I’m to marry the most powerful man in the realm in seven days. He still doesn’t know I take my tea without honey. At my final gown fitting, my sister said she wanted to help me choose. I stepped out of the dressing chamber and saw her fastening the family crest brooch on my betrothed Lord Ashford’s ceremonial cloak. Gabriel Ashford. The Duke who commands the King’s armies. The man whose name makes envoys from every rival kingdom lower their eyes. I had just opened my mouth to say “Let me,” when the seamstress smiled and curtsied to her. “This way, my lady bride.” Gabriel didn’t correct her. The black-armored knights standing at the door kept their gaze forward. Margot only smiled shyly and leaned into him. Behind me, Soren, my childhood friend, brushed past with his quill and ledger. He’s the chronicler the Ashfords hired to record the wedding for the family annals. I stood frozen, like a stranger who’d walked into the wrong room. Page after page in his ledger, every line about Margot and my betrothed. Margot at the mirror. Margot laughing. Margot at Gabriel’s elbow. Not a single line about me. The bride. Margot spoke as easily as though she were the one getting married. “Elara, hand me that bouquet.” When Gabriel noticed I hadn’t moved, he came over and gently took the flowers from my hands. Those eyes, the ones that had made grown lords kneel, softened a little. “Elara, what are you staring at? Go choose the wax seal for the invitations. I’ll join you when Soren is finished.” Soren glanced up from his ledger. “Elara. Out of the way. I can’t see them from here.” I moved without a word and stood in the corner. In that moment, I understood how unwanted I was. If this wedding had no need for me, then I wouldn’t be there. … I quietly lifted my cloak from the bench and pushed open the door. The bell above it chimed once. No one called after me. I looked back. Margot was twirling before the mirror. Gabriel stood behind her, adjusting the sash at her waist. Soren dipped his quill. “Yes. Hold there. Just like that.” His pen flew across the page, line after line. I turned and walked out. When I climbed into my carriage, the two black-cloaked knights of my escort fell in behind me without a sound. A folded note waited on the seat. From the wedding herald. My lady, the day approaches. Have you chosen the wax seal for the invitations? Before I could answer, another arrived. Or perhaps your sister might choose. She has such a good eye. The carriage was silent. So silent I could hear my own breathing. In and out, as if I were counting something. What was I counting? How many times I’d been forgotten in this betrothal. How many times overlooked. I wrote three words back. Let her decide. I meant it. Gabriel would listen to her in the end anyway. The reply came at once. As you wish, my lady. I stared at the words and pictured the herald exhaling in relief. Every choice the bride made was undone afterward. They were tired of redrafting parchment. Easier to let my sister decide from the start. I hadn’t yet folded the note when more arrived. Soren had sent copies of his day’s pages around to the wedding party. One after another. I unfolded one. His hand was clean and lovely. Every line described the way Margot had moved, the way Gabriel had looked at her. A betrothal record fit for the King’s own archives. The future Duchess of Ashford and her husband. I’d poured everything into this wedding, as though it could prove I wasn’t always the one who got forgotten. I never imagined that in the end, I’d still be pushed outside the frame. The notes on my lap lit and dimmed in the lantern light as more arrived. I didn’t answer. No one noticed. I dismissed my escort at the castle gate and walked alone to my chambers in the east wing. Pinned to my looking glass was a slip of parchment, in my own hand. Seven days until the wedding. I peeled it off, crushed it in my fist, and dropped it into the hearth.
I don’t open my eyes till past noon. A stack of sealed letters waits on my writing desk. I count them. Easily a hundred. All from the wedding council. Only one is addressed to me. Margot’s seal. I break the wax. Elara, sweetheart, I had the musicians swap out that ballad you picked. It was such a downer—nobody wants to cry at a wedding! Trust me on this one. xx M. Underneath, in Gabriel’s slanted black hand: Agreed. The other one didn’t suit. Didn’t suit. I chose that ballad. I spent a month on it. It was the song they played at my parents’ wedding. They died too young. I wanted them there in some small way. Gabriel knew that. Margot knew that. I open the next letter. Margot, again, copied to the whole council: You all know how Elara gets with decisions—she’ll fuss for weeks and still hate it. Just let me handle the rest, darlings. Saves everyone the headache. Gabriel’s reply is one word. Agreed. I stare at it. I do not move. Letter after letter. The whole council chattering past me on parchment. No one notices the bride is reading. No one notices the bride hasn’t said a word. I open the small box where I keep Gabriel’s private letters. The last one is from yesterday. I’m a little nervous, I had written. Don’t fret. I have it in hand, he wrote back. That’s it. Nothing since. Not a single line asking why I left the fitting early. Just one casual note pinned to the council scroll that night: What was that about, Elara? Nerves got the better of you? No one answered. No one cared. Margot sent a sketch around with a sweet little ribbon. Fitting went perfectly! Gown’s done. And that was