To Steal a Groom

by Cora Caraway

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Miss Bird,” Valda says. “I hear about everything that upsets my queen. She is a delicate soul. You work with me, and we can avoid unpleasantness.”

  I’m not sure if that’s a helpful offer, or a veiled threat. And I don’t know where Valda gets the idea that the queen is delicate. She’s torn me down before, and I have no doubt that she’d do it again without hesitation.

  Valda pulls a dusty cloth off a mannequin in the corner.

  “Oh!” I try not to recoil at the sight of the dress beneath. It looks like the mannequin is being choked by white lace.

  “You like it?” Valda asks.

  “It’s very … unique.”

  “It was the queen’s wedding dress.” The woman’s eyes well up. “She looked so magnificent. The picture of perfection.”

  I wonder how anyone could have seen her under all that lace.

  Grunting, Valda pulls the dress off the mannequin. “Are you ready to try it on?”

  So the lace can claim another victim? “I’m flattered, but I wouldn’t want to ruin Her Majesty’s dress.”

  Valda clucks. “I keep telling her that it needs to be in a museum.”

  Or in a fire.

  “But she gave me explicit orders that you were to try it on.”

  Maybe Sarina wasn’t being nice at all. Maybe she’s moved onto a new form of torture. “Her Majesty is very generous, but I’m not sure I understand. Why would she have me try on her dress?”

  Valda lays her fingers against her temples, as if she’s weary of dealing with imbeciles. “You require a wedding dress. The queen wants you to be fashionable, yet traditional. There’s no better template for what you need than the gown from the last royal wedding in Lions.”

  I’m sure every word I say will get back to the queen, so I have to choose them carefully. “The queen is very generous. But, and pardon my ignorance, wasn’t she married many years ago?”

  Valda’s nostrils flare. “The queen would not be offering her help—or mine—if you were not in her good graces. Do you wish to remain there, or would you rather dismiss me?”

  I don’t even want to contemplate the storm that would follow me spurning Sarina’s help. “Could I try on the dress, please?”

  “Very well. Disrobe.”

  It’s even worse than I thought it would be. The queen must have been in good shape on her wedding day, for the fabric digs into my hips. With each button that Valda fastens, I become more panicked that I’ll never be able to escape this lace nightmare. By the time she reaches the highest buttons on my neck, I feel like I’m being bitten by thousands of ants. I’ve never encountered a garment this intensely itchy.

  The collar is constricting me like a snake. I feel even sorrier for the mannequin, who’s had to endure this monstrosity for years. I try to loosen the lace around my neck, but I can’t even fit a finger between the dress and my skin.

  Valda slaps my hand away. “Don’t stretch the fabric. It’s very delicate.”

  So is my skin. Somehow, I resist the urge to claw the lace away. The tightness of the sleeves helps, since it makes it almost impossible to bend my arms in the first place.

  “And now for the finishing touch.”

  I cringe. There’s more? My flesh feels like it’s being devoured. How did the queen stand still through her vows?

  “Here we are.” Valda throws something heavy around my neck. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was trying to garrote me. I cough as she fastens it.

  “What is that?” I try to look at a mirror on the far wall, and find that I can no longer turn my head.

  “Would you like to see?” I have to lean on Valda’s arm as she guides me to the mirror. The dress is so tight through the knees that I can only take tiny steps. At last, she turns me so that I can see myself.

  Not only does lace cover every inch of skin besides my face, I have a ruff the size of a dinner plate around my neck. I look like a Shakespearean jester.

  I burst out laughing. I try to turn it into a cough, but I’m not sure how well I succeed.

  Valda’s imperious brows descend as she frowns.

  “I’m sorry.” I cough into my hand. “I think the ruff is a bit dusty. It may be setting off my allergies.”

  She snatches it away. “What do you think of the rest of the dress?”

  “It has a lot of character. I can see why the queen likes it so much.”

  “Spin, spin,” Valda urges. “You need to see the back as well.”

  I obey, only to find a large bow over my butt. I keep turning, trying to suppress a new wave of giggles.

