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My chest feels so tight, and not from the hour-long hike. I blow out the candle, letting my hands drop to my sides. Puffs of smoke drift out of chimneys all across the city, dissipating in the cold autumn air. I shake my head. “I don’t.”
I think that might be a lie. I resent my father for…what? His happiness? His contentment?
I dared to dream about a better life—that I might have a fairytale ending. Foolish little girl, I was. Following Liam Birchal around like a lost puppy, not realizing I was nothing more than a plaything to the young lord. Rhea doesn’t know about it, though. It was before we met in college.
I want to tell her. I want to explain where this deep well of resentment started, but my throat feels so tight. Taking a deep breath, I squeeze my eyes shut and open my mouth, hoping whatever comes out is coherent.
“When I was fifteen, Lord Birchal’s son, Liam, invited me to go horseback riding with him. We went out to the edge of the estate together and stayed there all afternoon. That was the start.”
“The start of what?”
“We…kissed. He was my first kiss. I think I fell in love with him that day, watching him ride his horse like he was born to do it. Seeing the graceful, easy way he moved, while I was clumsy and awkward. I was such an idiot.”
Rhea stays quiet beside me. Still.
I continue. “We saw each other for two years. He’d go away for boarding school, but we’d text and talk on the phone all the time. A year and a half after that first day, when I’d just turned seventeen, Liam snuck me into his room, and…” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I lost my virginity to him. He told me he loved me, and I said it back. He promised… He said he’d never leave. Told me we could get married.” I snort, shaking my head. My grip tightens on the candle in my hand, wax cold against my fingers. “I was seventeen and stupid and in love.”
“You never told me this,” Rhea says quietly.
I glance at my best friend, shaking my head. “I was embarrassed.”
“What happened?”
“Well, we didn’t get married,” I say, bitterness soaking my words. Squeezing my eyes against the memories, I shake my head. “His father found out. I overheard them talking about me, snuck into the house and listened. Birchal said he’d force Liam to enter the military if he kept fucking the help. Said he could have fun with me, but make sure he didn’t knock me up. Told him not to be stupid, because he didn’t want to waste money paying that whore to go away.” I grind my teeth, huffing air out through my nose. “I thought Liam would tell him he loved me. I stood there, on the other side of the door, ear pressed against it, heart hammering so hard it hurt my ribs, waiting. Waiting to hear Liam say he was going to marry me. Waiting for him to tell his father not to call me a whore. Waiting for him to make good on all those promises he’d made when he took me to bed.”
Rhea glances at me. “He didn’t?”
A bitter laugh escapes my lips. I shake my head. “No. I guess he had no interest in the military, because he refused to speak to me from then on. Didn’t even look me in the eye. It was like I just…ceased to exist. But I clung on, because I was a teenager and my heart was broken. I begged him—begged, Rhea. It was pathetic. So he told everyone I was a whore, obsessed with him, and had tricked him into having sex with me. I had a part-time job in town at the time, at the grocery store. They fired me over some bullshit. No one would speak to me. No one would look me in the eye. I couldn’t go to the hairdresser without feeling the weight of everyone’s stares. It was…” I close my eyes, shaking my head. “For a seventeen-year-old, it was awful. I’d even go so far as to say traumatic.”
Rhea’s arm slides over my shoulders and she gives me a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, Jazzy.”
“Don’t be. At least I learned my lesson at seventeen, and not any later. The only thing that broke was my heart and my pride. I had time to pick up the pieces.” My eyes are hard as I stare out at the city, the castle. “Those people don’t care about people like us, Rhea. The royals, the nobles—they think we’re beneath them. Truly beneath them. They genuinely think our lives are worth less than theirs. Think they have a right to rule over us just because they were born into their families, and we were born into ours. It’s not right.”
“That’s why you started thinking Nord should be a republic,” Rhea says. “It didn’t start in college. It wasn’t a political science class. It was Liam Birchal.”
“I saw just how little I meant to him. How much power he had over my status, over other people’s opinion of me. How easy it was for him to lie, to use me.”
Never again. Never will I let myself be in that situation, where my class and title are thrown in my face. Where I’m rejected because of my parents’ names, and not because of who I am.
Never, ever, ever.
A breeze ruffles my hair, whispering through the trees around me. Leaves of red and gold flutter to the ground around Rhea and me, and I let out a sigh. I tear my eyes away from Stirling Castle, feeling just as foolish as I did when I was seventeen years old.
Last night, I let myself fall for a dashing aristocrat. I let him saunter over to me and give me a coy smile. I let my body fall prey to his charm, and I actually wanted more. Even over ten years on, I still let myself fall for those same tricks. The money, the charisma, the cocksure smile and easy flirting. I’m still a damn fool.
“You okay?” Rhea squeezes my shoulder.
Letting out a long sigh, I give my friend a smile. “Yeah. Last night… I don’t know. I guess I felt like I was making all those mistakes all over again.”
Rhea tucks a strand of chocolate-brown hair behind her ear and stays silent for a while. Then, she glances at me. “I think your dad would be proud of you, you know.”
I stare at the little bouquet of flowers we laid on the ground. “I’m not so sure. He’d probably hate all the articles I write about abolishing the monarchy. He’d think I was acting out of turn and tell me to be appropriate.”
“He’d tell you how brave you are, and he’d be proud that you’re not afraid to speak up. You’re going on the royal tour, Jazz. You get to be close to the monarchy and write exactly what you see. All the over-the-top spending, all the dodged questions, all the ways in which they don’t represent us, the Nordish people. He’d be proud of that for sure.”
I smile, but it feels cold. “If Prince Wolfe is half as charming as Silas was last night, I’m afraid I’ll lose my edge.”
Rhea snorts. “Please.”
