A Royal Ruse

Chapter 16

The Parade

Ceremonial drums quaked the streets.

Colorful floats, skilled acrobats, and musicians weaved in mesmerizing choreography through the cobbled streets of Haddon's town square. 

Parents hugged the edge of the roads with excited toddlers hoisted onto their shoulders, all hungry for a better view of the spectacle. Hunks of meat and corn sizzled on open fires to absorb the alcohol fizzling through the collective bloodstream of the masses.

The Royal Parade had commenced.

Zita, still nursing her injuries, sat in a gazebo perched atop an elevated platform for prime viewing of the Parade and impending Royal Procession.

The queen organized for the gazebo to be filled with pillowy sofas, bountiful sweet treats, and sparkling cider for Zita and her friends to enjoy. There, they all soaked in the day's festivities while still being cocooned away from the mess of crowds beneath them.

"I never liked horses all that much anyway," Joia said, her mouth filled with date cake. "Something about their eyes..."

"That's funny." Curo stopped examining her nails to turn a skeptical glance at Joia. "Because just the other day I could have sworn you declare your love for all animals. When did you decide to change your tune?"

"When a horse nearly trampled my friend to death." Joia jutted her chin out defiantly.

"I appreciate the solidarity, Joia, but it wasn't the horse's fault."

"Whose fault was it then?" Jules glared at Zita over the rim of her third glass of cider that morning.

"Mine really," Zita said, "I became too confident too quickly and behaved recklessly."

Zita decided this retelling was close enough to the truth. She didn't know which version of events Adair told his parents. Nobody bothered asking exactly what had sent her dashing into the wooded glen behind the palace. But judging from the gazebo, and the treatment she received from the royal family following her accident, the prince probably shouldered most of the blame.

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is," Harita declared with a dismissive wave of her hand. "We are here to celebrate. Let's raise our glasses."

All the girls instantly obeyed.

"May our beloved princess recover speedily. May our fortunes be as sweet as these cakes. May our spirits be as bubbly as this cider. And may Haddon's banner fly."

"May Haddon's banner fly!" The girls all chanted before taking huge gulps of their drinks. Chaos filled the gazebo as the girls immediately sprang up and organised themselves into pairs. Zita watched them all link arms. 

Their voices formed a tipsy choir as they sang a call and response rhyme and performed the accompanying actions. Just by watching them, Zita knew this ritual had been learnt in childhood. It carried the signature blend of eerie innocence only found in nursery rhymes.

Although feeling foreign, Zita didn't feel excluded. Despite not knowing the words and being too injured to dance, she was happy enough witnessing their nostalgic ritual from a distance. Their joy left the door cracked open. She knew, in a matter of time, she could join in. As soon as they were done they flopped down onto the nearest chair they could find.

"We wish you could dance with us." Mehitabel frowned at the sling cradling Zita's arm.

"Please. You're the last person the princess wants to be dancing with."Jules' small eyes sparkled."You weren't kidding when you said you weren't looking for a prince. Gadrian Winnox... interesting choice."

The princess immediately perked up.
"Oh, do you know him?" Even though Zita could sense a trap from the dark grin lurking on Jules' face, she still hungered for any crumb of information about Gadrian.

Jules shrugged. "Let's just say... I know about him. He sure does manage to keep the rumor mill churning. He's been a busy busy boy..."

"Ugh, is there really a need to sensationalize everything?" Harita glossed over something unspoken in the air with a laugh. "Nobility. We love to talk, talk, talk."

"Oh, I see. We're just going to pretend that he didn't just break off a years-long engagement a few weeks ago?"

An edgy silence filled the gazebo. Zita, convinced Jules' drinking made her an unreliable narrator, looked to her companions to contradict her accusation. All the girls had suddenly taken an unnatural amount of interest in the carpet.

"He was betrothed?" Zita asked, her voice sounding small under the weight of her shock.

"To his childhood sweetheart." Mehitabel nodded regretfully. "It was quite the scandal.

"He didn't even give a reason why," Curo added, stroking the pillow on her lap like a cat. "He just..." Her hand hacked the pillow like a blade, executing the unseen pet. "And it was over."

Zita gasped.

"She still hasn't recovered," Joia said, "from the heartbreak and the shame he brought to her and her family."

Zita sat fish-mouthed at the news. This information clashed with everything she knew about Gadrian. He had been nothing but gallant, charming, and respectful from the moment they had collided in the palace hallway. These accusations had to be bad seeds planted by a bored aristocracy.

"You see." Jules tutted disapprovingly at Gadrian's alleged behavior. "I don't know him all that well but I don't need to. From his actions, I can judge exactly what kind of man he is: engaged one day, escorting princesses the next...I'd be careful if I were you, Your Highness." Her delight peeked through a frightfully thin veil of concern.

"We don't know the full story." Harita reached her out hand to touch the princess' shoulder. "We can certainly understand what you see in him. Any one of us would have fallen for his charms if..."

Harita halted mid-sentence but Zita could fill in the blanks. None of the girls would have fallen for him because no self-respecting noblewoman would entertain the advances of a man so slippery with his promises. And no well-born family would ever want his tarnished reputation slithering near their respectable name.

Devastated, the princess realized she had been taken for a fool. Now it made sense to Zita why he insisted on spending time with her. Befriending a princess and a royal guest would no doubt elevate his station and redeem him in the eyes of Haddon's elite.

All at once, Zita's golden Gadrian rusted into something sickly. She had spent the last few days cooped up in her room, dreaming about a lie. 

The memory of his voice, his words, his smile, corrupted. Every pause, inflection, curve of his face, and curl of his hair gnarled itself into a claw. He had fed her nothing but regurgitated affections. And she had swallowed it like a hairless bird.

The celebration of the procession seemed like such an ill-fitting backdrop to such a crushing personal defeat. Her once high spirits wilted like a light-starved flower.

"I see." Zita took a casual sip of her drink. Her throat knotted with tears.

Trumpets sounded, announcing the arrival of the Royal Family. The crowds turned into a rippling sea of purple and gold as they waved Haddon's flag.

The day she spent with Gadrian meant more to her than she cared to share with the women around her. So, like with most of the heartaches she had endured, she let the pain crush her quietly.

The Royal Procession began...