| 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐨𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐚𝐝𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 |
The Dark is dangerous. The Dark is deception.
And the Dark is the only thing she wants.
What would you do if the only beautiful thing in the world was the one thing you couldn't touch...
My eye hurt terribly, and my head ached twice as much. My lady-in-waiting, a no-nonsense but strangely comforting woman, kept saying it was just part of the recovery process, she'd seen girls go through it before, here, drink your tea, it'll make you feel better.
It didn't, but I did my best to ignore it. I had a part to play.
I was now Princess Ameliana Decant, long-lost daughter to some king I'd never heard of when I'd still lived in the slums, but that didn't matter. Important people knew who he was, and I might not have been important then, but I was now. And even better than being a long-lost daughter was the deliciously juicy fact that I was betrothed. From birth, apparently. And it wasn't to some nobody either. No.
I was betrothed to the son of the Emperor.
We were supposed to hate each other for a while; rail against the unfairness of not getting to choose, find reasons to dislike each other's inherent nature, you know. But of course we would be irresistibly attracted to each other and fall hopelessly in love...
I swooned onto my fainting couch just thinking about it. Then I burst out laughing. Breaking character was okay, alone in my suite like I was. I'd practiced swooning when I lived in the slums, but I'd never done it for real, for any good reason.
But I wasn't playing pretend anymore. I was Ameliana, or Amory to my friends. That is, after all, what I'd grown thinking my name was.
According to the packet at least.
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"Cut!" the Director yelled. I started since they rarely interrupt—they prefer us to be immersed in the scene.
He marched into His Highness' room and took my hand gently. "Ameliana, darling. Darling. That was a beautiful performance, you know we love you, but—you can't slap the Emperor's son."
Said son stood just a foot away, nursing a red cheek. I was worried he'd be mad—I was in deep, and he'd scared me, even if it was just pretend. Instead, mischief lit Dominick's eyes, and he chuckled. "Why ever not, Ericks?" he asked the Director. "The girl's got moxie. And maybe we're moving this too fast. Let her have her way, stand her ground. Play up the audience sympathy for her."
"Too fast?" he exclaimed. "Too fast? It's your third meeting, and you haven't so much as kissed! Where's the heat? Where's the passion?"
"I think the passion was in that blow," the boy laughed.
Ericks tried to compose himself, but he had about as much success as a red-hot tea kettle trying not to let its lid fly off. "Your Highness—"
"We are supposed to hate each other," I said quickly.
"Yes," my betrothed echoed. "Absolutely abhor."
Ericks leaned his head against his hand, muttering something about entitled children. Dominick winked at me, and I offered a shy smile back.
