Author's Note: This chapter is a little shorter, but if you've ever read one of my stories before, you know they'll definitely beef up as we go on. In other news, the SYOC is officially closed! Thank you to everyone who sent in characters. Some have been announced, and the rest will be up before the next chapter is posted sometime next week. There is a Selected in this chapter, so as always, I'd love to hear thoughts :) Thanks to everyone who reads/reviews/etc. :D
It didn't take an empath to realize that Lydia was in trouble when her parents cornered her in her bedroom. "Lydia Asphodel Schreave, what did you do?"
Her first thought was they were going to need to be more specific, considering the multitude of secrets that she'd been keeping from them for the last few years. But she didn't point this out, instead just turning an unsuspecting smile on them. "Good morning to you guys too!"
While her father had seemingly endless reserves of patience and her mother was a master of calm, Lydia wasn't comforted by either of their expressions at that moment. Ezra pulled a letter from the inside pocket of his tan suit jacket. "'Your Esteemed Royal Majesties,'" he began. Over the top of the letter, he glared at Lydia, who had squeaked in excitement when she realized that the reply had already arrived. "'Princess Jia and I offer our sincerest thanks for your congratulations on our upcoming union. It was very kind of your family to reach out and such a joy to see that Italian and Illéan relations are still strong after all these years.'"
"That sounds like a very nice letter," Lydia interjected, "Don't see what I could possibly be in trouble for—"
"'Further,'" continued Ezra forcefully, "'we gratefully accept your invitation to visit Illéa in the coming weeks. Princess Jia and I understand that your country is celebrating a very exciting time with Princess Lydia's upcoming Selection and are honored to be afforded the opportunity to travel, join the festivities, and learn more about Illéan culture. Wishing you the best until our arrival, Prince Benedetto di Angelo.'"
Collette crossed her arms. "Lydia, why is Prince Benedetto coming to Illéa?"
Lydia became very busy with situating her blush colored hat over her wavy hair. "It sounds like he wants to do some traveling and learn more about Illéan culture—"
"Lydia." The tone of Ezra's voice implied that he did not appreciate her evasiveness.
The princess paused as she considered the response. "Wait… did the letter say, 'our arrival'?"
Collette raised a perplexed eyebrow but took the letter from her husband. "Yes," she confirmed, "'Wishing you the best until our arrival'—"
Lydia's eyes widened in surprise, and she dropped the hat. "They're both coming?!" she demanded. "But I only invited Ben!"
Her parents both threw their arms up in exasperation and chorused, "Lydia!"
Ezra pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why are you inviting an engaged foreign prince to Illéa when your Selection is supposed to start anyway?"
Concern etched a frown into the queen's face. "Lydia, if you… have feelings for this prince, perhaps—"
"Ben?" Lydia laughed. "Ew, no!"
Her parents both visibly relaxed. "Then what on earth were you thinking?" sighed Ezra. "This doesn't exactly look the best, Lyd."
She chewed her lip as she tried to think of a believable lie. Naomi had always been better at fabrication than her younger sister. "It's just…" It felt like her brain was completely blank. "I thought that…" Think, Lydia, think!
But before she could stammer through a half-baked lie, a body appeared at her side. The shock momentarily distracted Ezra and Collette, though not as much as Lydia, who almost toppled over in her heels. "Cohen!" the other three Schreaves complained in unison.
"Foreign relations," Cohen promptly supplied.
Ezra's forehead wrinkled. "What?"
"That's why Lydia invited Prince Ben," he explained.
Collette didn't look fooled. "Oh really?"
"Yep," confirmed Cohen. Lydia glanced at her brother in confusion, and he gave her a 'go with it' face.
"Yes!" agreed Lydia. "Foreign relations. Strictly platonic foreign relations."
Ezra clearly wasn't buying it either. "You decided to work on your foreign relation skills with the non-inheriting, recently engaged prince of a country that we're already allied with?"