that. Then they were back to flowers and seals and chapel banners. I’m not just unwanted. To be unwanted, you’d have to have been there in the first place. I’m folding a cloak into my trunk when a maid raps at the door. Lady Margot is asking for me. I go. She’s at her vanity. A painter is already working on her face, brushing rose powder across her cheekbones. “Elara, finally.” She doesn’t turn around. “You take forever with everything. The bridal painter still wasn’t sorted, so I just—handled it. I’m letting her practice on me first. You’ll thank me.” I look at her in the mirror. I want to say: I told you two weeks ago. Lady Helen is already on the road from Ravensbrook. She’s painting my face. I want to say: Did either of you, even once, ask if I wanted any of this? I don’t. What would be the point. Have I never asked before? Never been hurt? Never pushed back? I have. The answer is always the same. You’re the older one, Elara. Be the bigger person. Soren grew up in my nursery, not hers. He still takes her side. Every time. When Gabriel courted me, he told me my quiet ways were lovely. That he liked a girl who didn’t chatter. I believed him. Then he met Margot. Suddenly a girl ought to be lively. Ought to know her own mind. One night I finally said it. Could you not be quite so close with her. He laughed. He brushed his knuckles down my hair. “She’s family, Elara. You want me at war with my own sister-in-law?” I went quiet. Of course I didn’t want that. The eldest bears a mother’s burden. Those words have been on my shoulders since I was sixteen. That night, for the first time, I couldn’t breathe under them. She’s only two years younger than I am. I wanted sweets too. I wanted someone to ask me, just once, do you like this one? A line of sun comes through the window and falls across the stone floor. I remember the gardens, the games of pretend-bride. After everyone ran inside for supper, I was the one who stayed behind to gather the petals back into the basket. No one ever helped. No one ever asked if I was tired.
I send word to the steward that I’m vacating my chambers in the east wing today. The old man looks up from his ledger, surprised. “Truly, my lady? Four years you’ve kept these rooms.” Four years. When Gabriel and I first became betrothed, he wanted me to move into Ashford Keep with him. Margot said it wasn’t proper, living together before the wedding. I agreed. I wanted a place that was mine. So I took chambers in the east wing of the royal palace, near the council halls where Gabriel spent his days. Close enough to see him often, I thought. He approved. He’d come some nights. Stay till morning. These rooms have seen all of it. The early sweetness. The arguments. The long silences. His back disappearing through the door, again and again, summoned away. “Yes,” I say. “Today.” The steward sighs and tells me to leave the key in the gatehouse. I’m barely finished folding the last gown when the door swings open without a knock. Gabriel walks in. Margot trails behind him, laughing at something he’s said. She turns and beams up at him. “You promised, remember? The bridal suite at Ashford Keep, the one with the window seat. It’s mine. And I’m having the curtains changed to rose pink.” I freeze in the middle of the room. I must have misheard her. She says it the way you’d ask for sugar in your tea. As though moving into my marriage bed was something already decided. As though my home was already half hers. Gabriel doesn’t correct her. He smiles. That soft, indulgent smile. “As long as Elara doesn’t mind.” “Elara adores me. Of course she won’t mind.” Something inside my throat comes loose. “And if I do mind?”
The room goes silent for two seconds. Margot blinks at me. I don’t think I’ve ever told her no before. She hasn’t said a word yet, but her eyes are already shining. Gabriel’s voice cools. “What’s the matter with you, Elara? You give her everything. You always have. And now you’re going to make a fuss over a bedroom?” “I’m not making a fuss.” “Then what is this?” He frowns. “She’s your sister. It’s not as though I’m letting a stranger move in. The keep has thirty rooms. One of them sitting empty doesn’t bother anyone.” “It’s our bridal chamber, Gabriel. Is she the one walking down the aisle with you?” That stops him. Margot’s eyes spill over. Right on cue. “Elara, I only wanted to be near you. Forget I asked. I won’t come.” Gabriel turns on me. “Look at her. One word from you and she’s in tears. She’s a young girl. She’s your sister. Could you not be cruel for once?” “And who’s kind to me?” I lift my head. “You found her a position at court. A stipend. A title. She wants for nothing. And what about me? All I have left is—” “Enough.” His face hardens. He takes a step toward me. “Listen to yourself. She’s your sister. The only reason I lift a finger for her is you. And this is how you thank me? By being small?” Small. There it is. I smile a little. I don’t say anything else. Margot tugs at his sleeve, voice gone soft and careful. “Gabriel, leave it. She’s just tired.” He covers her hand with his. His voice gentles. “Elara. It’s settled. Margot will be good for you. You won’t have to be apart from her.” I nod. Fine. It’s their home. Not mine. I’m never going to live there anyway. Gabriel exhales. Margot dabs at her eyes and gives him a small, brave smile. I turn back to my trunk. Behind me, her voice again. Sweet now. Light. “So I really can have rose pink curtains?” Gabriel laughs. “Whatever you want.”
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