Twice Upon A Time (Unfinished Fairy Tales Book 2)

by Aya Ling

  My jaw drops at sight of the bedroom. The ceiling is so high that I feel like a dwarf. The bed is so much grander than the one in Enrilth, with its ivy green headboard, embroidered gold heraldry, and a violet satin canopy complete with golden tassels. Heat engulfs my mind when I imagine the possibility of Edward getting into that bed with me and letting down the canopy and . . .

  “We have separate bedrooms,” Edward says, as though sensing my concern. “Previously, I thought I would end up with Katriona Bradshaw, and I was glad that we need not share a bed. But now . . .” He stares at me as though I am on the dinner menu. “I wish I had not agreed to this traditional layout.”

  I flush at the implication of his words. Geez, Kat, you’re past twenty. You’re not an inexperienced school girl. It’s ridiculous to be so easily affected by his words, which aren’t even explicit.

  “This place is beautiful,” I say, glad that my voice is steady, normal. “But it’s too grand. I don’t think I can be comfortable here. I’m too awed at so much splendor.”

  “Perhaps this will make you feel more at home.”

  He leads me to an adjoining room. It’s furnished like an office, with a cherrywood desk and bookshelves that cover an entire wall. To my delight, there’s a comfy-looking padded seat installed under the windows. Outside is a magnificent view of the palace gardens. Sunlight streams into the room, illuminating the silken cushions on the window seat and the rosewood floor. I could imagine myself sitting on that seat, knees drawn up, a book propped up in front of me.

  “Oh . . .” I breathe, feeling seriously overwhelmed. “Look at that window, and the view down there—it’s too freaking awesome. I could stay here all day long.”

  “You could stay here forever.”

  Oh, how I wish he wouldn’t say those heart-melting things. It makes me feel horribly heartless. Every time he flirts, every time I look up and catch him staring at me with desire in his eyes, it feels like I have to love him or the world would come to an end.

  I turn away from the window. No matter how breathtaking the view is, it belongs to a royal family, a family that I am still reluctant to associate with.

  “Your Highness.” Amelie’s crisp voice floats into the room. “Pardon me, but it’s time to get dressed for dinner.”

  I glance at my attire. I’m wearing a lovely apple green gown embroidered with white roses, and I have a string of pearls around my neck. My hair isn’t as tidy as when Amelie arranged it in the morning, but it’s hardly inadequate for a meal.

  “We’re dining with my parents,” Edward says, as though guessing what I’m thinking.

  “The Duke of Somerset will be attending as well,” Amelie adds. “It’s best that you wear something more formal.”

  In Enrilth, I ate with Edward most of the time, whether it may be breakfast served in the bedroom, dinner in the dining room, or a picnic in daisy-dotted fields. The thought of dining with his parents and other nobles, when my memories of them are non-existent, makes me anxious and nervous.

  Edward looks at me with a concerned expression. “Are you feeling all right, Kat?”

  I have a sudden urge to plead absence on an upset stomach or a splitting headache. His eyes seem to indicate that if I were less inclined to attend dinner, he’ll think up some excuse for me.

  No. On the train, Edward had told me we usually have breakfast with his parents in the morning, and occasionally, we must receive foreign guests or high-level dignitaries. Even if I can get out of this dinner, there will be countless other non-private meals. I might as well deal with this sooner than later.

  “Perfectly fine.” I attempt to appear confident by smiling at him. “I’ll see you in a moment. It won’t do to keep the king—our parents—waiting.”

  Edward looks both pleased and relieved, especially when I say ‘our parents.’

  Amelie leads me to my bedroom and into the changing room, which looks like a salon for trying on wedding apparel. Dozens—no, hundreds—of gowns hang from racks on three sides of the room. Gowns of every color on a palette. Gowns with lace, ribbons, frills, and even puffed sleeves that look as big as balloons. Gowns that range from simple to sophisticated, for every purpose imaginable.

  Wow. I could hold my own fashion show, Victorian style.

