Sometimes, it's easy to forget that royals do anything productive. Almost minutes after escaping the toilet, I was pulled into a dressing room and made to wear a rather heavy ensemble.
I didn't have to do any of the work putting it together. Half a dozen maids did most of the labor, tightening the corset, fixing the petticoat, and slipping my feet into an adorable pair of doll shoes.
Regardless, I'm drained.
My head's pounding, arms itching from the onslaught of sweat and fabric clinging to my skin. The carriage is fumbling through a rocky road and it's in no way helping with the nausea.
Valerius looks worse for wear, dark circles under his eyes.
I have no idea what he was up to last night. Truly, I wish I cared enough to ponder, but my own dilemma is bothersome enough as it is. Plus, it's not that hard to guess—he was probably out being promiscuous or violent.
The irony of it all?
Prince Cyrus, who sits in front of us in the carriage, looks like he bathed in a tub of milk and fell asleep on a bed of baby blue roses. Everything about him is fresh—his clothes, his scent, his smile. It makes my head pound harder.
"Seems like you two were making use of your time last night. I almost feel bad for the princess." The flawless prince jests.
Neither of us finds it amusing.
"Remind me, brother, why are you here again? I don't recall you being a part of the marriage." Valerius retorts, eyebrows scrunched in irritation.
It's a shame. I was hoping for a peaceful morning, at least a few hours to sleep and recover before a day spent in fear ensues.
There's no sign of rest or peace in the next few hours or the entire day, as a matter of fact.
"Of course not. If I wanted to marry Princess Penelope, I would have already." His words leave an eerie air in the carriage. Even Valerius seems alarmed. "I'm coming with you to assess the new property."
Right. Once married, princes tend to receive their own palaces. It's a bit excessive, a bit unnecessary, considering the already massive size of the main estate, but for a kingdom abundant in wealth, it's expected.
Unfortunately, I had no time to say goodbye to Rosewood Palace. A tragedy. It had good balconies and the softest bathroom carpets.
Valerius isn't pleased by his brother's response. Snarkily, he snaps, "How in the seven rings of hell does my property concern you?"
"You see," Cyrus starts. "I made sure to personally foresee the arrangements so it would be to Princess Penelope's liking. I'm only here to gouge her reaction."
That's unusual. Cyrus tends to be a people pleaser—for his own sake and not others'—but managing an estate on top of his usual duties is a bit extreme.
Intuition tells me he's up to something. What he's up to exactly is for me to figure out in the upcoming days.
Nothing good, that's for sure, if he's trying to be sneaky about it.
If I can plot out an appropriate response before everything comes unraveling, I can guarantee Penelope's security.
Hesitantly, I smile. "That's very thoughtful of you, your highness. Thank you."
"It's the least I can do for my sister-in-law." He answers, sugary sweet and disgustingly plastic.
Valerius snickers, sick of the act.
Prince Cyrus takes it in stride. "Don't make your annoyance so blatant, brother. Florian and I made an effort to clear our schedules to accompany you in the new palace."
"Florian?" The seventh prince raises a brow. "I wasn't aware that he's capable of leaving the royal library. Why is that hermit meddling in someone else's marriage?"
That's a good question, although stated rather harshly. It doesn't matter. Princes and men can afford to be offensive—in this world and mine.
As for women, we listen.
"I ordered a shipment of exotic books from the south to honor Princess Penelope's ancestral culture," Cyrus explains.
Ah, right. Other kingdoms exist within the world of Black Rose. They're often left ambiguous, mentioned once or twice with a token representative character.
Penelope's southern heritage is barely noticeable, not even her name is foreign. Her father's a local, all-in-all, but her mother, who is implied to be a war prize, hails from a southern nation.
Is she dead or alive? The game never states. Her status is as ambiguous as her heritage. All I've seen is a few paintings of their family, really.
Penelope's mother is gorgeous—dark hair, brown eyes, and golden skin. It's rare to encounter those features within the kingdom, especially when pale and blonde are ideal.
I look like Penelope's mother.
It makes the young lady an outlier, somewhat.
"Florian's there for the library. If I'm correct, he arrived yesterday and might be staying for a longer duration."
I'm surprised I even wondered. Of course, he's there for the books. In terms of nuance, Florian is rather predictable—a sad, gloomy, incapable prince, the kind that triggers a girl's maternal instincts.
He loves reading. He hates people. Why else would he leave his comfort zone if not to indulge in his bookish addictions?
Valerius looks like he's about to argue more, eyes narrowed in scrutiny, but a yell from the coachman interrupts the conversation.
"We're here." Prince Cyrus informs, drawing the curtains of the carriage open. The light catches on to the shiny, raven strands resting on his face.
Immediately, my head starts pounding. The light's too much, too overpowering.
I blink until my vision is, to some extent, clear. And the moment my senses pull together, I find myself breathless once again.
"It's... beautiful."
There's a sea of lavender petals gently falling into the ground, dancing with the soft strokes of the morning wind. It's like a scene from a historical drama, the setting of a romantic exchange worth remembering for centuries.
No painting could encapsulate the beauty of the moment, not even with the brightest pigments.
Prince Cyrus, proud, says, "Welcome to the Willowhold Palace, princess."
Not everything about the marriage is a loss.
My husband is a brute, a monster, and an irredeemable man, but the palace entrance is gorgeous. You're greeted with intricate gates and trees that grow a mysterious purple flower. What else can a girl want?
When the footman helps me down the carriage, I find that my mouth remains open.
"You did all of this? It's stunning."
"I'm flattered." The beloved prince replies. He places my hand around his arm, polite, and guides me through the palace's main doors.
Where Rosewood is grand and luxurious, Willowhold is modest and simplistic, it carries a divine kind of beauty.
The palace looks like a lounge for angels, the main halls alone are breathtaking.
I squeeze Cyrus' arm out of instinct, smile wide. "I never knew a place could be so stunning. You have a talent for architecture, your highness."
"Thank you, Penelope."
"Please," Valerius yawns. "Thank the servants who fixed the place, not the man who ordered them around."
For a split second, Cyrus' facade cracks and a hint of frustration seeps through the mask. My eyes zone in on it, fixating on the sight in fascination.
I'm sure Valerius saw it too because now, he's grinning as if he's won something.
So Prince Cyrus can make faces like those. Huh.
"And here, princess, is where all the artifacts reside. I made sure to manage the shipment myself. It was costly, but your appreciation for art will have made it worth it."
Cyrus turns a knob to a massive door. Then, the sound of glass shattering.