The Summer Palace [Fantasy romance/enemies to lovers/new adult]

Chapter One

Ten hours ago

I look awful.

People are prone to concealing the truth my mother told me once, words that had clawed their way into my mind and have never since released their grip. Though a mirror never lies. The words play over in my head, a phantom voice plucked directly from memory, the shrill timbre in which they were originally delivered only a little distorted from the years.

I stare at myself, sulking. Mother's wisdom aside, I gravely fear this mirror is making a mockery of my reflection. Or perhaps I'm the one doing the mocking, by drudging up the audacity to look into it when I look so horrendous. Like everything else in the suite, the mirror practically drips with the gold spent on it; framed with an arch of aquamarine marble, crowned with leaves of carved giltwood. Truly its only flaw is the slovenly form reflected in its glass, giving it the distinct air of a tattered piece of art which has somehow found itself in a prestigious gallery, mislaid in an elegant frame. All it's missing is a plaque; A girl dishevelled, oil on canvas.

We'd set off for the palace early this morning, and Emmeline had spent painstaking hours making sure that I looked perfect for our arrival, not a single curl un-coiffed nor lash out of place. My other reflection - the one that had been presented to me back in the inn, before we began the final leg of our journey to Evallen - was much more pleasing. This reflection - which I am still struggling to process - stares back at me with a pained wince.

Evidently, the arduous carriage journey here has done no wonders for my appearance. The pothole we'd struck while meandering the rolling countryside beyond the city has unravelled my hair into something resembling a hay bale. The sticky heat of summer has caused my make-up to slip from my face and sweat to bead on my skin.

I gawk at myself, incredulous, and gather together two thoughts.

The first, that it's a blessing from above I came across no other members of the nobility on the walk from our carriage to my prepared rooms. This palace is quickly filling with courtiers desperate for any scrap of slander they can send echoing around its walls - with it being a year since the last season, they're starved of any gossip, no matter how trivial. Any whispers of my unkempt appearance could stain me like a spill of red wine until the end of summer. The Novelon Court is, truly, as fickle as it is barbed.

My second thought, entirely irrational and born of dire desperation, is that if I stare into the mirror long enough it might give in and present me with an entirely more palatable reflection.

Unsurprisingly, after wasting a handful of moments locking eyes with the lamentable girl staring back at me, I still look too bedraggled to have been allowed in the palace in the first place.

The lengthy process of readying myself for the day will, pitifully, have to start anew.

I begin to unearth pins from my hair in frustration. Heavy, dark waves unspool from the tangle to fall down my back, their knots crying out for a hairbrush. I rub at my face heavy-handedly, letting the makeup smear across it.

I would call for our chambermaid Emmeline but I know that she's already otherwise occupied. My mother had claimed her before she'd even stepped two feet onto palace grounds, demanding a bath to be drawn before the poor girl had emerged from the carriage.

I'll have to draw a bath myself, though with the heat of the day I can't help but think that I'd poach in one, like an egg.

After forcefully and almost tearfully shoving a brush through my hair I weave past the stacked trunks and boxes - filled with my finery and ballgowns, waiting patiently to be unpacked - and find the bathroom.