  With her typical efficiency and competence, Amelie dresses me in a gorgeous lavender bodice with a row of diamond buttons running down the front and layered skirts trimmed with exquisite laces and ribbons. My hair is twisted into an elegant chignon, held together by numerous pearl-tipped pins. My collarbone and arms are powdered, and a glittering diamond pendant that matches my buttons is fastened around my neck. It feels like I’m going to attend some old-fashioned beauty pageant. I might even be crowned princess of the—hang on, I’m already a princess.

  When I join Edward later, the air seems to be sucked out of my lungs. He’s dressed in a black silk suit and white shirt, a pristine white cravat around his neck, and a single red rose peeking from his coat pocket. Basically, everything about him is immaculately done. It’s like he’s taking me to the prom.

  “Um.” For a moment, I’m unsure what to say.

  He smiles, seemingly amused at my cluelessness, and holds out his arm. “May I have the honor of escorting you to dinner, my lady?”

  I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. “The pleasure is all mine, my lord.” I try to sound as snobbish as possible, but I have trouble trying not to contain my laughter.

  He leans toward me, but not before glancing at Amelie, who promptly leaves the room. Was that a cue to give us some privacy?

  I withdraw my hand, but he slips a folded paper between my fingers.

  “It’s a reminder,” he whispers. “Try to memorize as much as you can.”

  * * *

  When we arrive at the dining room, my nervousness threatens to overwhelm me again. The table only seats about ten, but still, it’s the fanciest place I’ve ever been to. White tablecloths are covered by an extra layer of crimson velvet, candlesticks burn in silver holders, crystal vases overflow with roses and ferns, tableware is polished and glistening, and of course, an entourage of servants stand ready in royal crimson-and-gold uniforms and the most banal expressions I’ve ever seen, like they’re part of the furniture.

  Okay, Kat. You can do this. Edward had covered royal protocol on the train.

  Who am I kidding? I’ve already forgotten half of what he said. And given the situation, it’s going to be even harder to remember.

  Trying hard not to act like a country bumpkin, I move toward the dinner table with the grace of a robot. A servant pulls out my chair, and I sit down gingerly. I shake the napkin—a bit more vigorously than necessary—and spread it across my lap. Using the napkin as a cover, I glance at the cheat sheet that Edward created for me.

  The king and queen. I’ve seen them at the wedding, so even though they’ve shed the crowns, I can still recognize them. Plus, Edward told me they always occupy the head of the table. The king is well past middle-age, with graying hair and evident crows-feet, but his features are still handsome enough to star in a Bond film. It’s obvious where Edward got his looks. The queen, on the other hand, isn’t dazzlingly beautiful, but she has a pleasant face that makes her seem likable and approachable. I feel slightly more at ease. My in-laws seem nice enough.

  I also have no problem recognizing Henry right away. Even without Edward’s note, I know from the book that his cousin has doe-like eyes and curly hair. Henry smiles at me, a sweet, affectionate smile that immediately makes me warm up toward him.

  Next to Henry sits a woman with dangling earrings and peacock feathers in her hair. From the bossy way she interacts with Henry, she must be the duchess, also known as Lady Petunia. She’s the one who is greatly opposed to Elle’s relationship with Henry in The Ugly Stepsister. Our gaze meets briefly, and she deals me a stiff nod.

  I consult my note again and locate Duke Philip (Edward’s oldest cousin) and Constance (Philip’s wife), along with a few other dukes
and duchesses.

  “Welcome home,” the king says in an affable tone.

  I bite my lip hard, as though gnawing on my lip will calm my nerves. Edward grasps my right hand under the table. He looks at me, his gaze steadfast and calm. “Relax,” he mouths.

  It’s easy for you to say that, I want to retort. The fanciest dinner I’ve ever been to is this French restaurant that Ryan treated us to in Chicago. Paige and I were a bit overwhelmed, but we eventually loved it and even made fun of the numerous forks and spoons. This meal I’m sitting down to now—let’s just say a dinner with the president seems more palatable.

  It’s hard enough getting through dinner with all those royals sitting around you, trying to fake it like you’re one of them. Even harder is that the tableware is mostly made of china and crystal—why can't they use good ol’ plastic or stainless steel or wood? Wait, they probably haven’t even invented plastic or stainless steel.

