Page 3 of Heart’s Rescue

Arryn

Broken Hearts

“He’s not dead!” I snap as tears blur my vision.

Stars above, the tears I’ve shed in the past day. I could have filled a lake.

“Oh, you poor dear,” Mother says, opening her arms.

I lean delicately into her embrace, ignoring the way her diamond necklace digs into my cheek. She’s all silk and scented powder and elegance, as always, and I sniff softly, trying to keep my tears from spilling down my cheeks. Ladies mourn, of course, but ladies must not break down.

“And you,” Mother continues, speaking over my head. “You should have known better than to bring up such a delicate subject.”

There’s a sort of harumph, which must come from Father, followed by something caught halfway between a laugh and a cough. That’s Petya, my brother. The thought of looking like a complete idiot in front of Petya helps me to regain some sort of control. I pull away from Mother and dab my eyes delicately with my kerchief.

“Oh, fine, fine,” Petya says as he waves his hand above the empty breakfast dishes. “I didn’t mean to imply that our dear prince is dead. He’s just… departed. On his heroic quest.”

Petya’s eyebrows knit together, and I get the strong impression he’s trying not to laugh. Jerk.

“The Royal Family released their official statement,” I say. “They would confirm if he was— he was—”

My breath hitches, and I can’t even finish that sentence.

“Oh, that poor family,” Mother says, making the sign of the stars over her chest. “First Princess Elanerill, and now this.”

“What I want to know is why he wanted to be a hero in the first place,” Father says, with a sniff. “I mean, it’s all well and good in the storybooks to go after your sister’s heart, or whatever it is that’s down there in the Lands Below, but he’ll have a kingdom to run soon enough.”

“Stars help us all,” Petya mutters under his breath.

Anger flares in my chest, hot and sharp. Petya has never been kind to my beloved, and this morning his deliberate rudeness is even less forgivable than usual. I toss my kerchief on the table and stomp my foot as delicately as I can manage.

“This is my beloved we’re discussing!” I remind them. Shrilly.

Petya shoots an exasperated glance at Mother. “Beloved, still? Not betrothed?”

“We’re working on it,” Mother snaps.

Petya turns to me with a strange expression, some uncomfortable mixture of pity and what feels almost like disapproval. Anger, even. But what does he have to be angry about? He’s got the shipping company, after all. It’s his name on all the contracts, and he’s moved the head of operations to the Silver City. So would it kill him to be a touch more understanding about the sudden disappearance of the man I’m meant to marry?

Petya raises his eyebrow at Mother as he brings his cup to his lips. “You’ve been working on this one for quite a while,” he murmurs into his black tea.

Mother’s hand grips my shoulders. “Dear, I don’t believe this is the best conversation for your delicate ears.”

I sigh and sag forward. I feel like a wrung-out handkerchief; all I’ve done is sob and sob since I first heard of the prince’s disappearance. Mother is right. I should go.

I politely excuse myself from the conversation. As usual, Father and Petya continue talking as though I weren’t even here, and as though my beloved prince hadn’t just vanished in the Barrier Mountains. Maybe even into the—

No. I couldn’t even think of it.

“These things do take time, you know,” Father says as I bow politely to my father first, then to my mother, and then to my brother, in the proper order and for the proper amount of time. Not that anyone acknowledges my dutiful display of basic etiquette. No one seems to care when I do things correctly. It’s only when I mess up that anyone even notices I’m here.

“I mean, they are the Royal Family,” Father continues as I gather my skirts and head for the door, my eyes fixed on the polished tile beneath my feet. “This match between Arryn and Prince Folwynn is, uh, a bit of a stretch, even for us.”

“Not that much of a stretch,” Mother snaps. “My great-aunt was second cousin to the queen’s mother.”

I tune their voices out. I’ve heard all this before, hundreds and hundreds of times. I knew the prince was to be my husband before I knew how to walk. We’ve grown up together, Prince Folwynn and I. My mother chose him for me before I was even born. Petya might have his name on all the family’s shipping contracts, he might have his own life with his husband at our new headquarters in the Silver City, but my marriage will make our family royalty.

And Folwynn will make a lovely husband, with his golden hair and dashing smile. The stars smiled on the night he was born, as they say. I push the door open and slip into the hall, trying to focus my scattered memories on Folwynn’s smile. Reminding myself how fortunate I am to have such a match.