Chapter 2: Breakfast and Partners
There are moments in life when you just have to stare at someone and question every decision that led to your current situation.
This was one of those moments.
I stared at my father, fork suspended halfway to my mouth, as he calmly cut into his steak like he hadn't just said the most outrageous thing imaginable.
"You're joking, right?" I finally said, blinking at him.
King Aelthryndivoryssalindria the Glorious—also known as the Round and the Rosy—father, or dad when I'm in a good mood—looked up from his plate, his mustache twitching.
"About what, my starlight?"
I pointed my fork at him. "About the whole 'time to get married' thing?"
He dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin and gave me a smile so paternal and gentle that it almost made me forget he'd just tried to sell me into royal matrimony.
Almost.
The dining hall—sorry, the Grand Aurum Banquet Hall—was ridiculous. The table was long enough to host a diplomatic summit and still have space left over for a small war. It stretched from one end of the gold-and-cream chamber to the other, lined with crystal goblets, silver cutlery, and golden candelabras that flickered with soft blue flame. The scent of honeyed bread and roasted pheasant filled the air.
Despite the table's absurd length, my father sat just two chairs away from me. It was probably the only thing keeping this breakfast from feeling like a medieval business meeting.
"Elyndravyssorathielindria…"—he never called me Elyn like others did, claiming it was unbecoming of a father to shorten his daughter's name—"…you're of age now," he said, as if that explained everything. "We've put this off long enough. The vassals—"
I raised a hand, cutting him off. "Wait, wait, wait. The vassals want me to get married?"
He nodded cheerfully, which only made my suspicion rise.
"Yes. They believe it's time you carried out your duty to the kingdom."
I stared at him blankly. "And this said duty," I said slowly, "is to get married?"
He nodded again, even more enthusiastically, as if I'd just guessed the correct answer in some kind of royal trivia game.
I let out a laugh—short, incredulous, and probably more like the sound of a dying bird.
"Oh, no. No, no, no. I am not getting married."
He didn't even blink. "Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not." I said it like the idea itself was preposterous—because frankly, it was.
But my father just stared at me. "Yes, you are."
We held each other's gaze for a while before I spoke again.
"Is this just what the vassals want, or do you want it too?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
"Of course I want it too," he said easily. "It's your way of contributing to the kingdom."
"Father," I began, pinching the bridge of my nose, "I don't need to get married in order to help the kingdom. I can do something else, like… like…" I waved my hand vaguely, trying to sound convincing. "Join the council! I can be a vassal. A noble advisor, even!"
He chuckled, low and warm, the sound rumbling through the huge room.
"My dear, your duty is not to advise old men who argue about taxes. Your duty is to secure alliances. To strengthen the realm. And nothing does that better than marriage."
I flung a piece of pastry into my mouth. "You know what else strengthens realms? Independent women who can read."
He ignored that, of course. For the past five years, I'd noticed that people here still believed women existed only to be someone's wife—and those husbands were usually notorious cheats, by the way. The only "job" a noblewoman had was to marry well.
Yeah, no thanks.
"I'm just saying," my father continued, "I would like to see you with someone of character," he said, his expression softening as he pushed back his chair.
One of the servants immediately scurried over with a small, ornate step stool—polished cherrywood with tiny carved griffins. My father descended from his throne-like chair with all the gravity of a man twice his size and height.
He approached me, his crown glinting in the morning light that streamed through the arched windows. Then, gently, he took my hand in both of his, patting it like I was some small, fragile thing—when he was literally the small one.
"I know how taxing it can be, taking on a husband," he said gravely.
I blinked. "You make it sound like you married a man."
He raised an eyebrow. "I married your mother."
He sighed. "What I mean, my starlight, is that I understand how heavy the responsibility can feel. But don't think too much about it. Everything will be fine."
Easy for him to say. He wasn't the one being auctioned off like an enchanted cow.
He squeezed my hand one last time, then began waddling toward the doors, his royal cape dragging softly behind him.
"Oh!" he called casually over his shoulder. "The first suitor will arrive at noon. Do try to be prepared."
And with that, he disappeared down the corridor.
I sat frozen, staring at the empty space where he'd been.
Did he just—?
He did.
He absolutely did.
A strangled groan escaped me as I slumped back in my chair. "You've got to be kidding me."
The chandelier above me chimed softly, almost mockingly.
Five years. Five years of quiet luxury. Of soft mornings and silk sheets. Of not having to type a single email or answer to anyone named Karen.
And now this.
I was being thrown to the wolves. Well, probably not wolves—this kingdom's nobility was more like a pack of peacocks. Preening, strutting, puffed up with their own importance. I could already imagine the type of man who'd walk through those gilded doors at noon: tall, smug, probably with a magical ego to match his mana levels.
Nope. Not happening.
I dropped my fork with a clatter and stared at the gleaming silverware, watching my warped reflection grin back at me.
"Think, Elyn. Think."
The Eternal Kingdom of Aelthryndivoryssalindria—or as I liked to call it, the land of unreasonably long names—was overflowing with magic. It shimmered in the air like fine dust, hummed beneath the marble floors, and glowed in every gemstone embedded in the palace walls. Even after five years here, it still felt like living inside a snow globe designed by someone with too much money and no sense of restraint.
Magic here came naturally to most people. To me? Not so much. I could handle the basics—light a candle, float a teacup, occasionally make the bathwater smell like vanilla instead of lavender. But my true skill, the one no one in the palace really knew about, lay elsewhere.
Potions.
Nothing grand or world-changing—just small things. Brews that could soothe headaches, make flowers bloom faster, or coax people into telling the truth, among others.
And suddenly, as my father's words replayed in my mind—"The first suitor will arrive at noon."—a slow smile crept across my face.
Maybe I couldn't stop the parade of suitors.
But I could control the interviews.
If these men wanted to marry the Princess of the Eternal Kingdom of Aelthryndivoryssalindria, then by the stars, I was going to make them earn it.
And maybe, just maybe, I could make this work in my favor.
Because if I played my cards right—and brewed the right potions—I might just get the soft, peaceful life I'd been dreaming of.
The kind of life with no Karens, no deadlines, and no meddling vassals breathing down my neck.
I pushed my chair back, the legs scraping softly against the marble floor. The sunlight from the stained-glass windows painted my reflection in shades of rose and gold.
With a grin tugging at my lips, I stood.
"Oh, I'll be prepared," I murmured.
Then, head held high and mind already spinning with ideas, I swept out of the dining hall.