Lydia nodded slowly, trying not to think about how ridiculous it sounded. "Yes, I did."
The king and queen exchanged an unimpressed look before Collette heaved a sigh. "We don't have time to keep doing this," she admitted, "We're going to be late for the race as is."
"Saved by the bell," Lydia muttered to Cohen as their parents ushered them from the room.
"You really need to get better at lying," Cohen shot back. "Isn't that, like, half of being queen?"
"What? No," countered Lydia. "And for the millionth time, stop sneaking up on us while you're invisible. It's not fair."
Cohen rolled his eyes. "That's like telling you not to heal yourself when you get a paper cut. We work with what we've got, Lyd."
"Not fair," Lydia muttered, "Papercuts hurt."
Their bickering was cut short as they were ushered into the black SUV that would whisk them to the nearby Thundering Downs Race Track. One of the biggest races of the season, the Porter Cup Classic, was being run that afternoon, and although Lydia didn't follow racing closely, the royal family usually attended due to its popularity and proximity to the palace.
This year Lydia was a little more interested than usual, as her best friend's family had a horse running. She hadn't seen in Bex in months since her friend had been home from college for Christmas break. Bex attended Covington University in Waverly, a school that she and Lydia had once dreamed about going to together. Once Lydia had been forced to step up as crown princess in Naomi's absence, she'd had to give that dream up, but she still pressed Bex for every detail possible whenever her friend returned to Angeles. With the Selection on the horizon, the girls had even more to catch up on than usual.
As soon as the guards had cleared the entrance for the royal family, Lydia began scanning the crowds for Bex or one of the Hannigans that could point her in her friend's direction. Bex had an interesting sense of style, the kind that could be spotted from a mile away usually, so when Lydia didn't see her, she decided to check the stables. "I'll meet up with you guys," she told her parents before she hurried off before they could order her to take a guard. Her hat provided her with enough anonymity that most people didn't give her a second glance as she navigated the track.
The stables at Thundering Downs were nicer than even those on the palace ground. Immaculate was an understatement. Constructed of a handsome, dark wood and featuring vaulted ceilings, they seemed like any horse's dream, in Lydia's opinion. Although the track had been there for years, it was like the stables had just been constructed. The aisle was spotless, the stalls were roomy, and the only thing that she could smell was a sweet, woody scent.
There weren't even many horses around, and she realized that most of them must've been out in the paddocks being saddled for the race. "Bex?" she called.
For a moment, there was no response before a large, black creature stuck his head over his stall door. He gave a soft whinny, as if to inform Lydia that Bex was, indeed, not there. "Thanks," Lydia chuckled.
The horse bobbed his head in acceptance of her thanks. She glanced at the name plate next to his door. "Seamus, huh?" she concluded. The horse whickered, and Lydia crossed to the stall to gently run her hand down the white blaze on the horse's face.
"Hey!"
Lydia jumped at the voice. It was much sharper and authoritative than the tones that people usually directed towards her, and something about that intrigued her. She glanced over her shoulder. A man—boy?—limped down the barn aisle towards her, dressed in tattered jeans, a dust splashed t-shirt, and a ratty flannel. He had messy brown hair, sharp cheekbones, and a scowl that furrowed his brow and turned down his mouth. His limp was prominent, and the grimace that each step caused him suggested that it was from an injury that had yet to heal.
Despite his obvious displeasure, Lydia gave him a warm smile. This only made the frown to deepen, to the princess's amusement. Clearly, he either didn't recognize her—large derby hats could cause such mistakes—or had no clue who she was to begin with. Both were occurrences that Lydia rather enjoyed, as they resulted in some interesting interactions. It wasn't often that she got to be normal.
"Just saying hi," she explained, her statement punctuated with a pat of the horse's neck. "Are you his owner?"
He shifted from his left leg to his right, though Lydia couldn't tell whether his discomfort stemmed from his injury or her attempt to engage in conversation. "No. I just ride him," he explained.