  “Can you see the details on the hem?”

  As I bend down, something rips at my waist.

  “Stop!” Valda cries. “You need to stand up straight at all times!”

  Am I not supposed to sit on my wedding day? Is this a gown or a torture device?

  Valda’s already loosening the back. “Let’s get you out of this gown. I don’t want you to ruin it any more than you already have.”

  I can’t escape the dress fast enough. I slip my clothes on as Valda puts the dress back on the mannequin. I swear I can still feel ants on my skin, though nothing’s there when I check.

  “So,” Valda returns with a pad of paper, “we might have to make your dress looser to contend with your unladylike behavior.”

  I bite my tongue. I’m not well versed in the ways of royalty, but I believe that ladies are allowed to sit from time to time.

  The dressmaker takes a pencil from behind her ear. “Is there anything else I should know about your wishes?”

  I wish to be as far from here as possible, but I don’t want to upset the queen. I can’t tell Valda that I hate her dress, so I’ll only tell her the aspects I most despise.

  “I think I’ll make do without the ruff.”

  “Hmph.” Valda scribbles something.

  “And less lace is fine with me.”

  “Hmm.” Her pencil skates over the page, effortlessly forming clean, crisp lines. At least on paper, Valda is an impressive artist. If only her vision weren’t quite so stuffy.

  The sketch is no better than the dress, but I don’t want to say anything. This is the only time the queen has reached out to me, and I don’t want to let it go to waste. Looking like a fool for a day is a small price to pay if it makes Damon’s family happy.

  “What do you think of that?” Valda tilts the sketchpad for me. There’s an inch around the neck that’s free of lace.

  “It’s breathtaking,” I say. “Could I think it over before you begin making it? I’d like to show it to the prince.”

  “Fine,” Valda says, sighing as she tears the page from the pad. “Before you go, let me get your measurements.”

  “Oh, do you know Eris, the chambermaid? You can get my measurements from her.”

  Valda sniffs. “I wouldn’t trust that wench with something this important. Or with anything, for that matter.”

  I clench my fists, staring at my whitening knuckles. I’m doing this for Damon. I want his stepmother to like me. I won’t snap at this horrible woman.

  “Relax, Miss Bird. The dress won’t fit right if your shoulders are this tense.”

  I try not to fidget as she runs a tape measure around my bust, waist, and hips, tutting all the while.

  At last, she dismisses me, and I race down the hall. I want to find Damon, and get his opinion on this abomination of a sketch. Maybe he’ll have some ideas for how I can gracefully get out of this. I really should have let him take me to London today.

  One of the front doors opens as I reach the main hall. I quicken my stride. “Damon?” I call.

  It’s Nic. His face flushes, and he steps back outside so fast that he almost trips. The door clangs shut behind him.

  My stomach lurches. Why couldn’t that have been a horrible dream?

  “Grace!” Damon descends the spiral stairs, taking them two at a time. “Perfect timing. Brunch is ready.”

  “Oh.”
>
  He stops short, looking closely at me. “Are you all right?”

  I should tell him. I have to. Not now, though. I don’t want to ruin his meal. “I’m fine. I’m just feeling last night still. The party, I mean.”

  “Do you think you can eat something?”

  “I can try.”

  “Come on, then.” He holds out an arm. “What did Sarina want?”

  I fold the sketch, hardly caring if my sweaty hands ruin the lines. “I’ll show you while we eat.”

  We enter through the double doors. The king and queen are already at their places. Sarina nods to me, while the king steadfastly ignores me. At least one of them doesn’t hate me, though that might change if I don’t go with this horrible dress concept.

  I sink into my chair with a sigh. Getting engaged to Damon was like a fairytale come true. How did everything get so twisted so fast?

  Two chairs over, Marc is practically glowing. I guess it’s from the accolades he’s getting for pulling off the engagement party so well. I don’t begrudge him those, but I am envious that he’s escaped any effects of a night of heavy drinking. My head still throbs a little, and that’s when I can get my mind to stop hammering away at visions of what might have happened last night.

