The pounding of the horse’s hooves reverberates throughout the carriage as we move along at a steady pace. My friend’s sound asleep on the opposite seat from mine. I don’t understand how she’s capable of such a feat. A loud thunderclap startles me, and I peer out of the window at the downpour.

The mugginess of the carriage being too much to bear, I discard the blanket and stretch. Working the kinks out of my neck, I cannot wait to be free of the confines of our prison. The journey has been long and arduous, and tomorrow, mourn, we shall arrive at our destination.

England, where my friend is to marry the Prince. Once she’s married, I will have fulfilled my obligation as her companion, and I’ll have my freedom. Portugal has been my home and the King a stepfather to me. He’s treated my mother and me well, and I’ll return there when my tenure is over.

A large two-story home with a yearly stipend of fifty thousand pounds. The King, Cecilia’s father, is most generous. It doesn’t hurt that my mother is his mistress, either. He and my father were close friends, and he left us a legacy of debt, penniless. If it had not been for the King’s devotion to my father and his affection for my mother, we would be in a world of trouble.

I’m thoroughly tired from sleepless nights and leaning back in the seat, I think of my future—the life I’ll live, free to do as I please, alone. Dark of hair and skin, I somehow still have a slew of potential suitors at my beck and call. But oppression is something that will be a thing of the past. I will never marry. I have chosen the life of a spinster.

I will not live another day past my servitude of companionship to my friend in the forced service of others. Marriage is a form of bondage, where the wife is subjected to subjugation. Her purpose is to look pretty, bear sons, endure her husband’s infidelity, and make her body readily available at his leisure. I don’t want to describe the poor woman’s role. I lie back on the seat, shaking my head to clear it of the depressing thoughts. I’m counting the days until my liberation.

The morning sun greets us, shining brightly in the sky. I must have finally dozed off and groggy, I notice that I’m alone. The carriage has stopped and venturing outside, I see that a few tents have been pitched.

Two men standing at attention outside of one, I know that that’s where Cecilia will be. The men guarding the entrance make way and let me pass without question. “Good morning, friend.” She chirps as two maids help her dress. Her hair’s wet and hangs loosely down her back.

A brown mass of tresses that accentuate her lovely soft features. “What’s all this?” I ask, lifting the dome of a platter. The fruit’s uninviting, as that’s been chiefly our fare for the final stages of our expedition.

“We’re an hour’s ride from our future, and one must look her best for the Prince.” She says with a wicked smile.

“Yes, one must...” I echo with less enthusiasm.

“Oh, my Marie. I forget that long voyages tend to sour your mood immensely. A lake bath and some wine afterward should raise your spirits.”

“Perhaps...”

An hour to go, and I’m going straight to my bed and sleeping for days. “I had the men bring one of your trunks in. Make haste. We must not keep the King and my Prince waiting.” She says, ushering me to my valise.

We’d made it, finally. An entourage greeting us, I admire the opulence and grandeur of the palace. It’s monumental and makes the palace in Portugal look like a peasant’s abode. “My... my... my...” I whisper to myself.

Reigning in my horse, a guard helps me down. Thanking him for his assistance, I smooth my dress to make myself more presentable. I could not stand to finish the rest of the excursion cooped up in that carriage. Patting my hair, I await Cecilia’s arrival like the rest. There’s a strained silence as we all wait. I receive open stares and whispers behind gloved hands.

One would think that they’d never seen a person of color before. Sighing, I self-consciously touch my hair again. My natural curls are a pain to maintain. I’d lost my hat minutes into the ride, and I know that it must look a frightful mess.

“There’s no need to worry. The king himself shall be enchanted, Miss.” Rodrigo, the seasoned guard who’s taken a liking to me, states. He’s handsome, silver-haired, kind, and gallant. I love him as one would a doting uncle. He’s the one who taught me to ride, fencing, archery, and anything strenuous that my “delicate” lady body could imagine.