"So, you're a jockey!" Lydia concluded, turning fully to face him.
"And you're chatty," was all he responded as he brushed past Lydia and entered the stall. He said it in a disdainful way, the way a parent might comment on their child's untidy appearance or a teacher would note a pupil's poor academic progress.
She ignored the comment. "Are you riding him today?"
He sighed, clearly disappointed that she hadn't left yet. "If I was, we'd already be dressed and in the post parade," he pointed out. He ran his hands deftly over the horse's legs, like he thought Lydia had somehow caused him injury by petting him. When he finally seemed satisfied, he shot her one last frown before he pulled a curry comb from the pocket of his jeans and began to brush it over the horse's flank.
Lydia crossed her arms, a little off-put by his gruffness. "All you had to say was no."
"Listen, Moneybags," he began with a chuckle, pleased by the nickname he'd come up with for her on the fly.
Lydia, on the other hand, was decidedly less entertained. "Moneybags?" she repeated. It was her turn to glare.
"Why don't you just head on up to your fancy box now?" he offered. "The champagne and caviar are probably starting to freeze in the air conditioning."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "For your information, I am a vegetarian," she declared, "and I don't eat caviar."
He smirked as he bent to pick the dirt out of the horse's hooves. "Not denying that box bit, eh?"
She decided to ignore him. "This is a public stable," she pointed out, "and I like this horse, so you're just going to have to deal with me."
He glanced over his shoulder at her. His brown hair looked a little overgrown, like it was desperately in need of a trim, and it flopped into his eyes a little. "This horse?" he snorted. "You couldn't even name one technical thing you liked about him, Dollar Signs."
After shooting another glare at the groomer, Lydia considered the horse. She'd loved animals as a child, but the man had a point. She racked her brain for any horse related word that sounded impressive. "For your information," she began, trying to buy herself time, "he has a very nice…" She chewed her bottom lip as she thought. Finally, her eyes settled on the horse's handsome face. "Fetlock!" she decided triumphantly.
Instead of looking impressed, another sly grin slid over the guy's face. "Wow, you got x-ray vision?" he asked.
"What? No," countered Lydia, a little perplexed.
"Hate to burst your bubble, Rica, but the fetlock is down there," he explained, pointing to the bottom of the horse's leg, which Lydia couldn't see because of the stall door. "You meant the forelock, huh? I saw you looking at his face." Lydia blushed, as he was spot on. "No use trying though," he continued as he raked the brush over the horse's flank. "There ain't any good 'technical' things about this horse anyway. He's too short, too slow, and getting too fat."
She rolled her eyes. "That doesn't mean he's bad," she pointed out, "You clearly like him."
"No one ever said I had a lot of sense," he quipped.
She was about to agree with him—and add that he didn't have a lot of friendliness either—when there was an excited noise in the doorway that startled Lydia, the jockey, and Seamus. "Lydie!"
The excitement with which Bex threw herself at her friend nearly knocked the air out of Lydia's chest, but she recovered by wrapping her arms around Bex in return. "You got highlights!" Bex exclaimed. "I love your dress! I'm so happy to see you!"
Every reunion that Bex and Lydia shared whenever Bex returned to Angeles had a unique habit of making Lydia happy and sad at the same time. On one hand, she had her best friend back. On the other, it was a sore reminder of her sister's absence, as Bex brought a small taste of the comforting warmth that Naomi had always radiated. Lydia squeezed Bex tighter.
"You look amazing," Lydia complimented when they finally parted. Bex was dressed in a vibrant blue, yellow, red and white dress with a busy print. It was perfect for the race, as the pattern featured the profile of a horse right in the middle of Bex's chest. An equally bright red Derby hat and patterned belt—Lydia had no clue how Bex ever found things like patterned belts—completed the ensemble.
Bex gave a spin. "Why, thank you!" she beamed. "I brought some amazing things home for you as well." Bex was working towards her degree in fashion design at Covington and always returned to Angeles with an army of clothes.
