The Dark Prince’s Chosen Bride

A Display of Brides

The palace in the heart of the Capital was a gleaming spectacle of windows and white stone. Footmen in doublets of navy velvet stood ready at the massive, gilded double doors that marked the entrance. Beautiful coaches, empty of their passengers, lined the gravel roadway circling the manicured lawns at the front of the estate.

After a long day being jostled in a coach across bumpy country roads, Emilia was almost too sore and exhausted to take in the splendor. It’s hard to appreciate architecture when you’re sitting on a sore bum.

No sooner had their horses stopped, a footman ushered them from their coach and into a polished foyer where they were greeted by a jowly-faced steward.

“Welcome, Duke and Duchess of Lan. Welcome, Lady Emilia. Please follow me to your suite. You can rest for a few hours before joining their Majesties and the other bridal prospects for a banquet.”

Up a wide staircase they went, with Gallant trailing behind on his lead. A gilded castle, with every wall covered in expensive tapestries and massive murals made of rich threads and exotic paints. Yet, Emilia kept her eyes on the ground, willing her feet to move forward.

The steward left them at the door of their suite, just one in a long hallway full of identical rooms. Some of them had already been filled, and a few stood empty and open. Emilia found herself grateful that they hadn’t been the last to arrive.

The suite had a sitting room with plush settees and a fire already crackling in the hearth. On each side there was a room, one with a slim bed and a floor length mirror for Emilia and the other with a larger bed and an overstuffed armchair. Her father wasted no time settling into the armchair and opening a pamphlet he had brought about falconry. Her mother fussed over creases in their evening gowns caused by hours in a hot trunk.

Gallant lay in front of the fire and Emilia stretched out a settee nearby. It didn’t take long before the warmth and her fatigue drew her eyelids closed and she drifted off to sleep.

She woke after the sun had set, her body refreshed, but her mind was rioting with a mix of fear and anticipation.

Her father was already dressed for dinner in a tidy woolen doublet, and her mother, in a gown the color of rye, was pinning a net dotted with tiny seed pearls over her coiled braid. They both looked fit to waltz across the palace's famed ivory dance floor, though their faces were rigid and blank.

Quickly, Emilia pulled on the gown her mother had packed for her, a soft lilac garment that laced up the back with a ribbon of plum satin. Her mother’s nimble fingers made quick work of weaving Emilia’s thick chestnut curls into a simple three-strand braid before adding a final touch, a headband of plum satin ribbon that matched the dress laces.

They gathered in the foyer with the rest of the bridal prospects and their families before being ushered through the door, one by one, to be announced to the king and queen. The air in the foyer bubbled with the chatter and giggles of a dozen young women.

“The Duke and Duchess of Lan, and their daughter, Lady Emilia!” the steward announced when it was their turn to enter.

In the banquet hall, a massive white lacquered table stretched almost the length of the room. Platters of sumptuous foods were laid down the center, piled so high with roasted meats and candied fruits that Emilia was convinced they would topple. Baskets of sliced white loaves and bowls filled with mounds of fresh butter were squeezed between the platters. And at the head of the table, the red-bearded King and the pale, wispy Queen sat and surveyed Emilia and her parents.

The King and Queen were a striking couple. A study of opposites, King Rennier was broad where his wife was thin, was rosy where she was porcelain. Queen Margot seemed ethereal, as if she was made from starlight and spider-silk, while her husband was solid, as if he had been hewn from the heart of an oak tree. And now, both sets of royal eyes were pinned on Emilia and her parents.

Silently, they bowed before their sovereigns and they were shown to their seats.

Seven of the other women had been introduced and seated. They waited as five more were brought before the King. Once each woman had been presented, the King rose and spoke to the room.

“Thank you, noble daughters of the Human Realm, for joining my lovely Queen and me tonight as we honor you, and your families, for your dedication to the peace and safety of our homeland. My own precious girls are not yet old enough to wed, or else the Princesses would be joining alongside you.” The King paused a beat. “Long has the Treaty ensured harmony between the people of our realm and the fairies of our neighbors across the border. Tomorrow, one of you will be chosen as the Princess-Consort for the Dark Prince. In the morning, a lady’s maid will attend each of you and dress you in gowns the Queen has designed just for this occasion. Chosen or not, the gowns are our gift to you - and you may take them with you when you depart. As for tonight, please enjoy the meal before you!”

Once the King sat, the banquet began. As Emilia filled her plate with roasted venison and pears glazed with honey, she took a moment to peek at the other possible brides. Most were strangers to her, impeccably mannered and swathed in bright silk dresses and sparkling gems. A few were familiar, girls she had met through her father’s business dealings and her mother’s social circle. Thankfully, seated next to her was a friendly face.

“Christine!” Emilia whispered to the flame-haired woman beside her. “You are a welcome sight! Did your parents not join you?”

Christine’s father was a minor baron, his lands boarded Lan. Just a few hours by carriage. When Christine and Emilia had been children, their mothers would visit each other, to gossip and share the struggles of raising young girls. They would stuff the girls pockets with biscuits and shoo them away to the nursery to play with dolls. Christine had been Emilia’s first friend.

It had been at least a year since they had seen each other, but Emilia’s chest relaxed at the sight of Christine’s dimpled smile.

Christine offered Emilia a pitiful sigh. “No, they sent my sister-in-law to chaperone me. They couldn’t break away.”

