“Maria! Mariadelle!” called Mother, voice cracking with anxiety. She’d planned since the announcement of the royal wedding had reached her sharp ears, and that had been more weeks ago than I cared to remember. If it had been any other wedding, I, too, would have been hurrying around, ordering fittings for new dresses and the purchase of exotic jewels, but it was the marriage of Prince Kharles, the joining of my would-be husband and his fantastic new betrothed.
“Coming, Mother!” I put the finishing touches to my simple, deep-blue dress, brushing out the wrinkles and powdering my cheeks. There was no joy, no excitement in it for me, but I knew it would be selfish to ruin the day for Mother – not to mention my younger sister, Chelsea – and so I kept a sunny smile on my face. “I’m coming!”
My heart was only healing because I’d forced all memories of the prince into permanent hiding, forgot his cool green eyes and his irreverent little smirks. It wasn’t as if, someday, they wouldn’t all come rushing back, but for now, I knew there was little else to do.
“Delle, Delle, do you think my dress is pretty?” Chelsea swept into the room, her newfound grace reminding me of what I’d been like, just after I’d returned from finishing school. We were more related in mind than body, she likened to Mother in her womanly, smooth curves, while I had the build of Father – thin, almost stick-like. The only thing I got from Mum was lack of height, I thought wryly.
“It’s beautiful, Sea. In fact, I think your little lover will adore it,” I teased, watching the blush deepen in her plump cheeks. The gown was a rich, creamy yellow color, but like mine, simple in design. We had that in common, too, never having like frills and ruffles so much as smooth, cool silk.
“Delle, you know I—”
“Mariadelle!” came Mother’s voice again, now more of a bird-like screech than anything else. Forgetting Chelsea, I rushed quickly from my chambers. If it was about which brooch to wear again, I mightn’t be able to stop from screaming.
“Mari- Oh, there you are, dear,” Mother said, but by the wideness of her hazel eyes, I could tell she was still feeling quite overwrought. “The carriage is here. Do go and fetch your sister, and we’ll be off.” I stepped across the beige carpet towards her, too distracted by thoughts of the future to pay much attention to my surroundings.
“What about Father?” I frowned slightly, confused.
“He can’t accompany us, I’m afraid. Jharrim is threatening war again, and your father had to rise early to meet with the king. Perhaps we will see him there, but it is unlikely,” she explained, and for some reason, even the vague idea of war made me shiver. “Well, what are you doing, standing there? We must be off, for you and I both know how upset the prince would be if his childhood friend weren’t there for this historic event.”
I turned quickly for the door, the familiar tug of grief throbbing in my stomach. If there was one thing I didn’t want to be around for, it was the marriage of my prince.
“I-I’ll… yes, Mother,” I stuttered, slipping dazedly out of the room. It didn’t show, but ever since the – the ball, I’d acquired a cool, detached outlook on nearly everything. The reason no one commented, as far as I could guess, was because it only added to the qualities of a well-bred lady, not to be too curious, too unpredictable. I supposed my mother hadn’t brought it up because she liked the change from lively, bright-eyed Mariadelle to the one she’d grown accustomed to since that night.
By the time I’d pulled myself out of such dreary thoughts, I found we were clattering through the town, towards King Manfred’s castle. Chelsea sat across from me in the small, stuffy carriage, eyes shining with excitement. Even without clearly hearing her chatter, I knew why she was so bouncy.
“And you remember, Mother, what good friends Sir Jarald and I are. We’ve known each other as far back as I can remember, and that’s very far. Oh, do you think he’ll propose, Mother?” she asked, nearly falling off her seat as she made a most un-ladylike squealing sound.
“Chelsea, watch your tongue! It doesn’t do for gentlewoman to be so presumptuous,” snapped Mother, but I could tell by the absence of her customary reproving scowl that she was just as hopeful about it.
And why shouldn’t they be? Jarald was a rich nobleman, young but not too young, and he showed a clear preference for Chelsea over the other society girls. He was handsome and seemed kind enough, a perfect gentleman. So why did I feel so sourly about the idea? Fifteen-year-old girls like Chelsea got married all the time, and to worse men.
