Spellbound

Chapter 3

    Under the deepened night, Senya crept over the greenery, keeping in the shadow of the wall. The sweet scent of grass washed away the lingering smell of food, perfume, and wine, and Senya took in a deep breath to appreciate the fresh air.

    She reached the eastern wall of the apartment, where the moonlight dipped the building in a brilliant light. Senya started her climb up to her room, following the path of uneven bricks she had made note of when she first climbed down. Her room was the third window up, and Senya dared not think of anything other than her climb in fear of losing her footing and falling to the ground. Though she wouldn’t die, she did not want to break a leg and have her parents finding out about her excursion. Especially her father.

    When she reached her window, she pushed herself inside, wiping the dust from her hands and clothes. She let out a sigh of relief and quietly shut the window. Then, a sudden realization fell upon her at the exact same time that she heard the scrape of wood against wood, and Senya stiffened, her heart accelerating into a harsh, rapid rhythm. She hadn’t left the window wide open when she left.

    “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

    Senya cringed at the sound of her father’s voice. She slowly turned and saw him standing in that disapproving posture. His arms were crossed, his right forefinger tapping in impatience, his brows drawn towards his eyes, his lips set into a deep scowl. Senya gritted her teeth.

    “Why are you in my room, Dad?”

    “Senya,” Royle said with a hint of warning. “Where were you?”

    Senya’s lips drew into a stubborn pout, and she glared at the curtain like it was the material’s fault that she got caught.

    Royle approached Senya, stopping in front of her, his frame towering over her, and a terrifying sense of fury permeated from him. Senya never felt as small as she did when her father was angry, even with her height.

    “Were you drinking?” Royle’s voice was even lower, a sign that Senya had really messed up. She mentally kicked herself. Maybe she should have taken Liane’s offer to have something to eat before she left the party. Anything to cover up the sweet smell of wine.

    “I was at Reina’s party,” Senya muttered, glaring at her shoes.

    “Senya! You have a curfew for a reason. You are not to leave the house any later than ten.”

    “None of my friends have curfews. Why am I the only one who still has to be coddled like a child?” Senya shifted her glare to her father. “I’m an adult, Dad. I’m nineteen. Girls younger than me don’t have curfews. Do you know how embarrassing it is to decline my friends’ invitations because ‘my dad told me so’?”

    “The least you can do is ask before you leave. You can’t leave the house to have fun every single night. Why do you think you have a curfew, Senya? If you were more responsible, your mother and I wouldn’t feel the need to restrict you.”

    “But I am responsible!” Senya was struggling not to cry. Why couldn’t he understand her? Why was he still treating her like a child?

    “I can hardly call sneaking out for a party responsible. If you were responsible, you would have consulted me first and explained why I should let you go. If you were responsible, you wouldn’t break the rules for the sake of a minute of fun.”

    “It’s not a minute,” Senya grumbled, more to herself than Royle, “It’s a couple of hours.”

    “What was that?”

    Senya clenched her fists. She hated that what he said made sense, that he had every right to set a curfew over her. She hated that nitpicking the most irrelevant details was the only thing she could rely on to prove him wrong, and that made her rage bubble even hotter. She didn’t want to admit it. Not one bit. “Nothing.”

    Royle let out a long breath. He brushed back a few strands of hair from her forehead.

    “I’m not trying to be harsh on you, Senya,” he said. “I’m simply worried that you won’t stop prioritizing parties over everything else. There’s a point in time when you’ll realize that attending balls and trying to do everything your friends do are the least of your concerns. I understand that you need to have some fun in your life, but fun isn’t everything.”

    “You wouldn’t know,” Senya muttered. “You’re always working. You never have fun.”

    “I do have fun, Senya.” Royle smiled and rested a hand on her head. “Watching you and Relly grow, anticipating what surprises you have for me in the future, learning things I never knew before while raising you. It’s the most fun I’ve ever had.”

    A small sliver of anger chipped away. Senya crossed her arms, still determined to defend herself. “Whatever, Dad. I’m going to live my life the way I want, and I’m not going to let you stop me.”

    “I can’t live your life for you,” Royle agreed. “But don’t think you know everything just because you’re nineteen. You still have much to learn before you make rash decisions, Senya. Perhaps, when you mature a little more, I’ll lift your curfew.”

    “But, Dad!”

    Royle ruffled her hair. “Go to bed, little girl. And think about what you have done.”

    “You’re ruining my hair!” Senya pushed his hand off her, scowling at the wild strands of hair that now stuck out. “And I’m not a little girl anymore! Stop treating me like one.”

    “I will when you stop acting like one.” Royle shook his head. “No more sneaking out, you hear?”

    Senya’s irritation sparked. She let out a growl and stormed past him, throwing herself on her bed. She knew there would be no more sneaking out. “Just go already,” she said bitterly into her pillow.