Emilia could read between those lines. Christine’s father had never been overly interested in the lives of his daughter, always favoring his two sons. The Dark Prince could ride away with Christine forever, and her parents couldn’t even be bothered to show.

Christine and Emilia made small talk the rest of the meal, too scared to whisper their fears to one another with so many deceitful ears listening.

And by the time the last bite passed her lips, Emilia was all too eager to curl up in her room and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep

Before the sun had even broken the horizon, a shy maid with freckled cheeks came knocking on Emilia’s door.

Gallant was none too pleased to be woken before the cockerel. He huffed and rolled onto his side, annoyed. Emilia didn’t have that luxury. She was to be buffed and shined until she gleamed like a jewel in the crown of the realm.

Her parents had been sent down to the Queen’s private sitting rooms to enjoy breakfast of fine pastries and performances by the court minstrels.Even the comfort of her mother’s soft voice, or her father’s temperate presence was taken from her. She was alone in a palace full of strangers and about to be presented like a prize sow to a foreign Prince, and she couldn’t even hug her family close

Her maid, a brisk,silent little thing, got busy straight away with filling a deep porcelain basin with hot water. She carried in fresh towels and a long handled brush. Just as she was about to pour perfumed oil and rose petals into the bath, Emilia stopped her.

“If you don’t mind, I would prefer to just use the goat’s milk soap I brought with me. My skin irritates easily.”

The maid shrugged, and helped Emilia into the tub. Using the requested soap, she softly scrubbed Emilia’s scalp, hair, and skin until there wasn’t a speck of oil or dirt left. She combed Emilia’s hair and left it unbound to dry in curls down her back.

Wrapped in a towel, Emilia sat on the bed while her maid brought a case of cosmetics over.

“Keep it light, please. A touch of rouge, some powder, and maybe a dab of some of that berry-colored lip cream,” she asked. The maid said nothing, but just dipped her head in a curt nod and uncapped the rouge

Face made up, she was presented with her gown. Emilia had to keep her jaw from hitting the floor.

It was hardly a dress at all! Just a snow-white satin sheath slip that would barely cover most of her thighs and a matching gossamer overlay that billowed out around the hips and flowed to the ground. It had the shape of a ball gown, but none of the substance. It was entirely sheer.

Emilia had never worried about the shape of her body until she was looking at her barely-clad form in the mirror. Her hips were full, and her waist was soft. Her heavy breasts, usually hidden beneath a modest blouse, were now on display in the plunging neck of her dress. She certainly wasn’t thin. Certainly wasn’t delicate.

But, she was who she was and there was no apologizing for it now. She couldn’t change her figure and has no say in the handkerchief of gown the Queen has designed for all the brides.

At least the sheath covered her buttocks.

The final piece of her outfit was a floral crown made of Queen Anne’s Lace set atop her cascade of unbound hair.

“Good luck, lady,” the maid had whispered.

“For what outcome? The best luck would see me riding home tomorrow.”

The women were herded down into the foyer once again. Dressed in identical gowns and crowns, they looked like true brides in brilliant white, aside from the flashes of bare legs and bare collarbones. They were lined up in single file, brave little soldiers marching for their King.

Christine ended up in line beside Emilia. Her red hair had been braided in two plaits and laced through with white ribbon. She looked like a milk-maid off to the dairy.They shared a weak, nervous smile before they were led into the hall and up on the dais.

A pristine display of brides, the treasures of the kingdom, all in a row like a string of pearls.

The King and Queen sat in the hall, dressed head to toe in finery so decadent Emilia almost felt embarrassed for them. Their three daughters, all miniatures of the Queen, sat on velvet pillows at the King’s feet. Demure and silent, they were dressed in dark gray gowns as if to make them as invisible as possible. If it was the Princesses own natures that made them so unremarkable, or the design of the Queen to keep the eyes of the Dark Prince turned away from her children, Emilia couldn’t begin to guess.

Behind them,all of the chaperones were arranged on wooden benches. Eerily still and grim-faced, Emilia felt like she stood before a gallery of marble statues.

Beside the King was an empty throne.

Standing before a crowd in a transparent gossamer gown, being picked apart by judgmental eyes, should have put Emilia on edge. But instead, she found herself calm and at ease. Her mind was still for the first time in days, and with each beat in her chest her heart whispered peace, peace, peace.

Beside her though, Christine had begun to tremble. Emilia remembered how as a child, Christine would fearlessly pick up snakes and ride stallions with no bridle. She balanced on the highest garden wall and scaled the Baroness’ rose trellis just because her brother dared her. But when Christine was called to sing before her mother’s friends, or recite poetry in front of her tutor, Christine’s nerves would bubble to the surface and spill over, like a pot left too long on the fire.

Emilia reached for her, reassuringly grasping her small, shaky hand. If only she would will her own calm to trickle from her fingers into Christine’s.

That was the moment the door swung open, making everyone in the hall jump. A tall, striking man sauntered in.

Everything about him was regal, from his burgundy doublet to his powerful presence that demanded attention. His face was handsome, there was no denying that. He had a sharp, straight nose and a wide mouth. His hair, black as obsidian, set off his deep bronze skin.

Emilia was stunned at his beauty, and let out a soft gasp, inaudible to even Christine beside her.

But somehow, the stranger heard. He looked at her, right into her face. Like a magnet, her eyes met his. Emilia found herself staring straight into the savage, golden eyes of the Dark Prince.