“What do you think, Delle? Will he propose? Delle!”
I glanced up from my hands, twisted together until I wasn’t sure I could untangle them. “That would be lovely, Sea. Just don’t be too obvious about wanting him to – I’m afraid he wouldn’t like that,” I said, wishing silently that the journey would end soon. So much romance and happiness in the air felt wrong to me… Perhaps because this was supposed to be my wedding, I thought, shoving the miserable idea out of my mind.
“Yes, yes,” Chelsea said, waving away the warning like a particularly obnoxious fly. “Naturally, sister.”
The quiet that settled in after that wasn’t awkward, nor was it comfortable. I’d always wanted a window to look out of, but the coach we owned didn’t have one, so I settled for staring back down at my hands. They were still twined together, like a strange, pale tree, and I bit back a sigh as Chelsea burst out with another river of prattle about why she’d picked this particular dress. No, I scolded myself, that isn’t fair. It’s wonderful that she’s so eager to see Jarald Matheson again. Heaven knows how hard it would’ve been to marry her off against her will.
“You see, he loves yellow on me. He told me so last time we met, at the ball. Do you remember, Mother, how sweet he was? Oh, I do pray he’ll be there. What if the prince didn’t invite him?” Her fretting, I knew, was useless. Sir Jarald was a very close friend of Prince Kharles, and the last person His Highness wouldn’t invite would be Chelsea’s ‘little lover.’
The carriage slowed to a stop, and a footman swung the door open. Chelsea, of course, was the first out, and Mother next. I was last, being the farthest from the door, and also because I was the least motivated to actually go inside, face the eternal joining of my prince to another.
I kept my head down as we mounted the steps, reasoning that the less I saw of the actual castle, the less I’d remember of that night. It seemed to work well, as we swept through great halls and ballrooms alike… until we were led through one particular room. I glanced up as we came upon a set of steps, leading down into a grand, white-marble ballroom – one I recalled quite well.
Her beautiful white gown, frilled and laced in all the right places. His shining green eyes, staring up at the newcomer with ill-concealed admiration. The cold night air, an aching heart…
“I’ll meet you and Chelsea at the wedding. Good-bye, Mother,” I gasped out, fleeing back the way I’d come without a moments’ hesitation. There had to be some closet I could hide in until Prince Kharles was firmly married; for in that moment of recollection, I knew exactly what I would’ve done when she came gliding up beside him, at the altar. I would scream, and cry, and then I’d march right up to him, demanding an answer. How had he forgotten me so easily, after all the time we’d known each other? How could he trade me off for a girl he’d never seen before in his life?
There was little time left to find a hiding place, for I could barely see where I was going now. Tears blurred everything until shapes and sizes meant naught, and all I could deduce from sight was the color of my surroundings. I ran like a hunted hare, hampered by my dress, hopelessly lost and not caring much for the fact.
I didn’t see the flight of stairs until I was a second away from toppling all the way down them. It was a strange moment, that, teetering at the top of a spiral, knowing I would be very lucky if I survived the mistake. The whole world seem to spin about me, and then…
“Whoa, Miss! A little too much wine before the banquet, perhaps?”
A velvet-sleeved arm slung itself around my waist, pulling me back into something warm and hard. I flinched, scrambling away from my savior so quickly I fell backwards onto the tiled floor.
“Oh, dear, whatever happened to you?”
I blinked until I could see clearly again, and then proceeded to stare up at the man before me. He was wearing simple black breeches, almost to the point of looking peasant-like, and a long-sleeved, gray silk shirt. His unbuttoned overcoat was dark, navy blue, and the smile on his clean-shaven face was nearly blinding.
“Thank you, sir, for your concern, but I am quite all right,” I said, attempting to look ladylike – but when one is sprawled on the floor, one often finds it hard to achieve the airs and grace of a true gentlewoman.
“I didn’t think people who were ‘quite all right’ tried to throw themselves down full sets of thick stone stairs… nor sob until they could no longer see where they were going.” His jesting offended me, but I was careful not to let it show in my face.