    “I’m serious, Senya.” Royle walked to the door. “It’s time you grow up. Start by breaking this bad habit of yours.”

    When she was left alone, Senya sat up and punched her pillow, the first tears of anger brimming in her eyes. “I hate him.”

__________________________ 

    “Blue? Or green?” Veira held up two dresses in front of the mirror, switching them out to see which looked better on her.

    Senya pulled a pink gown from the racks. “I think you look better in pink.”

    Veira huffed and threw down the dresses on a nearby chair. “No, no. Pink won’t do! I have to stand out this year. Prince Billan doesn’t like pink. I’ve watched him for years. He’s always attracted to girls wearing cooler tones.”

    Senya bit back a laugh. “Creepy.”

    Liane peeked out from the partition and giggled. “You don’t know the half of it, Senya. She never has the courage to talk to him, so she always drools over him from a distance. He actually approached her before, but she always runs away. You’ll never get closer to him like that, Veira.”

    “I know!” Veira threw her arms up and collapsed onto the chair, wrinkling the dresses she’d thrown over it. “But I get so nervous, and I’m afraid I’ll make a fool of myself. I won’t be able to live if I’m humiliated in front of him. Aah.” She sighed. “I should stop pursuing him. He’s a prince. Why would a prince want to be with me?”

    “Don’t be like that, Veira.” Senya hung the pink dress back on the rack. “You’re beautiful, kind, caring. And you’re a noble. It’s not uncommon for royalty to marry nobles.”

    Honestly, Senya didn’t really understand why Veira was so stressed. She was slender, gifted with music, and her hair was a rare shade of red. Veira was a little shy, but she was tender and mature, someone Senya looked up to all her life. It was hard to believe that Veira was only a year older than Senya.

    Senya sighed. Her father was right. She needed to be more like Veira if she was going to live on her own.

    “Oh, Liane! You look so pretty!” A high-pitched voice filtered from behind the partition. Liane stepped away from the covering, and following behind her was Ellaine. Both wore dresses, Liane in a frilled golden dress with a ribbon tied around her waist and Ellaine wearing a glittering black dress that flared out from the number of layers. Attached to her left shoulder was a shimmery black cape that barely touched the ground. With her black hair pulled into a bun, Ellaine somehow managed to look mysteriously beautiful despite the somber color.

    “Liane, Ellaine!” Senya gushed. “Yes, that looks fantastic. You should wear those to the ball.”

    “You should get a dress, too,” Liane said. “While we’re here.”

    “Oh, no. That’s okay.”

    Senya feigned a smile, hoping it was convincing. Every year, Liane and her aunt and the Knight family were invited to a ball held at the Ellorian Palace to celebrate Peace Day. For two weeks, they would be gone. For two weeks, Senya would have no close friends.

    “I still don’t get it,” Ellaine said, crossing her arms. “Your mother will be there. Why can’t you come with us?”

    Senya shrugged. “My mother is there on business. It’s a ball held by the royal council. Not just anyone can attend.” She grabbed a dress from the rack before Ellaine could say anything more. “Hey, Veira. Try this one. I think it’ll be gorgeous on you.”

    Veira perked up. The dress Senya held hugged her body in a more flattering manner than the modest dresses Veira had picked out. Her eyes widened.

    “You want me to wear that?” Veira shrilled.

    Liane pushed Veira from the chair. “Yes, yes! That’ll look amazing, Veira. Good eye, Senya. Prince Billan will be all over you this year!”

    Ellaine giggled, joining in on pampering her sister. “Ooh, Veira! Finally showing off what you have!”

    “But-but this is so…oh my…”

    “Don’t be a prude!” Ellaine pulled Veira to the partition. “Here, let me help you get dressed. Take that off.”

    “Ah, Ellaine, wait just a minute. Okay. Let me do it!”

    Senya chuckled. At least, she could have fun with her friends until they had to leave. In the meantime, she needed to figure out how she was going to spend the next few weeks by herself. She supposed she could stop by the bookshop and see if there were any new books to read. Or perhaps she could pick up a new hobby. Like knitting or embroidery. Maybe doily making.

    Once all the dresses were picked out and paid for, the girls made their way to the post office on the account of Liane’s errand. The post office was a quaint building nestled not too far from the purgehouse Alton worked in. Hope fought against hope. Senya didn’t know if she wanted to run into him or not. After the dance last night, she had immediately left the ball. She was sure she wasn’t the only one feeling strange and awkward, and part of her wanted to talk with Alton so they could return to normal.

    The familiar smell of wax, ink, and paper welcomed them into the building. The checkered floor, the cabinets covering the walls, and benches were all filled with busy people looking to send or receive their mail. The sheer combination of body heat from so many people was enough to warm the office without the need of a fireplace.

