Twice Upon A Time (Unfinished Fairy Tales #2)(54)



“Your husband seems uncommonly protective,” Jér?me says lightly. “It is not as if I could impregnate a lady from a mere glance, my dear Princess Katriona.”

I cough. In Athelia, I doubt any man could say the word ‘impregnate’ in front of me, unless it’s a doctor. “I’m afraid your reputation precedes you, Your Grace.”

He looks at me closely, and there’s the same intense expression that appeared when he arrived at the palace.

“Have you never visited Moryn before?”

I think hard, but I’m positive that I have never set foot in his country. Taking a journey to a foreign country would have left a deep impression in my mind, yet I can’t remember anything. Edward never mentioned anything about me visiting Moryn either.

“I don’t think so.” Then, remembering I have to be diplomatic, I add, “But I’d love to visit one day. Edward has been telling me how beautiful the city is, especially the palace.”

“When I was driving in the capital about a month ago, I thought there was a young woman in the streets who looked rather similar to you.” Jér?me stares at me for a moment, then shakes his head. “It was a fleeting glance, however, so I could be mistaken.”

So, he wasn’t leering at me, but rather that I resemble some other girl he saw in Moryn. It’s not a big deal, I guess. I came to inhabit Katriona Bradshaw’s body because we look alike, so it won’t surprise me if there’s another girl who also shares similar features. If I were a rare beauty like Bianca . . . well, that would be another story.

And from what I could observe of the Moryns, their features are not much different from the Athenians. Maybe a little shorter, may be a little plumper, and their fashion sense seems to be more extravagant, but I can’t observe much difference between the Moryns and the Athelians.

I just hope that Jér?me isn’t making things up to excuse his conduct.





27





On the last day of events, Amelie pauses before lacing me into the corset.

“Would you like to go to the bathroom, Your Highness?”

“Why are you asking me as if I’m not going to see a bathroom again?”

“Because you won’t get to change clothes for at least six to seven hours,” Mabel pipes up, bringing in my shoes. They’re beautiful—sheer, sparkling satin the color of rose petals. “There’s the concert and the ball, and you can’t relieve yourself while wearing this dress.”

I touch the whalebone corset and the crinoline that’s supposed to go under my skirt. They are stiff, hard, and unbendable, like a cage.

“She is correct,” Amelie says, inspecting the laces on the corset. “Don’t drink anything or eat anything, not until the end of the ball, which is likely to be past midnight.”

“Are you telling me that I’m supposed to whirl around in all these layers on an empty stomach?”

Mabel looks surprised. “But aren’t you used to this by now, Your Highness? You had to go through tons of balls during your Season.”

When I was still an unmarried, unwanted maid at Lady Bradshaw’s, I mostly sat in a corner and watched other men vying for a dance with Bianca. However, as princess, it’s unlikely that I’ll be left alone. Protocol ensures that I’ll at least have Edward, and maybe even the emperor, ask me to dance. Augustin may not be a beloved ruler in his country, but he’s flawless when it comes to international etiquette. For example, during the military review, despite the commotion and whirlwind action, he still found the occasion to gallop near our carriage and make some kind of lighthearted comment.

Please, I pray with all my might. Please let me get through this ball without any mishap.



* * *



A powerful electric-like jolt rocks through my head when I enter the ballroom, and for a moment my vision swims. It’s the same room where the ball was held in The Ugly Stepsister. Memories inundate my mind like a flash flood, and I start to remember all the things that I have done here, from waltzing with Edward to revealing Elle’s real identity. It takes all my willpower not to clap my hands on my temples, as there are so many memories attacking my mind that I’m unable to concentrate on dancing.

“Kat?” Edward touches my arm. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I . . .” I lean against his shoulder, not caring if it’s inappropriate in public. All I want is for my head to stop hurting from the deluge of memories. “Just let me rest for a moment.”

The king is dancing with Simone, which is a difficult task, as Simone’s height only comes to his chest. It looks like he is dancing with his teenage daughter. On the other hand, Augustin seems to be faring better with the queen, both of them graceful and agile in their steps.

I glance around the ballroom. Jér?me is dancing with a young debutante called Minnie May—she looks positively thrilled to be his partner, though another middle-aged woman is eyeing them with a wary face that’s remarkably similar to Edward’s when we went to Fauxe Gardens last night. Most likely that she is Minnie May’s mother, and has heard of Jér?me’s profligacy.

In a corner, Henry is conversing with a middle-aged man who’s wearing spectacles. Several paces away, Lady Petunia stands with her arms crossed, her expression filled with annoyance as she glares at her son.

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