“Chin up.”
“Yes, father.”
“Shoulders squared.”
“Yes, father.”
“Look me in the eye when I’m talking to you.”
“Yes, father,” Rivalen Harcourt’s blue eyes shifted from the window of the carriage to the burly man sitting before him. He looked like an older, more stoic version of Rivalen, with thick, dark hair that was tinted with a bit of silver at the hairline, stormy eyes that could pierce into the bravest man’s soul, and broad shoulders that seemed as if they carried the weight of the world upon them. Rivalen forced himself to hold his father’s gaze in spite of the more interesting things that were to be seen outside. It was just part of the routine of being a noble. He had to make his presence known, his authority asserted, his regality imposed.
Especially tonight.
“The window closes at midnight,” his father’s voice sounded thunderous in the quiet of the carriage, interrupting the rhythmic beat of the horses’ hooves at the head of the vehicle. “That is when King Edward will announce his decision, and the princess will be betrothed.” The man was almost expressionless if not for the subtle clench of his jaw. He was anxious. Rivalen knew just as well as he did that their time was running out. The steady hand of the clock marched ever forward, with not a care for anyone who wished it to pause… Not that it would make a difference. Rivalen was pessimistic about his odds. There were many suitors coming to the dinner, men who came from families far wealthier and closer to the King than the Harcourts were. He would also be disadvantaged by the seating arrangement. As per tradition, the nobles with the highest status would be seated the closest to the royal family. He would likely be on the opposite end of the table—nowhere near the princess.
Rivalen’s eyes wandered back to the passing scenery outside, where the orange sun was beginning to set on the horizon. He exhaled. In all honesty, he wasn’t excited about the dinner. It was going to be all rules and pomp and politics. He was secretly confident that he had only been invited out of courtesy. There was no way that a man of his status had a chance to get close to the princess. He would just eat his dinner on the far side of that long table, watch the betrothing ceremony, and go home at the end of the night.
At least, that was what he wanted to do. His father had other plans: Being concerned for the future of his family—it was possible that a high class land-owning family could overtake their place in nobility if they didn’t improve their status quickly—he wanted Rivalen to find a way to get close to King Edward’s daughter and somehow be chosen as the one to whom she would be betrothed.
Rivalen doubted it would happen. Even if he did manage to speak to her, which would be a miracle in and of itself, he knew she wouldn’t be such a dimwit as to choose him over one of the other, more qualified suitors. Besides, even if there was the slightest of chances that she would be drawn to him, which he knew was nearly impossible, King Edward would never allow his daughter to marry someone of Rivalen’s status. Marriage was politics, and their theoretical union would do nothing to benefit the royal family. It wasn’t going to happen. His father was hoping for far too much this time.
“You’re dozing off again,” Rivalen startled at the abrupt sound of his father’s voice. The older man’s tone was laced with subtle irritation. He shook his head, “Daydreaming is not befitting of a nobleman. You must set yourself apart from the other arrogant fools that will be coming to the dinner tonight.” If possible, he seemed to sit up a bit straighter than he had been before. “If you present yourself with more class than they do, the royal family will see that you are worthy of Princess Isabella. After all, what sort of father would the king be if he gave his daughter to a crass man who will not treat her with respect? You are a gentleman of the Harcourt line, more of a noble in your etiquette than any of those other ruffians.”
You overestimate me, father, Rivalen thought sullenly. I’m no better than the other men. They outclass our family in both wealth and land. King Edward cares more about that than he does about etiquette, in which the others are just as well learned as myself. Despite his melancholic frame of mind, he nodded, “Yes, father.”
“Good lad,” the older man nodded back. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”
Let this night be over quickly, Rivalen prayed silently.
“We’ve arrived, sirs,” came a voice from beyond the carriage walls. “Welcome to Nonsuch Palace.”
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