Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 51855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“Are you listening to me?” Mother hisses, pinching me on the arm. My eyes water, but I keep the smile plastered on my face.
“Yes, Mama,” I whisper. I smooth my hands down the simple satin dress, aware that it’s one of the plainest in the room. Still, it’s the finest thing I’ve ever owned. My hair is curled and arranged on top of my head. I’m wearing real silk stockings and white satin gloves, up past my elbows. There’s a brush of mascara on my lashes and a hint of lipstick on my lips. For a slum girl, I don’t think I scrub up too badly.
Here and there, around the room, are men in regal scarlet uniforms. I nod to one and whisper to Mama, “Who are they?”
“The King’s Guard,” she replies under her breath. “They protect the King and run the Court. In the old days, they’d be standing behind the throne. I suppose King Anson didn’t want that.” She wrinkles her nose, as if she doesn’t approve of this change.
Finally, the debutantes are called forward, and we line up nervously. Our names are called by a herald, and Mama and I walk slowly up the room and curtsy to King Anson. He’s splendid in a blue uniform with silver braid and sash, and a large silver medallion on his broad chest. As I glance up at him, I see that his face is stiff and bored.
We lift ourselves out of our curtsies, step aside, and make our way back around the edge of the room.
Mama breathes a sigh of relief as we arrive back at our places. I wonder if she imagined someone was going to shout that we shouldn’t be there, that we’re dirty imposters, and throw us out.
Violin music swells, and it’s the signal that the presentations are over and the dancing is to begin. On the far side of the room, I see a debutante in a pink and white gown, dancing in the arms of a robust young man.
“Heaven preserve us,” Mama breathes, clutching my arm suddenly. “I’d forgotten how frightening he is. Curtsy, Wraye, quickly.”
A tall, imposing man, with thick, steel-gray hair, is coming our way. His hazel eyes are heavy-lidded and cold as he gazes around the ballroom, and his formal scarlet uniform buttoned up tightly at his throat. Medals gleam upon his chest and gold braid decorates his broad shoulders. He pauses for a moment, a few feet away, and all conversation around us dries up, as if he’s sucked the enjoyment from the air.
Then he strides on, and everyone drops into bows or curtsies in his wake.
“Who was that?” I whisper to Mama, as we rise.
“Archduke Devrim Levanter, the Captain of the King’s Guard and the most powerful man in the Court of Paravel. After the King himself, of course. If he doesn’t like you, he’ll block your marriage, deny you audience with the King and make your life miserable. King Gregor and Queen Penelope relied on him completely.”
I read about the Archduke in the papers. He’s a widower and was released from prison the day King Anson was restored to the throne. I wonder if he’s looking for a wife. He looks like he’s in his early fifties, just a few years older than Mama.
If she married him then I wouldn’t have all this pressure on my shoulders to restore the family fortunes. I turn excitedly to her. “What if you married him?”
Mama makes a choking noise. “A Rugova marry a Levanter? Darling, we’re a First Family, but we’re a very lowly one. No, the only way to deal with a Levanter is to keep out of their way.” She peers over the heads of the crowd. “I think I see an old friend of your father’s. Stay here and try to look as if you would like to be danced with. Failing that, talk to anyone you can, and be sure to remember all the details to tell me later.”
She hurries off and leaves me standing against the wall on my own. I glance again at the Archduke, who’s repelling people around him as he strolls around the room. It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t become my stepfather. He doesn’t seem like much fun.
No one wants to dance with me, and I’m tired of standing around, so I go and get some punch.
As I pour myself a glass, a group of seventeen-year-old girls flutter around me like maddened butterflies, all having the time of their lives.
I want to get to the sandwiches at the other end of the table, but I’m not able to reach past all the giggling girls. I sigh in frustration and mutter, “This is pointless.”
A listless voice says behind me. “I couldn’t agree more.”
I turn around in surprise. The speaker is the young woman in the pink and white gown. She’s extraordinarily beautiful, with hazel eyes, an elegant, oval-shaped face and sleek dark hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” she says, with an apologetic smile. “I don’t know anyone here. I’m foreign.”