"I don't know whether to be excited or scared," admitted Lydia with a chuckle. She smiled as she took in her friend's appearance. "Bex, it's so good to see you—"
"Hey, Mary Kate and Ashley," the jockey interjected, "this is a barn, not a sorority house."
They both paused and turned back towards the stall. Seamus looked affable as ever, but his jockey's eyes were narrowed, and his body language screamed irritated. As soon as Lydia saw the way that Bex's eyebrows arched and the indignation written on her friend's face, Lydia knew things were about to get dicey. "Excuse me?" Bex demanded.
In a mismatched response, he sighed again. "Why do girls always have sidekicks?" he mused as he combed Seamus's mane.
Bex's eyebrows practically melded with her hairline. "A sidekick?"
"Yeah," shrugged the jockey. "You know, it's just pretty clear that she holds your reins." He gestured from Bex to Lydia with the comb in his hand.
Bex crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to the left, as she usually did before she let someone really have it. Lydia put an exasperated hand to her temple. "I'm sorry, but do you even know who she is, you track rat?" Bex demanded.
The jockey's eyes narrowed at the name, as though it was one that he'd heard before and didn't enjoy. "No, but I'm sure you're about to call your daddy so he can catch me up to speed," he shot back.
"For the love of everything, I was just trying to pet a horse," Lydia mumbled to herself. She held up her hands. "Hi, hello? We're not doing this," she declared. She grabbed Bex's arm. "It was nice to meet you…" She paused, but the jockey didn't make a move to supply his name. "Okay, you know what, it was nice to meet you, Seamus," she declared, giving the horse one final pat. Without another word to the jockey, she turned and steered Bex towards the door.
"See ya around, Moneybags!" he called after her before they could get too far away. "Might want to try a curb bit with that wild mare of yours."
Bex almost paused to respond but clearly decided against it and allowed Lydia to continue to steer her forward. "Ugh, doubt it, luckily," she muttered. "What a rude—"
"Forget about it," Lydia urged, "We have bigger problems."
"Oh yeah!" agreed Bex. Once they were clear of the stables, she paused, causing Lydia to stop as well. After glancing around to make sure that they were alone, Bex punched Lydia in the arm.
"Ow! What was that for?!" Lydia demanded as she grabbed her bicep. It was more of a reflex, since the pain from Bex's punch had already faded. She knew there wouldn't be a bruise either. A prized fighter could've hit her, and her power would still ensure that she recovered quickly and flawlessly.
Bex glared at her oldest friend. The two had met as children, since Collette had been good friends with Mrs. Hannigan before she'd become queen, and the young girls had quickly become best friends. But that didn't mean that they didn't clash on occasion, especially since Bex's saucy, sarcastic personality tended to rock the boat. The guilt that keeping Naomi's current state a secret caused Lydia hadn't helped their occasional tiffs much in the last few years either.
"You just announce a Selection without giving me a heads up?" demanded Bex.
"Oh." Lydia exhaled, as she always did when she realized that someone's displeasure with her had nothing to do with her big secret. "I'm sorry," she tried to placate Bex, "My parents sort of sprang it on me, and I said yes and was going to tell you, but then it was announced before I really knew what was happening."
"But do you want to do it?" Bex prodded. Any anger had disappeared, and in its place was a look of concern that only made Lydia's guilt grow. She didn't deserve a friend that cared so much about her when all she did was lie to Bex. "We've never talked about you having a Selection before now," Bex added.
Because I wasn't supposed to, Lydia thought, her stomach churning. "Yeah, it's fine," she shrugged. "Gotta do what I gotta do, right?"
The concern became more prominent. "You seem oddly chill about this," Bex noted.
Lydia shrugged and started to walk again, eager to leave the conversation behind. "I mean, it worked out for my parents," she pointed out, "and what's the worst that can happen?"
