A Questionable Quest

Chapter 4... in which I learn the truth and do some eavesdropping

"A nine year-old?"

"Yes, dear."

"He's nine years old."

"He is."

"Nine," I practically shouted. Fortunately, the stone walls of my parent's sitting room were thick enough. "That's eleven years younger than me."

"Your math tutor would be proud," said my mother, dryly. If I hadn't been so livid, I would have marvelled at her -- sarcasm twice in one day had to be a new record.

As it was, I barely noticed her tone. I took a deep breath and stilled my flying hands. "You brought me here to marry a nine-year-old." Of course, I hadn't planned on marrying Prince Edvick whether he were nine or twenty-nine, but suddenly, that didn't matter anymore. It was the indignity of the thing.

"I won't do it." My hands twitched, as if wanting to throw themselves into the air, but I held them at my sides. If my mother could be so calm about this, why couldn't I?

Then again, she wasn't the one about to be engaged to a nine-year-old.

"You will do it," said my mother, "if you-"

My father placed his hand on her shoulder and cleared his throat. "Darling," he said, his tone placating. I raised my brows at him. "We did not bring you here to marry the boy. Just to engage him."

"And that's an important distinction because...?"

"Because you will not marry him for over a decade."

"And in over a decade I won't be eleven years his senior? I don't think math works quite like that."

"That is not what your father meant, and you know it," said my mother. Her hands came to rest on her arms. "You will be marrying Prince Edvick."

"Why?" Why was it so necessary that I marry him, when all of my other sisters had made perfectly respectable matches all on their own. Did they not think me marriageable? Did they think I needed their help?

My stomach dropped when neither of my parents spoke. They exchanged a glance, as if I weren't standing here analysing their every move. I bit my lip. "Why," I asked again, softly. Please say it's a political alliance. Please say it's a political alliance.

My mother drew a long breath. "You are not going to like this, dear."

Tell me. I said nothing. Just stared at her. Waited.

"We... we asked Dorissa about your path to happiness."

Just like that, my stomach returned to normal. Sort of. Now it broiled with heat -- as it did every time my poor excuse for a fairy godmother was mentioned. "Dorissa?" My parents nodded. "The fairy who slept through my infant coronation? The one who sent me a 'Get Well Soon' calling card for my sixteenth birthday? That Dorissa?"

Another nod.

I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Blew it out.

I could feel the fire building in my stomach. If I wasn't careful, I'd set the couch into flames. I had to leave. Reset myself. Punch something. Burn something. Get out, my brain told me, before you burst.

My eyes opened. As my parents came into focus once more, I threw my fists into the air.

"I wasn't even sick!"

The heavy door swung shut behind me.

* * * * * * *

I skipped dinner that night. I'd saved enough of my lunch from the carriage ride that I wasn't very hungry by the time the dinner bell rang (not a horn, like I was used to).