I firmly believe that if men could do it, women could do it better—Speed races against the gentlemen callers, where no one could see. Cecilia and her friends would bet against me, and sometimes I proved them wrong. Arm wrestling was my greatest failure, but that only made me try harder.

A murmur ripples through the small crowd, and my attention’s drawn to where their gazes are locked. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, he’s tall, fit, and handsome. He doesn’t have his father’s English features at all. His expression is severe, and he offers no smile to the giggling young women as he passes.

The Prince’s steps are confident, his gaze searching, and then it stops on me. The man’s wonderfully handsome, and I don’t realize that I’m holding my breath until he’s in front of me. “His Royal Highness, Prince Mael.” States one of the guards at his side. And that name is definitely not an English one.

Cecilia will be pleased as I am with his striking good looks. I owe her forty shillings, as I’d lost our bet. He doesn’t resemble a pig’s bottom with warts. In fact, he’s quite the catch.

“Where’s your mistress?” He inquires of me—his deep baritone sends a warmth throughout my body. A betrayal of the highest kind, as I must not feel this way. He’s to wed my dearest friend. And so, I play the role of the offended lady.

“My companion, her Highness.” I correct him.

“The Princess is a few minutes out, and she should be here shortly.” Answers Rodrigo, giving me a stern look.

“Good, I don’t have all day to wait for her.”

His Highness’s attitude needs some work. As we wait, I wonder what the King looks like. His son is very pleasing to look upon. It’s a fact that I’m trying not to revisit, with the Prince’s wonderful alluring eyes slowly perusing my body. I squirm under his scrutiny. Those dark depths coming to rest on mine give no evidence of pleasure or dissatisfaction with his findings.

Cecilia’s arrival with her fleet of staff is a welcome diversion. The applause assaulted my ears as she was helped from the carriage—her four ladies-in-waiting followed in her wake. They’re friends from suitable means who look down upon me. I may have come from money, but it was no more. And the only reason I sit within their circle is that I am a lowly companion to their friend, the Princess.

Rodrigo takes my arm and escorts me off to the side so that Cecilia can be received. “Your Highness.” She says, bowing to the Prince. Mael takes his time with his inspection, and all are silent as he makes a study of her hair, light brown eyes, fair skin tone, and slender frame. I’m uncomfortable as we wait, becoming angry with his unnecessary extended examination. I want to get a bath, a hot meal, and a bed, and he’s delaying that. Finally making eye contact with her again, he nods his approval before leaving.

I’d awaken late into the night to find that the celebration was still ongoing. Cecilia was well received by the court. Joining the courtiers, a small crowd’s gathered at a gaming table as the occupants play a hand of cards. “I’m curious about your business in Paris, Lord Bennington. We haven’t seen you in ages.” States the Prince’s cousin. Cecilia pointed him out to me earlier and warned me against him. A rogue and a deviant, to say the least.

“My business is my own, but I was passing through and wanted to get a glimpse of the future Queen. I must say that she doesn’t disappoint.”

“You’re too kind, Lord Bennington,” Cecilia states demurely.

“Be wary of that one, Princess. He has a reputation with the women that will make the devil himself blush.” Reports, Bastien.

“From what I’ve heard, you don’t have much room to talk.” Cecilia retorts. A small round of laughter follows, with Cecilia winning the hand. “Maybe he’s brought me good luck, as I’ve not lost a hand since he’s joined us.” She adds good-naturedly.

“I could bring you so much more than luck, Princess.”

“Careful, Bennington. She’s your future Queen.” Warns, Bastien.

“Shame on you for dashing my dreams, Bastien.”

“Come now, why give hope where there is none.” He replies.

“What do you think, your Grace? Am I wrong in my…’ Lord Bennington’s inquiry is interrupted by my arrival. Upon closer inspection, the crowd’s parted, and I can see that the king has a good lineage. Bastien is as handsome as his cousin, the Prince. He has dark features also—hair, eyes, and countenance. How lovely they are.