“I’m not crying. I just… just accidentally stuck my head in a bucket of water, that’s all. And as for the stairs, I can assure you that wasn’t purposeful.”
He offered me a helping hand, but I ignored it, rising awkwardly but swiftly.
“You stuck your head in a bucket of water? Yes, Miss, whatever you say. As for the stairs…” He grimaced, growing quiet until I realized what he was trying to say.
“You think I wanted to… kill myself?” The sheer rudeness of such an accusation made me shudder, and I turned my back to him, stomping off before he could say another word. What’s a man like this doing in the prince’s castle? He dressed like a poor nobleman, but his lazy voice and his every elegant move said wealth, command, someone used to power.
“It’s not unlikely. After all, it is His Highness’s wedding day. What woman wouldn’t want to end her misery?” he chuckled, and by the sound of footsteps, I could tell he was following me.
“Sir, unless you have some unknown business with me, I would ask you to go your way. I do not feel the need for company right now,” I said stiffly, hoping he would give up harrying me sooner rather than later.
“What was it, about this prince, that causes you now to grieve?” He clearly wasn’t going to simply skip off at my request. I stopped, waiting for him to catch up.
“That is none of your business.”
“I hear His Highness is an atrocious bore,” he remarked breezily.
I should’ve controlled myself. I should have humored him until I thought of a good escape plan, and then left the terrible man to think such treasonous things alone – but when he insulted the prince, all my self-control disappeared. I whirled ‘round, and with one gloved hand, slapped him across the face.
“You made a mistake in insulting my prince,” I hissed. “Never make it again.”
“Yours? That’s odd, I thought he was Lady Eloise’s husband.” The simple lack of anger he showed at being struck did nothing to calm my temper, but at hearing the name of the woman who’d stole Prince Kharles, all words I had been planning to say were lost. “However, if we’re going to have a polite conversation, I’d prefer you did not hit me. To further an effort towards your favor – rather than outright hate – I will introduce myself. The—”
“Miss Mariadelle Tadstreet, is that you?”
For a moment, the interruption was welcome, and then I recognized the voice that had spoken.
“Sir Raymond!” I exclaimed, forcing the scowl away before it had a chance to appear on my face. A man, somewhere between twenty-six and twenty-eight (I could never quite remember how old he was) came trotting up beside me. He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed it, smiling ever so slightly. “His Highness, Prince Kharles, wishes to see you, m’lady.”
“Shouldn’t he be at the wedding?” My hands were clenched together behind my back, and I thought I heard a snicker coming from where the navy-coated man stood.
“The wedding is over. He orders you to meet him in his chambers as soon as you possibly can,” Raymond said, brushing an imaginary bit of lint off his brown velvet breeches. I could tell he didn’t like delivering the news – if few knew of the prince’s so-called ‘undying love’ for me, Raymond was one of them.
“Well, I suppose that’s now. Can you take me? I’m not sure I could find my – the prince’s quarters on my own.” I had never been to see him in his rooms before, and somehow that seemed odd… my thoughts were lost as Raymond spoke again.
“Of course, m’lady.”
I didn’t think anything of the navy-coated man’s unexplained disappearance until much, much too late.
Thanks for reading! Don't spare me your thoughts on it, please don't. =D
I loved the formal tone of the first segement, but, alas, some of that seems to have faded here. There are many oppurtunities you have to insert that lovely old language, but I couldn't find much of it. Perhaps, to be a bit more consistent with the first, you could add more of that? It really enhances the story as a whole, and is very important in making the reader feel caught up in the story.
) Tell us about how they grew up, and what they liked to do together. Does anything in particular remind Delle of her lost love? Are these reminders painful or comforting?
It's not bad, really. I just think that her character, though it's very profound and vivid already, needs to be worked on. She's almost so bratty and jealous that we, as the reader, have a hard time liking her. Her behavior is understandable, no doubt. I'd probably act similarly if I were in her shoes. But she needs more a of a balance; give her more likable traits. Let us really see her side. Let us truly understand her. Let us know that she doesn't 