  I manage to get through the appetizer and soup without any mishap. I copy what everyone does—breaking off bread instead of biting into it, and using the pieces to wipe off soup remains. Since I’m afraid that something stupid will come out of my mouth, I chew my food and pretend that I’m just choosing not to speak, but if I did, I’d say something brilliant.

  “Kat,” the queen says with a twinkle in her eyes. “How did you find Enrilth?”

  I have no choice but to answer. Luckily, this is an easy one. “I loved it. It’s such a pretty village, and the house is so cozy, it reminds me of a bed-and-breakfast place we stayed in at Itha . . .” Edward nudges my elbow. Dang, I’ve been babbling about my own world.

  “Bed-and-breakfast place?” The king furrows his brow. “Is that some new-fangled term that you young people have coined? What does it signify?”

  “Just . . . er . . . just a nice place to stay at, Your Majesty . . . I mean, Father,” I stammer, wishing that I could dive under the table.

  “I’m glad you found Enrilth House to your liking, Katriona. I hope that it allowed you to rest fully,” the queen says. “We were so worried when you fainted away at the wedding.”

  “She needs to strengthen her constitution,” the duchess remarks. “After all, it is her duty to bear the future heir to the throne. I suggest that Katriona halts pursuing her interests in trivial matters . . . such as running that school for girls.”

  What school? I thought it was Elle who opened a school.

  “It is my duty as well,” Edward says calmly. His hand moves subtly, re-arranging my salad fork in the correct position. “Besides, if bearing an heir is the only requirement for my wife, then I needn’t have held the ball. Any girl would do.”

  Despite my reluctance to marry a stranger when I already have a boyfriend, my heart thaws upon hearing him say those words. I’ve only been here for a short time, but from what I remember of The Ugly Stepsister and from what I’ve learned of Athelian culture so far, it takes guts to defy tradition.

  The duchess, however, doesn’t look impressed. “Naturally, as a member of the royal family, one must be selective when choosing a bride.” She glances in the direction of Henry, who colors and focuses on his plate of roast beef and garlic potatoes. In the book, Henry was attracted to Elle. She isn’t invited, so they aren't married yet. I wonder if they are still together.

  I cannot help but breathe a sigh of relief when dinner is finished. Despite the fact that no one suspected me (I hope so. It’s not easy deciphering their well-mannered, etiquette-trained expressions), I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending I am Katriona.

  11

  Back in our bedroom, after Amelie stripped me of the fancy clothes (whoever invented that bustle thing and the S-shaped corset is sadistic) and I’ve taken a hot bath, thanking God there’s modern plumbing here, I dart a quick glance at the door. After dinner, Edward had told me to go ahead and return to our suite, as he had some business to take care of. I wonder when he’s coming back. While I still don’t want to go to bed with him (I’m honest. I swear), I don’t like the idea of him sneaking around the palace at night. After all, we are newlyweds.

  Pulling a shawl over my white silk nightie, I tiptoe into the sitting room. There is a cuckoo clock hanging on the polished oak wall, showing that it’s a quarter to ten. A few minutes later, there is the sound of a key turning in the lock, and the main door to our suite swings open.

  Edward comes in, his tread firm and assured. An aura of satisfaction seems to surround him. My speculation about him going off to some other place is instantly shot down.

  “Kat.” The corners of his mouth curve when he sees me pacing on the carpet. “Have you been waiting for me?”

  “I . . .” To tell the truth, I have wondered where he went instead of coming back to the suite with me. But why should I care? I’ve been trying to keep him at arm’s length, and if he chooses to seek solace with someone more receptive to his attentions, that will certainly make it easier for me to leave Athelia.

  Edward steps closer to me, his eyes glowing with a combination of amusement and tenderness. There’s a faint smell of alcohol emanating from him. I wonder how much he drank during dinner.

  My heart beats faster. There’s no mistaking the desire in his eyes. To be honest, my body definitely finds him attractive, though my mind still protests against sleeping with a guy I’ve only known for a week. Even if he is lawfully my husband in this world.