    “It’s so crowded,” Senya said as a large man in a suit shoved past her. “Liane, do you really have to pick up your mail? Why doesn’t your aunt just pay for delivery?”

    Liane chuckled and stepped into the long line forming in front of the counter. “My aunt’s logic is ‘if you can have a free, personal delivery girl, why pay for someone else?’ She doesn’t think it’s necessary.”

    “Your aunt is so mean!” Ellaine chimed in.

    “No, not really.” Liane smiled affectionately. “She can be a little harsh sometimes, but I think it’s tough love. Honestly, it’d be weird if she was nice and gentle.”

    The line shortened fairly quickly, and the girls were greeted by the service clerk. He was a short, pudgy man with large spectacles that barely balanced on the bridge of his nose, his hair graying, and his face red from the heat.

    “Mister Calan,” Liane greeted with a bright smile. “I’m here for my mail!”

    At the sight of Liane, Calan’s grimace faded away, and his expression brightened. He smiled back at her with fatherly affection. “Oh, Liane. Here for the invitation, I presume?”

    “You presume correct, sir!” Liane saluted playfully. “Liane Artonia, here to receive the royal invitation on behalf of Hethel Artonia, sir!”

    Senya chuckled with the clerk.

    “Yes, of course,” Calan played along. “Mail for Artonia, coming right up. Good to see you, too, Senya,” Calan nodded at her then acknowledged the sisters, “Miss Knight, younger Miss Knight.”

    Ellaine puffed her cheeks and crossed her arms. “You call them by their names. Why do you insist on calling me Miss Knight? I sound so old!”

    “Courtesy, Miss Knight.” Calan turned away and searched the cabinets behind him.

    Senya offered Ellaine a sympathetic nudge. As the daughter of the prestige Knight family, it simply wasn’t proper—perhaps even dangerous—for anyone in lower-class businesses to call them with such familiarity. Senya was well aware of how uncomfortable it made Ellaine feel. At seventeen, she despised the prim and proper life of nobles and their stringent demands. She’d run away from home at least twice before grudgingly accepting that she couldn’t abandon everything she had.

    “Here it is, Liane.” Calan slipped an envelope over the mahogany counter. “Send my regards to your aunt.”

    “Will do. Thank you, Mister Calan.”

    “Sir!” A boy ran up to the counter, a cap too large tilting down to his ear. “I’m sorry I’m late!” He fumbled with his duffel bag. “I’m here to pick up mail for Reynet Street.”

    “This is only your second day, Tayen,” Calan scolded. “Don’t let this happen again. Here, give me that.” He leaned over the counter and snatched the duffel bag from the delivery boy.

    “Reynet Street?” Senya watched the short man pull out a box labeled with the street name. “I live there. Do you have any mail for Bentham?”

    “Erm…” Calan stuffed letters and small parcels into the bag. “Too busy to check, Senya. If there’s mail, it’ll come to you soon enough. No need to concern yourself.”

    Calan practically threw the bag at the boy and handed him a piece of paper. “There you go, Tayen. Now run along before complaints start flooding in.”

    “But, sir.” Tayen scanned the paper. “There’s Bentham right here.”

    Calan’s reddened face grew brighter. “Tayen, go do your job! Are you trying to lessen your workload? There are no shortcuts in business, son. Run along.”

    “It’s fine,” Senya assured. “Tayen, was it? Yes, you can hand all the Bentham mail to me.”

    “Yes, Miss.”

    “Senya, I really don’t—”

    “It’s okay, Mister Calan.” Senya smiled. “I don’t mind one bit. I think we might be holding up the line.” She ushered the boy to the side, her friends following behind her. Calan, who called after them, had to cut his protests short to tend to his next customer.

    Tayen dug into his bag. Despite the haphazard shoveling Calan had done, the mail was organized into bundles for each address. Tayen found a bundle and sifted through the mail until he found ‘Bentham’.

    “Just one letter today, Miss,” he said, handing it to Senya. “Good day.”

    Tayen scurried away in a rush. Senya turned over the envelope, and her mouth dropped open. The golden wax and intricate seal were unmistakable. Senya was speechless and the blood rushing in her ears drowned away the questions her friends were asking.

    With shaky fingers, Senya tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter. Each word was written in elegant curls, no doubt by a professional scribe, each stroke beautiful and perfect, and the faint smell of roses lingered on the parchment. Senya read the letter, once, twice, still not believing what she held in her hands, and rage began to boil.

    “Senya!” Liane waved a hand in front of her face. “Senya, what’s the matter?”

    Senya’s cheeks had turned redder than Calan’s. She clenched the letter hard enough to crumple it.

    You have been cordially invited to the Peace Day ball.

    “Liane, Veira, Ellaine. Excuse me. I need to go see my father.”

    Senya ignored her friends’ concerned questions and stormed out of the post office, her hand still tightly clenched around the royal invitation.