“But the prince is only ten years old!”
Daphene laughed, and it was all Selena could do to keep from tackling her.
“It is not as though you and the prince will be wed anytime soon. Honestly, Selena, for all the time you spend with your nose in a book, you know precious little about the ways of the world.”
Selena might have explained to her sister that courtly matters were only one small aspect of “the ways of the world,” but she was too flustered to engage dimwitted Daphene in a debate.
“Now I really do not want to do this,” Selena muttered.
“Oh, you will do it,” Daphene said, sounding almost exactly like their mother. “So little is asked of you. For fourteen years, Mother and Father have indulged your idiosyncrasies. You lock yourself up in your room, showing up for meals late or not at all. Well, tonight, for once in your life, you are going to behave like the lady you were born to be.”
But I am not a lady, Selena thought. I am fourteen!
“And do not be so selfish,” Daphene continued, hands on her hips. “You are a member of this family, and this is an important night for all of us. Even Vivian and I, who have married into other families, will benefit from a union between the Nelestis and the Borroms…or be disgraced by your unbecoming behavior.”
Daphene adjusted the neckline of her dress, which did nothing to decrease the amount of flesh exposed.
“You are one to lecture me on unbecoming behavior,” Selena said. “Your husband is many miles away. Who are you trying to impress, Big Sister?”
Daphne flashed a self-satisfied smile. “It is not polite to stare.”
“How can I not stare?” Selena snapped. “You are practically spilling out of your gown. I have seen prostitutes with more modesty!”
In truth, Selena had never seen a prostitute at all, but that seemed quite beside the point.
Daphene fixed her with a glare so ferocious Selena almost regretted the insult. The silence of the room screamed in Selena’s ears. For a moment, she feared her sister would strike her.
But Daphene did not move. Instead, she folded her hands in front of her and said, “Poor, naïve Selena. Naturally, you are jealous of my curves when you have not any of your own.”
“Indeed,” Selena retorted, “but why not share, sister? You have plenty of flesh to spare!”
Daphene’s smug smile lingered for a moment as she digested Selena’s words. Even at fourteen, Selena was taller than Daphene, who had inherited their mother’s meager height in addition to Charlotte Nelesti’s buxomness—an attribute Daphene seemed to pride herself on.
Yet ample also described a number of Daphene’s other features, which not even the most stalwart of corsets could conceal.
“That just shows what little you know, you little brat,” Daphene growled. “Men like women who have some meat on their bones. Who would want to embrace a stick-thin whelp like you?”
Daphene spun on her heels and made for the door. Before she turned down the hall, she called over her shoulder, “I pity the fool who falls for you, Selena, for there is no love in that cold heart of yours for anyone but yourself!”
Selena stared at the empty doorway for some time. Her thoughts quickly shifted from Daphene’s hurt feelings to the significance of Prince Eliot’s invitation to her birthday party.
She hated her mother for not telling her about the prince, though she understood perfectly why the Duchess had been secretive about it.
Thank you, Daphene, for spilling the beans, Selena thought. I still have a little time to formulate a plan.
* * *
Selena waited another hour—feeling only a little disheartened that none of her other siblings came to see her—before her father arrived to escort her to the great hall.
Seeing the wide smile on his face, Selena felt a pang of guilt for what she intended to do.
“I almost did not recognize you, Princess,” Godfrey Nelesti said. “You look stunning!”
Selena felt her cheeks burn, and another wave of shame swept over her for sins not yet committed. She knew her father had had the best of intentions when he agreed to host Selena’s coming-of-age ball so early. He might have even argued against it, but if fourteen years of life at Castle Nelesti had taught Selena anything, it was that her mother always got her way.
“It would appear as though I am losing my last little girl,” Godfrey said.
He remained smiling, but there was a sad quality to his rich brown eyes—the only trait Selena had inherited from the man, much to her chagrin.
Everyone said Selena looked more like her mother, but that was simply because Selena was the only Nelesti child with their mother’s red hair. That might have been a sore spot with Selena, who had always felt a greater bond with her father, except her father made no secret of how pleased he was that his youngest daughter had received that beautiful trait from his wife.
For as long as she could remember, Selena had fancied herself her father’s favorite. With the exception of Graeme, whose daily mission was to prove himself every bit as capable and smart as the Duke, the rest of Selena’s siblings took very much after their mother.
“You are not losing me, Father,” Selena replied. “It is not as though I am getting married.”
Selena instantly regretted her sarcasm, but her father had not noticed. He continued to look at her as though she were a stranger. Glancing askance at the mirror, Selena could not argue that she looked very different from her usual self. So far, however, she was the only one who preferred the everyday version.
“Well,” Godfrey said. “I suppose we ought to proceed to the party. The guests grow restless.”
Selena might have pointed out that they were not waiting so much for her arrival as they were for the festivities to begin in earnest. None of them really cared about her.
Of all the young aristocrats she had had the displeasure of meeting, Selena had gotten along with only two of them. Alas, judging by the unfriendly tone her mother took when talking about the Zephyr family these days, Selena doubted Lilac and Gabriel had been invited to the gala.
Resisting a sigh, Selena took her father’s proffered arm and said, “Please walk slowly. I am unaccustomed to walking in heels.”
Even at a cautious pace, she tripped right after they had left her room. The high-heeled shoes were needless torture in Selena’s opinion. She was already as tall as her father and veritably towered over her mother and sisters, especially short, stubby Daphene. Not wanting to lose her composure—not yet—Selena banished all thoughts of Daphene and turned to her father.
“You look very nice tonight too.”
It was the truth. Her father wore his forty-seven years well. His thick, somewhat wavy hair betrayed but a hint of gray near his temples, and the only lines on his face were those that came from smiling too often.
If Duke Godfrey Nelesti had developed a slight paunch over the years, it was a negligible thing, particularly when compared to the girth of so many of the lesser lords who, unlike her father, ate and drank in excess as if for sport.
“Is that a new dress coat?” she asked. “You may wish to reprimand the tailor. The fit seems a tad tight.”
“What, this old thing?” When Godfrey met Selena’s gaze, his grin folded into an affected frown. “Are you mocking me, Princess?”
“Of course not, Father,” Selena answered, her voice the epitome of innocence.
“Be nice,” Godfrey said, his smile returning, “or I might make you run the rest of the way to the great hall.”
They walked for a time in silence. Occasionally, a servant crossed their path, performing the curtest of bows before hurrying back to whatever task demanded their attention. Idly, Selena wondered if the men and women who worked at the castle hated her for increasing their night’s work tenfold, but it was not long before her thoughts turned back to her own troubles.
Perhaps noticing the distracted expression on her face, Godfrey revisited their earlier conversation.
“I had hoped to be fitted for a new coat at the capital,” he said, “but there simply was not time for it. The King has kept me, along with some of his greatest supporters, very busy these past few months.”
Selena nodded. She knew her father was doing important work at Castle Borrom, even if he could not tell her much about it. At the moment, she was more interested in what her father knew about the King himself.
Selena hoped fervently that King Edward Borrom III was too busy to escort his wife and son to her birthday party, but she could not bring herself to ask. If anyone was going to destroy her hope that Prince Eliot was far away, she did not want it to be her father.
No matter how much she wanted revenge for her mother’s machinations, she would not do so at the expense of her father’s standing. If the royal family had made the trip to Castle Nelesti, all bets were off.
But if the Borroms were absent, she would send the message all throughout Superius that Selena Nelesti would not be engaged anytime soon.