  I retreat a step. The backs of my knees collide with a sofa, and I land on the velvet cushions with a thump. Edward settles next to me, close enough that my nightie rustles against his black trousers.

  “Kat, sit still.”

  “Wha . . . what?”

  “I need you to hold out your hand.”

  I blink at him. Taking advantage of my surprise, he simply draws my arm toward him, and before I can ask him what he’s up to, I find myself staring at a glittering ring on my fourth finger.

  That’s why he disappeared. Before we boarded the train to Enrilth, Edward told Amelie to order a wedding ring for me. He went to see if it arrived—and here it is.

  The ring is easily the most dazzling piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen. It’s a rose-gold band, encrusted with three rows of sparkling diamonds of various sizes. My first instinct is that such a magnificent ring doesn’t suit me, but before I can take it off, Edward places his hand on top of mine. His ring forms a perfect pair with the one he gave me.

  “On no occasion should it leave your finger.” He moves closer, and this time, I can no longer ignore the solid warmth of his body. His breath tickles my face, and I can smell the intoxicating scent of the amber-colored wine served at dinner. “That ring is worth a fortune.”

  “I’ll take extra care with it.”

  “Worry not, love. If you ever lose it again, I shall have you working in the palace. I guarantee that it will take you an entire lifetime.” His tone indicates that he very much looks forward to my working off the debt.

  “Right. As if your country would allow a princess to—”

  He places a hand on my cheek, attempting to turn my face to his. I could bet my newly acquired wedding ring that he wants to kiss me.

  Panic races through me—what should I do? He is the most attractive man I’ve ever met. Everything about him, from his perfectly chiseled features to his immaculate apparel, places him in People’s Sexiest Man Alive list, if such a thing exists in Athelia. Not to mention he is one of the richest men in the country, judging from the magnificence of the palace. He’s the kind of guy who only exists in romance novels.

  Come on, Kat. Technically, he is your husband in this world. What’s the harm in one kiss?

  But we’re alone at night. The bedrooms are a few steps away. The prince is half-drunk and infatuated with me. Isn’t it likely that one kiss will lead to another, and eventually, it’ll end up with the two of us in bed?

  Jason. My boyfriend’s face appears in my mind—incredulous, disbelieving, outraged. What’ll Jason say if he sees me now? Only one week, and I’m hav
ing thoughts about doing it with another guy? When I think of our conversation about Outlander, and him asking if I could prefer an anachronistic man over him . . . it’s so ridiculously close to what’s happening now that I could have laughed if the situation wasn’t serious.

  I push Edward away and try to stand up, but he captures my wrist. The alcohol must have weakened his self-control, and it’s so hard not to feel bad when he’s looking at me with raw desire, his fingers hot against my skin.

  “Don’t go.”

  I swallow hard. I already have a boyfriend. I should pretend I didn’t hear him and lock myself in the bedroom. It’s too risky staying here with the prince. But when I meet his eyes, filled with love and longing, I can’t make myself walk away.

  Try to steer him away from his object.

  “I just want to get you a glass of water,” I lie. “You look like you could use it.”

  And I rush to the side table before he can drag me back to the sofa. Thank God the maids left a pitcher. I pour him the water and come up with another idea. “I have a question about Henry.”

  That does the trick. Edward blinks, apparently confused to hear another man’s name.

  “And Elle. Does the duchess still disapprove of their marriage?”

  Much to my relief, he gets up and takes the glass. When he drains it, his eyes seem more focused. Inwardly, I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “What do you remember of them now?”

  I scan my mind and try to recall the last few chapters of the book. “They’re together? No, wait, it’s an open ending. Elle isn’t sure she wants to marry Henry yet, because she still needs time to think it over.”

  “You certainly have read the book many times.”

  I blush. “I told you it’s one of my favorite stories. Anyway, you haven’t answered my question.”

  “I am not fully certain about the reasons, but it might boil down to this—Elle is unable, and unwilling, to adapt to the lifestyle of a duchess, and Lady Petunia cannot tolerate it.”