Princess of Calamity (#2 PRINCESS series-part of the GOLDEN UNIVERSE)✔

•F I V E•

♪ Ain't it funny how a man who's never met me
Tries to tell me what I can and cannot do with my body? ♪
{Leyla Blue—F*** yourself}
[EXPLICIT WARNING for the song]

Squashed into a small carriage beside Helen, with the large Lord Read and his manservant across from them, Cordelia was off to Lord Read's manor in Romsey.

The journey was supposed to take about a day, Lord Read had advised them. Cordelia let out a lengthy sigh at the notion of being cramped inside the vehicle and glared at by this man she didn't know.

He glared, a lot. At Helen, while muttering about her inappropriate behavior, how she'd disrespected her father, how she was dressed—oh, the shame of it—how she was unaccompanied, how improper, how disappointing. But he also glared at Cordelia while saying nothing. She appreciated the silence, sure, but at the same time it bothered her that he wouldn't string together any curses to throw in her direction. Because unlike Helen, who looked ready to curl up into a ball as she had on the boat, Cordelia sat up straight and had no difficulty returning Lord Read's glare.

It was as if the roles were reversed. Helen, who'd once acted as Cordelia's watch-dog, who barked at any insults flung her way, who spoke up at once to defend her position, was now shriveled, over-powered by this big-bellied man who sat before them, scanning them greedily as if they were products to exchange at a market. Cordelia was the one on alert, ready to react should he say something too far-fetched, to vindicate Helen should he be too cruel.

Cordelia sent a tentative side-glance at Helen, who seemed unaware of Lord Read's rambling—or if she was, she did nothing to stop it. She kept her chin tipped down and her fingers clasped in her lap. Cordelia was unsure how to console her—were they still friends? Had they crossed barriers? Had their boat-trip mended the bridges Cordelia had burnt in her anger? So instead, she peered out the window, past the fluff-ridden curtains strung aside to show the lush green fields on either side of the carriage.

England was so green. Lengthy passages of vivid green, tall trees of pine green, grasses of light green. Even the sky, at some points, had flickers of green; but Cordelia knew that was only her sight playing tricks on her. Not that Totresia didn't have greenery, nor France, but there was something different about this shade, this country, this atmosphere. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she breathed it all in, nonetheless, with the vague feeling that she'd be here for a while.

"Appalling," mumbled Lord Read, his gray glower glued to Helen.

Those eyes, splashed with hints of blue, were like Céleste's eyes, except hers were kind, even when she was frustrated. These were cold, curt; they reminded Cordelia of when Céleste spoke of her father, Sir Richel, which was rare, as she and him were on bad terms. Sir Richel was on bad terms with everyone at court—he'd instigated the civil war of rebellion against the crown, shared by a Giromian-born woman, Marguerite. Considering Lord Read now, his upper lip curling, the disgust rolling off him in waves, Cordelia imagined how Céleste felt looking at her father.