Dear Prince

Chapter 3 .:Heartbeat:.

Chapter 3

.:Heartbeat:.

            “Princess Arphelia!” a familiar shrill voice called.

            She turned and saw Deiaria hurrying over to her, holding up the skirt of her long gown in delicate fingers. She was younger than her by two years, but Deiaria always acted like she was the older one. Her hair, perfectly curled into tight blonde ringlets, bounced as she raced over to her. “Dei…aria,” she greeted, smiling weakly. “How nice of you to come to my birthday banquet.”

            “Oh, Phaelia, my dear, I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Her eyes beamed at her, but Arphelia smiled back only coldly. It was a rare occasion when someone other than Erith broke through her defenses—when someone called her by Phaelia. It was a common nickname well enough, but that didn’t mean she liked it. Perhaps Deiaria saw the change in her mood, for she quickly added, “Father’s just told me about your engagement to Prince Wesley. Are you excited?”

            “We aren’t engaged yet,” she said exasperatedly. “There is still time.”

            “Yes, yes,” she replied, waving her hand about dismissively. “A year or two—what’s the difference? If it were me, I’d be simply ecstatic about the marriage. Have you decided what you would name your first child?”

            The muscles around Arphelia’s jaw tightened. Had she decided what? She hadn’t even thought of the marriage in depth—but to think that far ahead! “No, I have not. Although I am being constantly told that I am well past marrying age,” she laughed. “What of you, then?”

            Deiaria sighed blissfully. “Father’s looking into it for me. He’s found quite a few potential suitors for me, but none have really fit what I want.”

            Arphelia raised an eye in interest. “What you want? What do you mean?”

            She laughed; a high and false tinkling of bells that sent shivers down Arphelia’s spine. “I’ve told you about this before, haven’t I? My ideal prince.” She tossed her curls and looked around. “Like the earl of Edgaris—wealthy and educated, but too fat. And him”—she pointed to a tall, thin man—“the duke of Rellatia—intelligent and handsome, but far too old.” She sighed ridiculously loudly so that a number of women turned around to see what the matter was. “Do you see my dilemma, Phaelia?”

            “Have you tried actually talking to them?” Arphelia was personally offended by the way she had dismissed so many men. “The earl of Edgaris is quite pleasant and has a nice sense of humor. The duke of Rellatia—well, there’s little to be done about age, but with age comes experience.”

            “What a ghastly prospect!” Deiaria gasped. “The d-duke of Rellatia? You must be joking, Phaelia! He’s near fifty—what do I do with such an old man?”

            She raised an eye, this time skeptically. “What gave you the idea I was talking about a marriage?”

            “Then what would I want to consort with them for?” Deiaria looked truly puzzled, and she was suddenly struck by how guileless she looked by it. It was a look befitting a fifteen-year-old girl, not the haughty, conceited noble lady she pretended to be.           

            “Friendship?” she suggested. “Companionship?”

            Deiaria threw back her hair so that the curls bounced and reverted to her usual self-assured self. “I don’t need things like that—especially with old men like them!” She was sounding less and less like a refined lady and more like an immature child.