“And you must be the companion that everyone’s gossiping about.” Says Bastien. Leave it up to him to be tactless also. “Bastien…” Cecilia reprimands. It’s apparent that she hasn’t warned him about me.

“And what do the gossipmongers have to say? Let me guess. She has a farmer’s complexion and a monkey’s manners.” A few light laughs follow my statement, and I’m rewarded with a devilish smirk from Bastien.

“I’ve heard that she’s beautiful and charming if one can stand an overabundance of cheekiness.”

“Well, clearly, you can see they were definitely talking about me, your Grace.” His small flirtatious smile speeds my heartbeat. “It’s evident that they were.” He says.

“Would you join us, Lady Marceau?” Lord Bennington offers with an inviting smile. Why do all of the lords at this court have to be handsome?

“Thank you, but I must decline. I’m not good at cards.”

“Now, that’s a lie if ever I heard one,” Cecelia states, with a specific expression and a slight turn of her head. It’s a look that I’ve seen one too many times.

She’s playing matchmaker. “I guess one hand won’t hurt,” I reply, readily appeasing her. Cecilia has no problem asserting her rank as a princess. I don’t want to be embarrassed in front of these English strangers. I have a goal, and I must stay the course.

MAEL

She’s beautiful with lovely rich dark skin and piercing brown eyes. Although my chosen bride’s desirable, her companion appeals to me more. It must be the French blood on my mother’s side. I yearn for the exotic, and Marie will be a delightful distraction. She showed a hint of a spirited side that I found alluring. Earlier she was indignant that I referenced her being a servant, or worse.

Marie Marceau, I’d searched for her at the celebration. Dove gray is her color, and she prefers to wear her hair down. I want to twirl those dark loose curls around my fingers. “I’m glad that you favor my friend.” Seated next to me in the ballroom, my intended has noticed my watch of her. I’m definitely smitten with her companion.

“Marie said that you’d spoken earlier. Do you find her affable?”

“She has a bit of a forward tongue.” A tongue that I was tempted to taste upon our meeting.

“Yes, she can be too candid sometimes, but she’s my dearest friend. I hope that you’ll find her as amiable as I do.”

I offer Cecilia a small smile before my gaze is drawn back to Marie.

“I do so hope to please you.” She says after a time.

A wife who aims to please no matter my faults, never questions my actions, and obeys like a dog, lacks excitement. Something tells me that these traits are foreign to Miss. Marceau.

Bastien’s practicing at fencing and is giving his partner a hard time. “My father duly summons you.” The point of his sword touches the other’s chest, the blow’s parried, and Bastien counters with another attack in the same spot. “And for what, may I ask?” He inquires harshly.

We’ve never liked each other, as he’s jealous of my position. “I have no idea, but he requests your attendance immediately.” Bowing to his partner, the swords tossed at me. “As Your Highness wishes.” He responds, leaving the room at an easy gait.

“It’s been weeks. How much longer do I have to wait for a response?” I hear Marie’s inquiry as she passes by the room.

“ Eight to twelve weeks is the expectation, my lady.” I’ve come out of the room to get a glimpse of her and find myself following in their wake. I receive bows as I pass the nobles gathered in groups in the hall. “Your Highness.” They address me. I don't acknowledge them as my focus is on her alone. “And has there been any word of Vadim and how he fares?” She asks.

“No, word yet, my lady.”

“I do so hope that he is safe and well. I miss him.”

“Lord Vadim is no stranger to war. He’ll be fine. And as soon as I hear any news, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thank you. You’ve been a good friend to me, more than a friend. Will you come back with me when I return to Portugal?”

Her return to Portugal? I assumed she’d live out the rest of her days in the palace. Or worst, find a suitor of reputable means, and I’d appeal to them to maintain a permanent residence in the court. This won’t do. Miss. Marceau will have to be severely disappointed. I mentally make a record to send a letter to her king.