  “Why are you so cheerful?” Damon asks Marc.

  Marc looks around the room. “It looks like the family’s all present.”

  The prince frowns. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Marc looks at Natalia, who is seated next to him. I realize that they’re holding hands.

  “If I could have your attention, everyone,” Marc says as he rises. “I’d like to announce my engagement to Lady Natalia Fa of Andova.”

  Natalia waves prettily, as if none of us know who Marc is referring to.

  The queen puts her hands to her mouth, tears in her eyes. “Marc, I’m so happy for you! Natalia dear, come give me a hug.”

  Natalia rounds the table to accept the queen’s embrace. She looks over Sarina’s shoulder at me, a serene smile on her lips. My breath hitches. I have to remind myself that none of this is Natalia’s fault. There’s no way she knows how much this stings.

  Darius leans across the table to shake Marc’s hand. “A smart match, my son. I knew you had it in you.”

  “Thank you, Father. You taught me everything I know.”

  I feel like I’m reeling. How could this day get any worse?

  Marc holds an arm out to Natalia, who comes to stand beside him again. “If it’s all right with you, Father, we’d like to get married as soon as possible.”

  “How soon?”

  “In two weeks’ time.”

  The king strokes his beard. “I’m sure that can be arranged. Of course, you’re welcome to hold your celebration on the palace grounds.”

  What? He never made that offer to us! And they want to get married before us as well? Damon lays a hand on mine as I silently seethe.

  “That would be lovely, Your Majesty.” Natalia sinks into a low curtsy. “I’ll alert the Duke and Duchess of Andova as soon as possible.”

  “Do so with our blessing,” Darius says. “We understand if you need to forgo brunch to make arrangements.”

  Natalia gazes into Marc’s eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of missing brunch with my future family.”

  I can’t take this anymore. I push out my chair, not bothering to silence its squeals. Without a word, I stride for the exit. I know it’s horribly rude to leave without a formal farewell, but I’m afraid of what could come out of my mouth if I open it.

  “Grace!” Damon calls after me.

  “Oh dear. Is she unwell?” Natalia’s voice echoes after me.

  Through the fog in my head, I hear the double doors close far away. Are Marc and Natalia intentionally trying to steal our thunder? I’m surprised I care at all.

  “What are you doing?” Damon takes my arm, steering me somewhere. “You can’t just walk away from monarchs.”

  “Looks like I just did.”

  Damon pushes open a door, and I’m hit with a blast of fresh air. It burns my lungs as I breathe it in. It feels good.

  “Please, you can’t act like this anymore. Disrespect is one of the cardinal sins among royalty.” He guides me to a bench near his mother’s roses. “No matter how upset someone makes you, you can’t show it. Especially not in the palace. It just isn’t proper.”

  Furiously, I wipe my eyes. “I’m not a robot, Damon. I’m sorry I can’t hide how much this hurts me. And I didn’t think it would hurt this much, but it does. I want you more than anything, but it would be nice to have a family too.

  “For the longest time I’ve had no one, besides Gabe. As much as I want your parents to like me, it seems that’s not going to happen. I would be okay with that, except they scorn me one day and welcome Natalia the next. I’m just tired of feeling unwanted.”

  Damon kneels beside me. “I want you, Grace. In the end, isn’t that all that really matters?”

  “You’re getting your pants dirty.” I sniff, feeling ridiculous. My eyes must be red, my face puffy. Damon is sure to think twice about marrying me based on that alone.

  “Then I’ll clean them with your tears.” He lends me a handkerchief.

  I dab my eyes. “Sorry. My dad always told me I look ugly when I cry.”

  “Then I’ll have to have a few words with him.” Damon kisses my cheek. “You’re always beautiful.”

  Does he want me to ruin his handkerchief? I let everything out, though half my tears are happy now. Will I ever deserve him?

  I lean my head into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry. This hasn’t been the best day.”

  He folds his warm hands over mine. “What can I do to help?”

