Betrothed to Trouble

Chapter 3 - A Long First Night

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I stared at my plate detachedly. I’m not hungry. I don’t even feel anything. Numb. Even my all-time favorite dish could not save me from wallowing in misery.

            “Giselle? You look pale,” Father noted from his seat at the head of the table.

            “No, I’m fine,” I smiled at him to stop him from worrying.

            “Then why aren’t you eating?” he asked wryly.

            Busted. I smiled sheepishly at him before immediately cutting off a piece of the chicken and placing it in my It tastes like sand in my mouth but I swallowed it to keep up appearances. The last thing I want is for Father to notice something is up.

            He nodded in approval before resuming his conversation with the Minister of Agriculture. Phew… The royal banquet celebrating my return from France dragged on through the night. All the ministers and their proud, graceful wives came and expressed their well-wishes, along with meaningless exchanges like “Your Highness, you look lovely tonight!” or “You’ve grown up beautifully!” and even “How was your stay in Versailles?” These pointless, social trivia are something I’ll never get used to, but over the years I have perfected my ‘mask’. A radiant, effortless smile and a couple of humble “Thank you!”s and “You too!”s solves everything.

The barons and dukes came and kissed my hand. I swear the skin on the back of my hand was chafing by the time I went through all of them; all the while being jealously eyed by the duchesses and Ladies.  A gaggle of court ladies in their best finery and exotic perfumes from the Middle East cooed and fussed over how beautiful I looked, how I looked so much like my mother and so on. I bit my tongue in silent fury as I smiled through it all. These ladies were the very same ones who had testified against me two and a half years ago. Boot-licking bunch of hags. I excused myself from their calculating eyes and escaped into the empty hallway.

It was dimly lit by the chandeliers hung on the walls, giving it a soft, spooky charm. The sound of polite laughter, badly-disguised giggles and the tinkling of wine glasses faded into the background as I slowly made my way to the set of French windows facing the back gardens. Taking off my restricting heels, I sank my bare feet onto the perfectly manicured lawn, smiling slightly to myself as the freshly cut grass tickled my toes. The palace’s back garden faces the lake. In the moonlight, its beauty was breathtaking and the full moon was clearly reflected on the lake’s surface. My eyes began to water as my memories began to rush back, flooding me with a torrent of mixed emotions. Wiping away my hot tears, I hobbled to a carved stone bench facing the dark, glittering body of water. Gathering my rose pink gown, I curled up into its cold, hard surface and let out a shuddering sigh. This morning’s scene keeps replaying itself in my mind and this time I let my tears silently flow down my cheeks. The anger and pain in his eyes was a painful remainder of the things I had tried so hard to forget.

A rustling sound from the bushes across the lawn jolted me out of my pity party. I hastily wiped away my tell-tale tear streaks and sat up straight, observing my surroundings intently.

“Well, well, well,” came a man’s mocking voice, “What do we have here?”

I stiffened and surreptitiously picked up one of my heels, ready to fling it at whoever was coming my way. Don’t judge me; heels are a girl’s best friend for this very reason. They’re pretty, but deadly. But the man never came, instead there were the sound of a violent scuffle within the undergrowth. Intrigued, I crept silently towards the bushes, quite forgetting that the ballroom’s French windows open to this side of the garden. Before I could creep any closer, there was the sound of the window being wrenched open.