Disobedience [h.s.]

Sixteen

Harry groans, his fingers have made another knot that will hold his cape all wrong. The image in front of him is nothing close to the image his father is expecting. As soon as he steps out his father will shake his head to let him know that he's failed again. That he isn't the son he expected.

Footsteps sound like thunder in his ears. Alden appears in the mirror, her crown elegant and less gilded than he imagined. Her cheeks are almost a perfect match to the color of her dress and her hands smooth the fabric even though there are no wrinkles to be found. "Would...would you like some help?"

"Please?" Elle usually helps him, but Kinsley has taken her as one of her ladies in waiting. He could have another servant assist him but he hates having someone help him dress. It makes him feel like a child.

Alden isn't much help, her fingers fumble almost as much as his did but she manages an elegant knot nonetheless. She's looking at him like she wants to say something but doesn't want to push his buttons. The motion of her eyes is hesitant and unfocused.

Harry adjusts his cape and tries to force a smile through his despondency. "If you have a question you may ask. I do not bite."

The question parts her lips and focuses the sky that's taken residence in her eyes. "I...Did you mean what you said last night? To the...to Brielle?"

He doesn't bother to mask the wound she's inflicted with such a simple question. She isn't a noble but that doesn't mean he can't or won't love her. "Of course I did. Why else would I say it?"

She bites her lip, a look of guilt clouding her eyes. "I'm sorry about last night. I never meant to intrude and what I said to Brielle...well, I shouldn't have said. Much to my displeasure, I know the burden of being bound to another when your heart already belongs to someone else. Your secret is safe."

Something resembling a smile appears at his lips. "Thank you." Despite all the rigorous training, he doesn't know how to frame the relief he feels in knowing that he isn't the only one who is stumbling beneath the weight of the throne.

Brielle's smile feels like lead as she fixes a loose seam near the waist of Kinsley's wedding dress. She's been awake all night thinking about the wedding and how Kinsley will be at his side like she has been sewn into his clothing. Everything inside her feels gray. No matter the truth behind the marriage, seeing Harry with her feels like boulders have made a home inside her body.

Mae had pulled her aside as the sun rose, her voice leaden with regret as she informed her that Kinsley had chosen her to be another one of her ladies in waiting. She attempted to feign a smile and found herself sobbing instead, her chest heaving with the effort of breathing as if the consumption had returned to plague her lungs. The feeling hasn't gone but she's practiced enough to mask it the best that she can.

Kinsley's vocal cords have not tired after three hours of doting on Harry and what a fine pair of rulers they will make. She thanks the servants in between and cheerfully notes the details she has fallen in love with. Brielle's fingers shake faster than the tapping of Kinsley's foot. Every few minutes she turns her head to watch the needle move through the material as if it were water, and every time she observes Brielle like the guards observe prisoners.

"Where did you learn to sew like that?"

Brielle knows better than to meet her eyes. "I learned from the head seamstress here, your Highness."

"How are you with creating dresses?"

"I make all of the Queen's dresses, your Highness."

Kinsley raises an eyebrow, her smile wry and unnerving. "Even the one lined with diamonds?"