the west ballroom, but her parents seemed more concerned with making sure the foyer did not fail to impress. They had transformed the massive gold-trimmed double staircase by lining the railings with parchment streamers in various berry and carnation-stained shades of pink.
Of course, none of it was actually for her—just as the canary yellow gown her mother had custom tailored for the occasion wasn’t really for her. It was for everyone else, to ensure she met the public’s expectations of the royal family.
Much to her chagrin, the queen ordered Lilac to wear a corset for the first time that evening. When the young handmaid, Piper, failed to wrestle the screaming princess into it, she struck a deal. If Lilac wore the dress for a three-hour supper, Piper would willingly look the other way when she snuck down to the kitchen for mead and leftover cakes.
Most of the castle staff knew of her post-supper party routine; whenever her parents spent the night intoxicating and entertaining guests with their embellishments, she got to drink, too. It was only fair, and it wasn’t like she ever had much. Only enough to warm the insides, she would justify to herself, as she sat on the rug in front of her bedroom fireplace after having been sent to bed, dreaming of her next adventure outside the red brick walls.
Her birthday ball was a blur of court dancing and primping. In the early evening, complete strangers in their gowns and wigs kissed the back of her hands and told her how glamorous she looked. By the time Hedwig rang the supper bell, Lilac gratefully retreated to join her parents.
The dining table reserved for her family stretched across the length of the grand fireplace. During the social hour, their staff had it covered in a bountiful array of locally harvested goods: roast duck and rabbit, hocks of cured pork, bread baked that morning, and wheels of cheese that had been aging for years at the nearby fromagerie. There were tubs of beurre aux algues—specialized Breton seaweed butter, fruit salads doused in honey and goat’s cheese, and a mound of her favorite oysters.
Even at the first dinner party thrown in her own honor, Lilac felt completely alone at the head of the table. A dozen more circular tables surrounded them, each serving a handful of guests both familiar and foreign; she recognized dignitaries, nobles, and a few shop owners. Yet, the only attendees she knew personally were Armand and his wife Vivien, who sat to her left.
Thankfully, Sinclair was nowhere to be found.
“Sinclair, erm, wasn’t feeling well this evening,” his father had declared through a thick red mustache when she glanced around anxiously. “He is with the nanny tonight. But he wishes he could be here and sends his regards, certainly,” he added, when the duchess nudged him with a bony elbow.
“Ah, young love.” Vivien rose from her chair and placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “If it’s fine with you, King Henri, Queen Marguerite… Armand and I would like to make a toast.”
“Oh, Vivien,” the king said, arms spread open, “Of course.”
Although the woman was requesting the first toast at her daughter’s birthday—and in her own castle—Lilac’s mother nodded, beaming through clenched teeth. Silence rippled like waves throughout the hall when the guests realized there was a speech to be made.
“To the bright young woman sitting before me,” the duchess announced loudly, “I would like to raise a toast, to the most beautiful and rambunctious little girl in all of Brittany. I hope your birthday feast is everything you ever hoped for. And to His and Her Majesty,” she said, tilting the chalice in the queen’s direction. “May your royal offspring adorn the position they were always destined to fill. And Lilac, know that whatever happens, our family will be right there with you. Until the very end.”
The princess slumped further into her seat as the room burst into applause.
After dinner, Lilac gladly retreated to her room while the servants shifted leftovers to the kitchen. As exhausting as her parents’ social events were, she’d stuffed herself full of her favorites—the rich duck and oyster—but was careful to leave room enough for one drink.
After a soak in a lavender bath that Piper had drawn up, she found herself brushing knots out of hair next to the crackling fireplace.
Then, came a light knock on the door.
“Come in.”
The door opened a crack. “Your Highness? A minute?” It was Piper.
“Yes, of course.”
Her handmaiden entered, wringing her hands. She wasn’t much