Page 99 of Falling Princess

Looking back, I don’t know why Lorcan’s presence when walking three steps behind me was so bothersome. I barely noticed these two. Whether trending toward love or hate, my feelings about him have never been neutral.

You can’t love someone you hardly know.Yet here I am, utterly infatuated with him to the exclusion of all other men.

“Zosia.” My father’s voice snapped me out of a reverie. It was a luncheon. Across the table from me were the tanned faces and sun-streaked dark hair of Oceanside’s noble families. “Tomorrow afternoon, I want you to show Sky to our visiting guests.”

“Sky,” I repeated incredulously.

“Are you not an accomplished equestrian? You went to the Olympics,” the son asked. I’ve known him, distantly, since I was a child. He’s nine years my senior and not repulsive to look at. Yet I feel nothing. No spark of interest. When he speaks, my mind wanders. We have nothing in common apart from high social status.

“And failed miserably,” I noted.

My father fixed me with a death glare. “And whose fault was that?”

Lorcan’s.

I examined my salad as though I’d become an instant specialist in leafy greens, remembering. It was the moment I came over a jump with Sky when I happened to glance into the stands and found his gaze unnervingly upon me. We knocked a rail off the next jump because I was so rattled.

So, mine, really, for not being able to control my reaction. Lorcan has always gotten under my skin without even trying.

“Mine,” I conceded. Later, after our guests had taken leave, my father gave more detailed instructions.

“You will not fail tomorrow.” He said this with a note of resignation in his voice that told me I already had.

“Sky is being put to stud. I want you to show him to the best of his abilities. You will wear your formal riding habit, no modern clothing. The revenues from his fees are much needed for the Treasury.”

“Is my horse being put to stud, or am I?”

My father’s expression soured. “You have no reason to be surprised by this. I have given you your head since your seventeenth birthday. Longer—by rights, you ought to have stepped up as High Priestess long before now. I granted you leniency on account of your youth. I’ve gathered the finest men in Auralia for you to select from. Pick one. Any man would be honored to stand at your side. Be happy, for once, Daughter.”

I swallowed hard.Given my head.This is how he thinks of me. As livestock.

Be happy for once.

Perhaps I could be, if I believed anyone cared one whit about what I actually wanted.

As if I know, myself.

* * *

“I’d like to tour the Gaol.”

“I beg your pardon?” That got my father’s attention. Good.

“I want to visit the Gaol. I toured the prison at Edinburgh Castle, and it was surprisingly interesting. I wish to see how our facility compares.” Risky to remind him of the day I nearly died, but after the way he betrayed me this visit, I’m over attempting to please him. I might as well have been orphaned the day my mother died.

“The mere thought of you consorting with criminals alarms me. Besides, there’s a bat infestation. You won’t like it.”

“I don’t have to like it. I only have to see it.”

His brow crinkled thoughtfully. “Find an escort. Take one of your suitors. Take all of them—if they’re not too afraid to follow you. It is an inspired way to winnow out the cowards.”

I couldn’t summon much interest from the twenty or so sons of Auralia’s finest families. The men with the least chance of selection were the only ones eager to accompany me. Fifty-three-year-old Lord Duníja and the youngest, seventeen-year-old Radimir of Sumeter, the son of the second-highest-ranking earl in the Grasslands District. To be perfectly honest, I like him best of the lot. He’s darling, far too young to be marrying anyone, and knows he doesn’t have a chance, which hasn’t stopped him from following me around like an overeager puppy.

I keep him around as a barrier between the more aggressive suitors and me.

The jail is none too comfortable, but neither is it cold, dank, or dark. The inmates’ physical needs are met, and there was no sign that my father has resorted to using torture, to my great relief. I steeled myself in anticipation of rude catcalls. The guards kept me in the center of the aisle, well away from grasping hands that darted out from the bars.

But the prisoners were relatively respectful. A whistle or two, quickly reprimanded by the guards. I don’t feel as though I need to be protected from these people, beyond the iron barriers.

---