The rest of the wedding proceeds in the ballroom. Families from noble houses, big and small, fill the floor, offering the seventh prince their sincerest wishes and congratulations.
There's so many of them. It's endless.
The conversations are exhausting to entertain. The air gets stuffier and more pretentious with every introduced guest. I smile and I extend my gratitude until my cheeks are begging to rest.
Why do these nobles engage in so much meaningless chatter?
There's no point to their conversations, no substance, no nuance. Their minds are half filled with thoughts of reputation, money, and land, the other half filled with air.
When my resolve starts to crack, I try to excuse myself, both fists clenched.
My husband leans down to my ear, whispering with a mischievous slur, "Save your energy for tonight, my dearest wife."
The hairs on my arm stand. Chills travel down my spine.
No. There is no way he's implying what I think he's implying. I leave before the interaction escalates, my knuckles itching to meet the prince's face.
Some of the other princes are here, not all of them.
Prince Cyrus is mingling with guests, strengthening his connections—it's an expected move. His eyes are strikingly blue, resembling the deepest seas, and his charisma alone draws the attention of the room.
He chuckles every now and then, always flashing a practiced smile. It's stage play, a ploy to advance his status.
Prince Arthur keeps a low profile throughout the night. He's probably caught up in another scandal, as he usually is, and now he's lounging about, trying to get eyes off his back.
The deadbeat prince is carrying an exotic bottle, one decorated with a red rose—alcohol, no doubt. What else would he be drinking?
It's strange knowing so much about these people when they know nothing about me. I'm an intruder, somewhat. I know things I shouldn't, which, in this world, could be an advantage or recipe for disaster.
Arthur's eyes meet mine and, in an instant, his gaze shifts from bored to amused.
Shoot. I was caught staring. Embarrassment bubbles up from under my skin, face blooming red.
I step out into a spacious balcony, not wanting to enter more awkward situations.
Today's been a lot.
The cold winds are refreshing. They offer a much-needed respite after a long, drawn-out ceremony. It doesn't last long, however, because a presence intrudes the tranquil space.
"Princess."
Prince Arthur falls into a lot of visual novel tropes. Misunderstood playboy with unparalleled charm and a deep voice.
I've heard his voice actor read his lines countless of times, but hearing it in person is an entirely different experience.
In a way, I've come to understand why women fall to their knees in his presence—a fact I used to ridicule. He's the epitome of charm.
"Your highness." I bow.
He raises a brow. "No need to be formal, princess. You're family now, after all."
Thankfully, he's a lot more easygoing than one would expect a prince to be. I hate to admit it, but he's a better conversationalist than the other nobles in the palace.
"I might be your sister-in-law, but my respect for the royal family does not waver." I answer to maintain an act.
When it comes to being a supporting character in Black Rose, a single slip-up can lead to one's downfall. Betrayals, cold wars, scrutiny—there's an opportunity to fail and fall off the face of high society in every corner.
Until I've properly devised a plan, Penelope must remain proper and respectable, much unlike the desperately impulsive Penelope in-game.
"A goody-two-shoes, huh." Arthur teases, finding the boldness to step closer. "You're cozying up to my brother well."
I almost roll my eyes. Cozy and Valerius in the same sentence is unbelievable, especially knowing the way he acts towards his wife.
"Yes, I'm sure he is extremely fond of me. Must be why he's resorted to ignoring my presence half of the time." I huff.
Arthur chuckles freely, the first genuine sound I've heard throughout the night.
"Fond of you indeed." He tilts the bottle in his hands, drinking a sizable amount. "Want a sip?"
The rim of the bottle comes uncomfortably close to my face. An aroma of spice and citrus invades my nostrils. I haven't tried it, but instinct tells me it's strong.
"That smells interesting. What's in it?"
The prince shrugs. "Concoctions from a distant land, they're full of surprises."
He pulls the bottle back and takes another swig. I eye him, both concerned and morbidly impressed.
"Excessive alcoholism is a sure way to die early, your highness."
"That's the goal, isn't it?" He answers, entirely too lighthearted for what he's just said.
"I see." I shake my head. "I'd rather not."
Unexpectedly, Arthur rolls his eyes.
"You've been tense the entire evening. The alcohol will help you loosen up." He argues. "Although, if it's your first time drinking it, your bowels might explode. Spent hours in the bathroom my first time."
I find myself laughing at the thought. A prince with a tall stature, respectable and elegant, crouching over a toilet as he releases an onslaught of past meals.
He smiles at me as I try to withhold another round of laughter. I smile back.
"You don't speak like a prince, you know."
The disgust on his face is immediate. "I've heard that one a thousand times."
I'm sure he has. The kingdom doesn't exactly regard their first prince in the kindest way.
"It's not necessarily a bad thing." I explain, if only to relieve him from some of the judgement. "Spent the entire evening listening to lords squabble about properties and vacations. Your authenticity is a breath of fresh air, even when your actual breath smells like booze."
"Huh. Thank you." He's flushed, more than he was moments ago, ears a bright shade of red.
"Sorry if I overstepped, your highness."
"Arthur." He corrects. "And don't apologize. I offer you my sincerity, you offer me yours."
"How do you know I'm being sincere?" I question, jokingly. When Arthur frowns, I find myself laughing again. "I'm kidding. It's a deal, Prince Arthur."
The prince rolls his eyes, huffing in annoyance. Something about the way he's smiling tells me he isn't too annoyed.
"You know, I heard my brother has an insatiable appetite in bed. I pity you."
The mood drops before I can cherish it. My mind goes back to what Prince Valerius told me moments ago, something about saving my energy.
I'm suddenly nauseous.
"Do I have to lay with him?"
Arthur shoots me a sympathetic look. "Personally, I like to believe that we're a progressive nation, but marital duties are marital duties and you are unfortunately a woman."
"I see." I bite my lip—a bad habit—and wince when a stinging sensation emerges. Valerius, that bastard, he really had to bite me, huh.
There has to be a way out of it. There has to be. Every problem has a solution. Sometimes, it's right under our noses.
I scan Arthur's body, panicked.
"Hand that over."
The prince's brows scrunch in confusion. "What? This?"
"Yeah."
Arthur doesn't hesitate and offers it to me. The red glass is cool against my palms and I examine as the liquid sloshes around the bottle—there's at least half of it left.
Closing my eyes, I swallow what remains. There's some texture there, some spice. The alcohol doesn't even hit at first. It takes a good fifteen seconds before my senses are impacted.
Everything is foggy.
"Princess." Arthur catches me before I fall. "I'm aware you're in a miserable situation, but that bottle won't kill you. If anything, it'll make you more miserable."
"What's this called?" I say, but I'm not sure if I get the words out right. My tongue's as heavy as a boulder.
"Red rose." Arthur answers.
"Yeah." I cough into my hand, smiling. God, it's spicy. "Hits just right."