Chapter 1
Bryn never wanted to be a princess.
Perhaps it was the blandness of them, the way the princesses in fairy tales had always seemed to have the same shiny long hair, the way they all wore different versions of the same gowns and plastered on different shades of lipstick on the same smiles, the way they were always depicted to be kind and smart and independent and yet always married handsome no-brainers they'd known for barely a day. She had always found them unappealing, hard to stomach as even the most delectable chocolate becomes after gorging yourself on a mountain of sweets.
The real-life princesses were only a slight improvement, mainly because Brynn knew so little about them that she felt she didn't have the right to judge them. She did her best to chastise herself out of the harsher stereotypes she held of their kind, and generally avoided thinking of them at all.
So it came as no surprise that on a rainy Saturday afternoon in the middle of May, a year after Bryn's grandmother was moved to a retirement home, that Bryn stood opposite her mother in the cavernous kitchen of the restaurant, and scowled as she said in the most irritable voice she could muster:
"No."
"Why not?" Her mother asked, mirroring Bryn's expression. She held the envelope in one hand, the dreaded letter unfolded in the other, her back to the coal-lit fireplace so that Bryn could see the royal insignia lit through the paper.
"Because," Bryn said, "I don't want to marry some rich a-hole."
"Don't say 'ass' in front of me!" Her mother growled at her. "You're not allowed to swear."
"I didn't say 'ass,' you did," Bryn said, looking equally annoyed. "And you see? You didn't deny it either. He is a rich a-hole."
"Oh Bryn," Her mother sighed. "What am I going to do with you? What have I done to deserve such an ungrateful daughter?"
"Then go find a better one," Bryn snapped. The "What am I going to do?" line was one that often came up in their arguments, and usually signaled an impasse. Bryn turned around to make her well-rehearsed stormy exit out of the kitchen, just as her Uncle Bobby backed into the door, carrying a huge sack of potatoes.
"Caroline, Ms. Yates called to reserve a rack of lamb in advance. She'll be here at 7 with her posse, so you might want to start in on that now." Bobby seemed to sense the tension in the room, because he immediately put down the sack of potatoes and wiped his forehead, frowning. "What's wrong?"
"Bobby," Bryn's mother pounced on her potential ally. "Talk to Bryn, will you? She's being extremely difficult about it."
"About what?" Uncle Bobby at least had the good sense to look wary. Caroline thrust the letter into his hands, then grabbed hold of Bryn to keep her from backing away.
"Read it aloud," Caroline said.
To the House of Storm,
The recent census has confirmed that a single woman between the ages of sixteen and twenty currently resides in your home. We would like to make you aware of an upcoming opportunity to honor the great nation of Illéa.
Our beloved prince, Thomas Illéa, is coming of age this month. As he ventures into this new part of his life, he hopes to move forward with a partner, to marry a true Daughter of Illéa. If your eligible daughter, sister, or charge is interested in possibly becoming the bride of Prince Thomas and the adored princess of Illéa, please fill out the enclosed form and return it to your local Province Services Office. One woman from each province will be drawn at random to meet the prince.
Participants will be housed at the Illéa Palace in Angeles for the duration of their stay. The families of each participant will be generously compensated for their service to the royal family.
Sincerely,
James Asriel
Susanna Lynch
Grace M. Woodwing
Ronan Baxter
Royal High Council to King Geoffrey of Illéa
Uncle Robert tossed the letter down next to the sack of "So this is what it's about." He turned and looked around at the mother and daughter, "Caroline, what is it that you want me to do, exactly?"
Bryn's mother gestured with her free hand at her daughter, held unhappily captive in her mother's firm grasp. "Tell her she has to enter."
Bryn shot a pleading look at her uncle. Please please please. Bryn wasn't religious, but she hoped, just in this moment, that there was still a god out there that was willing to answer her prayers. Please let Uncle Bobby realize how ridiculous she's being.
Apparently whichever god she prayed to was feeling especially benevolent towards less-faithful followers, because Uncle Robert crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at his sister. "I will do no such thing."
"But-" To her credit, Caroline didn't look surprised. Instead she looked even more pissed.
"It's her future on the line," Robert said. "It's up to Bryn if she wants to do it or not."
Caroline opened her mouth to argue, Bryn could practically see the fire in her eyes. Robert turned to look at Bryn. "Out," he said, jerking his chin towards the doorway. "I'll have Maria cover your shift. Don't come back here tonight."
Bryn wrenched her arm away from her mother and sped for the door, shooting a grateful look over her shoulder at her uncle. Robert had always had a very good sense of justice, and he could be counted on to keep her mother away from her when she needed a break.
She only hoped she herself would have as much luck at staying dry in the rain.