“I’m your appointed guard, but if the princess wishes for me to stay, then I must.”

“But you have a family, Rodrigo.”

“And they are well taken care of because of my duties.”

“It’s not fair. I’ll ask my mother to petition the king on your behalf.”

“I’m not the only guard that left families behind.”

“But, you’re the only one that I love. Now, do you want to remain in this dreadful England, or do you want to go home to Portugal?” She inquires playfully.

“I want to return to Portugal.” He whispers conspiratorily, to which she responds with a light chuckle. “Then to Portugal, we shall return!” She says gaily.

“You’ll do as I request, or I’ll disown you!” I can hear my father’s angry yell from down the hall. The light banter in the hall becomes quiet, and I detour toward the altercation.

“Fine, that’s better than marriage. Especially when it’s not beneficial!”

Joining them in the study, father’s having a serious row with Bastien. “Make your decision now so I can have you packed and discarded within the hour!” States father.

“What’s my cousin done now?” I ask.

“After you’ve wed, I’ve arranged his marriage to Lady Erwin.”

I almost laugh at Bastien’s expense, as Lady Erwin’s a devious flirt with an unholy amount of scandal heaped upon her name. “Well... look at the bright side. You’ll not have to teach her anything, as she’ll come well versed in the art of the boudoir.” I offer.

“Mael, please keep silence as your humor fails to meet its mark.” Says an agitated Bastien.

“If your arrangement so displeases you, you can have my intended. I’ll happily part with her.” I offer.

“Not you too. Princess Cecilia’s an exquisite young lady. What displeasure did you find in her?” Asks father, exasperated.

“Lady Marceau, give her to me. I’ll do as you bid if you let me take her to wife.” Bastien interrupts.

“She’s not royalty,” I state possessively. She deserves someone better than my cousin if I can’t have her.

“But that won’t stop you from mounting her, will it?” Replies Bastien with malice. He knows my secret. Have I been that transparent? “Oh... between the both of you, I think I’m getting ulcers,” Father replies, settling into a chair. Bastien’s being vindictive. If he has to marry, he’ll take the only woman I’ve ever shown interest in. “If I approve of your wedding Lady Marceau….”

“I think the lady in question would want to have a say in the matter,” I interject.

“Why would she reject a Duke? And if her King sanctions her marriage, who is she to object?” Bastien states.

“What’s wrong, Bastien? Are you afraid she’ll choose to be my mistress over being your wife?”

The scowl directed at me is sharp enough to cut me in two. I’ve touched a nerve. Bastien has always been resentful that he will never be king. He plays subsidiary to me, and he hates me for it.

“Marrying Lady Marceau is a significant loss that I’m going to enjoy every moment of. But I’ll make sure that she thoroughly enjoys it also.” A relative he may be, but I’ve never despised anyone as much as I do him.

“I will accept her if you will give your approval, uncle.” I’m graced with a grimace that’s supposed to be a smile on his angry departure.

“You cannot allow this.”

“So you do want her for yourself,” Father replies.

“She’s more suited to my tastes than my chosen, and I always get what I want, no matter the cost.”

There’s a period of silence as my father considers my thinly veiled threat. He’s no stranger to my iron will, nor I his. But this I will not be moved from. I’ll be damned if Bastien has her.

Marie Marceau, I don’t even know the woman. But I want her. I want to possess her. “You’ll wed Princess Cecilia, and if you want, you’ll keep her companion Lady Marceau as a lover. And you’ll do so under strict confidentiality.”

Father wants the Portuguese army, and a merger with Cecilia will guarantee an alliance and access to her father’s fearsome infantry.

“As you wish.”

“You play a dangerous game, Mael. In a game of hearts, someone always loses. Mind, heart, or soul—which one is the question.” A group of advisors enters, and I’m dismissed with a wave of his hand.

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