Catarina and The Prince | Tales From The Court Of Ravaeryn #1

06 | opal

15 June 1711, Aethiel Palace, Kestramore City

THE DAY of the ceremony had finally arrived. The ladies from faraway regions, such as Lady Breckenridge of Avionne and Lady Olivier of Levere had travelled to the capital many days beforehand out of fear of arriving late and making an unfavourable reaction.
Those who lived relatively close, like Lady Catarina de Fontaine of Lorewell and Lady Marguerite le Prince of Fiorio had yet to depart from their homes.
Demitria, who had been anticipating this day for weeks now, was eagerly staring out through her bedroom window, wondering which of these ladies would soon become her sister-in-law. The princess had met many ladies in her lifetime, and she knew exactly how fake and unsincere they could be. Therefore, unbeknownst to Julian, she had come up with a twist for the choosing ceremony. Instead of lazing around in ballgowns and sipping nectar, the ladies were truly in for a treat.

However, it would be a lie to say that Demitria did not envy these girls. The eldest of them, Lady Cosmina, was not yet nineteen, and even if she was not chosen by Julian, the ceremony would introduce these ladies to other prospective suitors, and they would be taken off the marriage market in no time. Meanwhile, she was unmarried at age twenty-three, with no sign of a suitor proposing for her hand anytime soon.

Demitria had a keen eye for gentlemen though, and unbeknownst to all, she would quietly rank the bachelors of Ravaeryn according to good looks, wealth and titles. Ironically, at the top of the chart was Rafael Lombardi, the orphaned nephew of the late Duchess de Fontaine. He had no prospects, no title to his name, and he was three years younger than her to boot! But indeed, he was truly good looking, almost outrageously so, and that is what made Demitria put him at the top of her chart.

The princess rarely put a lot of consideration into her looks, but today she had willingly powdered her face and put rouge on her lips, and she did not even know why she did it.

             "Your Highness !" her maid, Ursula suddenly exclaimed. "The guests have arrived !"

Sure enough, not a second later, a long stream of carriages flowed into the palace courtyard, and Demitria's delicate red lips curved into a devious smile.

She hurriedly rushed to the receiving hall, and by the time she arrived, there were several young ladies standing in a neat row, while her mother sat stoically on her throne, scrutinising each of the girls. The great liar Dinah Finley was standing beside the throne with her spineless daughter in tow, and Demitria quickly shifted her gaze in disgust.
She finally spotted her brother and merrily strutted over to him, linking their arms together affectionately. "Isn't it surreal, Jules ? To think that one of these ladies will be your wife."

            "One of them is missing," Julian replied curtly, and Demitria finally noticed how pale and anxious he was. She counted the ladies again, and indeed, there were five instead of six.

            "There are still five for you to choose from," she chuckled. "Look, isn't that Lady Ingrid Blanchard, the famous beauty from the north ?"