  “Could you try talking some sense into your brother?”

  “This is Marc, remember.” Damon sighs. “In fact, knowing him, I doubt this was his idea at all.”

  I sink to the ground next to him. “What do you mean?”

  “Rushed wedding, random royal groom. This has Natalia written all over it.”

  “You think so?”

  Damon studies my expression carefully. “I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”

  “No, this is great!” I rise to pace over the gravel path. “We sort of bonded at the party last night. I think I really misjudged her.”

  The prince raises an eyebrow.

  “What?”

  “Once a person tries to surprise you with a wedding when you had never spoken of marriage, you tend not to trust them again.”

  “Come on.” I cuff his shoulder lightly. “Did you see the way she was hanging on Marc? I think she’s over you.”

  “If you say so.”

  I try not to roll my eyes. Sure, Damon was one of the world’s most eligible bachelors; who wouldn’t want to marry a handsome prince? But that doesn’t mean that all of his past love interests will forever pine for him.

  I hold out a hand to pull him to his feet. “Let me talk to her.”

  “If you think that’s … wise, I won’t stop you.”

  “I’ll get everything sorted out. You’ll see.”

  Arm in arm, we head back toward the dining room. The doors stand open, and inside servants bustle to clear the tables.

  “There.” Damon points to the spiral stair. “Marc!”

  His brother turns. “What is it? Everything all right?”

  “Grace wondered if she could have a word with Natalia.”

  Marc looks toward the front doors. “She just left.”

  “For Andova?” My heart sinks. Once she gets her parents involved, it’ll be hard to convince her to alter her plans.

  “No. She’s renting a villa in the city. I can take you there if you’d like.”

  I study Damon’s half-brother for a long moment. For all his charm, I still don’t entirely trust him. “Just the address will be fine.”

  *

  It takes some convincing, but eventually Damon relents and lets me borrow a car. After even more
cajoling, he lets me go alone. I don’t think he trusts that I can be unfailingly polite unsupervised. Really, he has nothing to worry about. Natalia and I might not be best friends, but we certainly aren’t enemies anymore.

  Painstakingly, I crawl out of the garage. I don’t want to so much as scuff a Lion car after what I did to the last one. Damon waves me off as I drive through the front gate.

  It’s time to face Natalia.

  6

  The car purrs as I turn onto Fief Street. I peer out the window, hunting for Number 18. It doesn’t help that every villa on this street looks identical, right down to the high gates and the guardhouses. I drum my fingers against the wheel. There’s no need to be nervous. I just need to talk to Natalia, that’s all, and tell her it’s nothing personal, I’m simply impatient to be Damon’s wife. Surely she’ll understand.

  At last, I find the right villa. The golden 18 on the gate reflects the sun into my eyes, almost blinding me. As I pull up to the guardhouse, I notice that the man on duty holds the leash of a formidable dog. Its ears flatten as I approach. Even the Lions don’t have guard dogs, at least that I know of. Who is Natalia trying to keep out?

  The guard knocks on my window, and I roll it down halfway.

  “Please state your name and business.”

  I clear my throat. “Grace Sparrow. I’m here to speak with Natalia Fa.”

  He checks his clipboard. “Yes, she’s expecting you. Right this way.” The gate slides open, and he ushers me forward.

  Once I pull through, the gate shuts swiftly after me. I make my way down the long drive, noting the cameras that mark my progress. I’m not sure it would be possible to sneak into a place like this. I laugh, shaking my head. Even a month ago, such a thought never would have crossed my mind. The old me would already be plotting and planning multiple strategies, weighing the risks and rewards of each.

  I struggle to look at the grounds with a professional eye, map out a way to dodge the cameras. It’s exhausting, and I’m wasting my energy. I need to talk to Natalia, not rob her. I’m going to need to be diplomatic. Ruefully, I turn my thoughts from cameras and possible floor plans. My skills were hard-won and I don’t want them going rusty, but I have a new life now. From now on, I’ll need to solve my problems by talking with people in the light of day, not by stealing from them under the cover of night.