|| WATTPAD FEATURED STORY ||
|| WATTY'S 2018 SHORTLISTED ||
Zora was only a little girl when her mother raked out her left eye. A mauled princess, she is alive only because of her political marriage potential. In a world where misogyny reigns, there...
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Zora's hand fluttered to the scarred side of her face. What man would desire a freak like her? Inwardly, she cursed Estilda over and over. If only she'd been stronger...
It was the final straw. Zora knew she would not leave the ballroom with someone on her arm. For a moment, she pondered if getting thrown on the streets would be a better option but dismissed the idea.
The King's speech bounced around in her head, echoing repeatedly.
I'll cast you onto the streets, and maybe a swineherd will take pity and take you as his wife. She shuddered, understanding that she would not maintain the slightly better female status in the castle as opposed to being amongst ordinary people.
Galina bumped Zora's shoulder softly. "Come," she said, "guests are already arriving. We don't want to be kicked out, right?"
Zora straightened, brushing imaginary doubts off her frock, and smoothed the little crinkles. "You're right," she said brightly.
The princesses filed into a line, heading for the grand ballroom. They stopped outside outside the doors, waiting to be announced. The King and his Queens were already inside, speaking and drinking with important men from each corner of the continent.
The doors open, and Zora gaped. Hundreds of people were spread throughout the massive room. The women wore evening dresses of every color in the rainbow whilst the men had dashing, crisp suits.
Glittering chandeliers hung overhead, the cleanly cut crystals scattering the candlelight into thousands of multicolored fractals that danced over marble, wood, skin, and fabric. The curtains had been pulled away from the windows, letting the ghostly moonlights to shine through. All three moons hung in the sky, watching the world beneath them.
"The lovely Princess Iskanda!" squeaked the herald. The current eldest princess smiled radiantly, tossing back her flowing brass hair, and waltzed into the ballroom. At the age of twenty-three, she was a mature sight to behold. Although she wasn't the tallest, she had a defined figure and a rather voluptuous chest.
"The brilliant Cristobella!"
She was barely twenty-two and was dressed too modestly, with a dress of gray that paled in comparison to Iskanda's. Cristobella spent more time with her nose buried in the pages of books than trying to catch the attention of suitors.
On and on this went. Zora was impressed with the herald's ability to come up with flattering adjectives when he finally called her name.
"The desirable Zora!"
With numb feet, Zora stiffly marched through the doors. She demonstrated none of the grace Iskandra had, nor the attractive shyness Galina had displayed.
She just simply was.
Oh, how she wished she could blend into the crowd as easily as Cristobella had! But alas, every eye was fixated upon the velvet mask adorning her face. Their gazes were so shrewd, she wondered if they could see through the material.