"Yeah," interjected Bex, "because guys are never psychotic or liars or players or secretly gay or creepy—"
Lydia paused. For the first time in years, she had a fear that wasn't related to Naomi. "I didn't think about that…" she admitted as she tugged at her necklace in one of her nervous ticks.
But Bex seemed to realize that she wasn't helping and threw an arm around Lydia's shoulders. "Don't worry," she countered, "I'm home for the summer, so I'm going to be here the whole time to help you! If there are any psychotic, lying, secretly gay, creepy players, I'll weed them out."
A small smile tugged at Lydia's face. "Thanks, Bee."
"Now, come on," urged Bex, "we still have some time to charm the bartender into some free mint juleps before the race starts." Despite the fact that her family wealth rivaled that of the Schreaves, free things were one of Bex's deepest loves. Lydia laughed but followed her friend, discretely leaving large tips as she always did when Bex did manage to use her charisma to her advantage.
The race was short, as always, but thrilling. Tucked away in the box that the Schreaves shared with the Hannigans, Lydia found herself yelling at the top of her lungs as she cheered the Hannigan's horse on, momentarily distracted from the plethora of problems that were currently hampering her life. The Hannigan horse came in second, which old friends Collette and Fiona Hannigan took as an excuse to celebrate.
But when they arrived back at the palace and started to retreat to the Women's Room for the post-race party, Lydia quietly tried to slip away. "Where are you going?" Cohen asked, his gaze suspicious.
"Uh… headache," Lydia lied. "I'm gonna go find some medicine and take a break. Distract Bex for me?"
While Cohen clearly didn't buy his older sister's lie, harassing Bex Hannigan was one of his favorite past-times, so he eagerly nodded in agreement. Lydia waited until Cohen had faded into nothingness, using his power to conceal himself as he stepped on the back of Bex's sandals all the way down the hall. She rolled her eyes at his childishness but took the chance to hurry to the third floor.
Tallulah was the only one present when Lydia slipped into the fairies' common room, but her face was buried in a book so intently that she hardly took notice of the princess. She raised a distracted hand in greeting, which Lydia echoed before she took the stairs two at a time to Naomi's room.
Since the latest revelation about Naomi's condition, Lydia lived in a constant state of terror until she saw her sister. Hazel had assured her that Naomi's decline was slow, but it felt like she could wake up any day, and Naomi could just be gone. It didn't seem so outlandish to Lydia, as the bruises continued to spread over Naomi's body more and more every day.
Although she'd been scolded and told how fruitless it was many times, Lydia took Naomi's hand as she sank to the floor next to the bed. The angry, purple marks now covered the tips of every single one of Naomi's fingers. Lydia closed her eyes and focused.
When she opened her eyes, the hands clasped in hers looked perfectly healthy. But as soon as she released them, the bruises returned. Lydia tried not to feel too disappointed in herself as she rested her head against the bed.
"Ben is coming," she told her sister. She wasn't sure whether that would be any comfort to Naomi, if she could hear Lydia at all. She decided to strategically conceal the fact that he was bringing his new fiancée with him.
Her hand absentmindedly drifted to the starfish necklace that always hung at her throat. "Do you remember the summer that we spent in Italy?" she asked Naomi.
She paused, as always. There was silence, as always.
One of the most painful parts about the sister's current predicament for Lydia was the fact that all her best memories included Naomi. Now, a blissful summer spent on the Amalfi coast with Ben and Naomi brought tears to her eyes. "We said we were going to leave Illéa to Cohen and just live in the Tyrrhenian sea," she remembered with a sad chuckle. "The Little Mermaid was always your favorite."
Things had been so easy then—the type of easy that you never recognized until it was gone forever.
"I'm gonna figure it out, Namie," Lydia promised her sister. "Ben, this Selection, Agnimitra… everything. I promise." She kissed her sister's bruised hand before she stood, wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes, and forced the corners of her mouth upward into a convincing smile before she left the tower.