.” Her mother offered, bowing her head a little.
Now Penelope had embarrassed her too. Great. Just great.
“No. That's completely okay, Mrs. Featherington. And please call me Colin.”
Penelope did not know what to say next. She wasn’t really hiding the awkwardness well either.
Once again, it was Colin who broke the ice. “The contracts are ready for signing.” His expression was gentle, almost too gentle, and he sounded calm, completely collected. He sounded as if they were talking about yesterday’s weather and not the two of them sacrificing their lives for the so called greater good.
Penelope had heard Colin was a good man, a good soldier. Exaggerated accounts of his bravery, kindness, dignity, his sense of honour. Also good looks, but Penelope had decided not to focus on those. It made no difference, she still wanted to destroy him.
Penelope could not have refused this marriage; she lacked the resources to deal with the aftermath. She had absolutely no say in the matter. But Colin did. His family had drafted this treaty. Colin could’ve done something. He could’ve put up more of a fight. He could’ve forced them to remove the marriage clause.
Colin could’ve saved them both the trouble. But he hadn’t. Penelope felt like she was standing somewhere close, too damn close to the edge, and she wasn’t ready to fall to her death. But really, what other choice did she have?
“We should go.” Colin said, addressing her once again.
There was no fighting destiny.
Pen looked at her mother, who offered a polite nod. She looked sallower than usual, and much older than her age. Penelope felt a strange stab of pity, whether it was directed at her mother, or herself, she did not know. She glanced at Colin, and found him already looking her way.
It only took two seconds for that pity to turn into rage. That bastard. This was all his fault.
“I'm proud of you Penelope.” Portia Featherington said. For a second Pen wondered if she would hug her, or ruffle her hair, or kiss her forehead, but she didn't. She did none of that. Just looked at her for a moment. Her eyes carried a hint of sadness. Something Penelope never, ever wanted to see again. After another moment of uncertain silence, she nudged her towards the door.
It was time.
She took the arm Colin was offering her. And with a final nod in her mother’s direction. And with a final goodbye to the life she had lived before, she gathered her courage, and walked out the door.
She didn’t care what kind of a man Colin was. Penelope, with all her heart and soul, hated him.