The Dark Prince’s Chosen Bride

In the blush-pink light of the fading day, Emilia wound her way back through the maze-like rows of flowering hedges at the back of her parents estate. At her side, her hound loped ahead on his long, steady legs. The fur of his curly, nut-brown coat was muddied from their afternoon spent reading in the grass. Emilia was dreading the glare she would get from the head housekeeper when she showed up at the kitchen door with the filthy, stinking dog. He would need a bath before he could climb into bed with her tonight. She had stayed too long in the garden, lost in the song of the birds and the poetry book in her lap. The distant sound of her father’s men harvesting the abundance of wheat that grew on their property, the rhythmic rise and fall of their great, gleaming scythes, had nearly lulled her to sleep more than once. But the birds were hunting their dinners and the men had been called home by the sound of their wives’ voices and the promise of a hot meal. The pang in her stomach told her what the darkening sky had already warned her- Emilia was late for dinner. By now, her family would be seating themselves at the table, eyeing her empty seat and hoping she showed up before the food went cold. Her little brother was probably already hiding a roll under his napkin and trying to sneak mouthfuls of warm bread while they waited. She couldn’t blame him. Her own stomach was painfully empty and her mind picturing a pile of sugared walnut tea-cakes. Arriving at the kitchen door, she shook the dust from her blue linen skirt and stomped her leather boots to shake any caked- on mud loose. As she entered, a young scullery maid walked past carrying a pitcher of deep red wine. Emilia touched her gently on the shoulder. “Harriet, could you feed Gallant? I’ve left it a bit late and I’m pretty sure Father will be gnawing on a table leg if I keep them waiting any longer.” “Oh, blessed stars. Look at the state of him! It’s a wash he needs before Mrs.Gibbs sees him and drops over. Take this,my lady.” Harriet pressed the pitcher into her hands. “Leave this pitiful beast to me.” “You’re a miracle in a linen apron, Harriet,” Emilia said. Harriet simply waved her on to dinner. In some estate homes, the dining hall held ornate tables that stretched the length of the room. Children could be fed by their nursemaids at one end, while the parents ate in peace and quiet at the other. But the Duke and Duchess of Lan had long since held the belief that mealtimes were meant to be a family affair and ate at a sturdy, round oaken table with their children each night. Just as she had predicted, her brother William had a barely concealed roll hidden beneath the napkin in his lap. Seating herself, she caught a glance of him trying to sneak a bite by pretending to bend down and adjust his stocking. Emilia smothered a giggle. Sweet little William, a growing boy of ten years old, had the appetite of an ox and the guile to match. “Finally!” her father sighed as he began to ladle stew from a pewter pot in the center of the table. “I’m sorry to keep you,” Emilia said earnestly. She felt guilty making her father sit with his hunger. “I got lost in my new book and didn’t realize the afternoon had run away from me.” “Your father is just being dramatic, sweetheart,” her mother chided. “Both your father and brother have been sneaking bread when they thought I wasn’t looking. I promise neither would have starved in the few minutes we waited for you. I’m glad you were able to enjoy the weather. I doubt we will have warm afternoons much longer. Maybe I shall borrow your new book and enjoy the sun myself tomorrow.” Soon the room was filled with the sounds of spoons scraping bowls and knives splitting the crusty exteriors of the pale, yeasty rolls. As their bellies filled, the family chattered about their day. About William’s arithmetic tutor and their father’s new hawk. About the blue-eyed baby the groundskeeper’s wife just delivered and the quality of the lamb in their stew. When their dishes were empty, William’s eyes grew heavy and soon he was curled up in their mothers lap,drowsing. Their dark, matching heads and soft, oval faces bowed towards each other in the candlelight made them both seem delicate and precious. It made Emilia’s heart nearly burst to see it. Truly, no family loved one another as much as hers. Emilia slowly picked up the largest of the tea-cakes and eased herself back into her cushioned chair, eager to sink her teeth into the pillowy sweetness, but careful not to wake her brother. Her father gave her a playful wink. The Duke, above all things, cherished his children and found no greater joy than seeing them fed, comfortable,and content. He was ten years older than his wife, fine lines on his forehead and eyes matching the gray showing at his strawberry-blonde temples and streaking his beard. And while Emilia and William had inherited his wife’s pecan-brown hair and gentle faces, they also had his sharp hazel eyes. He watched Emilia eat with tenderness on his face, sipping his wine and savoring the peace of his quiet home. Boom. Boom. Boom. A heavy rap on their front door echoed through the manor. “I wonder who could be here so late,” the Duke,wondered, wiping his lips. “ I’m sorry to disturb your meal,” Harriet quietly entered the room. “A messenger arrived from the palace and bid I deliver this to you immediately.” In her hand she held an envelope of black satin, sealed with silver wax. “No,” the Duchess gasped, looking with panicked eyes at her husband. “No! Hugh…” The duke stood, his back straight as a board. Taking the envelope from Harriet’s hand, the Duke cleared his throat. “Let’s read it before we assume the worst, love.” Emilia knew what the black envelope meant. Every little girl in the realm heard the stories, knew the history. All of the sudden the room seemed too small. The candles burned too hot. The food in her stomach sat too heavily. Her father took a deep breath and cracked the seal. His eyes scanned the words once, twice, three times before the meaning of them sank in. With sorrow in his eyes, he looked into the face of his lovely, apple-cheeked daughter. “I’m sorry, Emilia. It is what we fear it is… You have been summoned to the palace for the Bridal Selection. You will be presented as one of the potential brides to the Dark Prince