1769

Genevieve hated dance lessons with a passion. Rosella was such a natural at them, and it was annoying to have her do anything in the schoolroom better than she did.

"Ow! Gen, that was my foot," Rosella said with a grimace.

"Sorry."

"Ouch! Genevieve!"

"Alright, I think you girls have earned a break," Madame Arpine said exasperatedly, lifting her hands from the pianoforte.

Genevieve dropped Rosella's hands gratefully, wanting nothing more than a glass of lemonade from the pitcher the kitchens had prepared that morning. Madame Roberts, the cook, always put a bit of lavender in, which Genevieve adored.

"I think you broke every one of my toes, Gen," Rosella said, pouring herself a glass.

"It's not my fault you have giant feet, Rosy," Genevieve responded, sticking out her tongue.

"The physician says they're just growing fast now, but I'll stop early! When we're grown up, maybe your feet will be even bigger than this." Rosella said indignantly, holding out her shoe and examining it, "Perhaps I should ask Maman and Papa to order a pair of steel-toed boots I can wear when I dance with you."

"I doubt the cobbler has enough material to make shoes that large," Genevieve said with a sugary smile.

Rosella responded, very maturely, by flicking Genevieve in the forehead. Not to be outdone by her sister, Genevieve flicked her right back. They continued to carry on like this until Madame Arpine had to physically pull them apart, and say that perhaps that was enough dancing for one day, instead focusing on their embroidery.

Genevieve felt vindicated. Not because she enjoyed embroidery much more than dancing, but she knew Rosella hated it just as much as she did.

1781

Antonio was a proficient dancer, which was lucky for her, as her dancing skills had improved little, despite how much she practised, and how many books on dance theory she read throughout her childhood. It was as though her muscles were determined to be ungraceful. Genevieve managed to avoid his feet throughout the entirety of the first set they danced, and for most of the second, until about halfway through when she moved forward instead of backward and ended up trodding on his right pinky toe.

"My deepest apologies, Your Highness! Are you alright?"

"Perfectly fine," Antonio said with a smile (that really looked more like a wince), "I was sailing once and accidentally dropped the anchor on my foot. Your dancing slipper is a much more preferable alternative."

Genevieve could have kissed him for that. Smiling up at him, she decided she no longer hated Antonio Euphorbenos, even if she still thought him a little dense and overly emotional.

However, she supposed that wasn't fair either. Antonio was so clearly in love, a feeling which she had never experienced. Even her mother, who was the most sensible person Genevieve knew, jumped through countless hoops to avoid a lucrative alliance, all so that she could marry for love (which, Genevieve was quite grateful for, in the grand scheme of things, because she rather liked being alive).

As the music came to a close, she watched Antonio's eyes scan the ballroom, before lighting up with a soft glow that overtook his entire face. Genevieve followed his gaze to where Ro was standing by the refreshments table.

"Would you care for a glass of wine, Your Highness?"

"I would, my lord, thank you," she said, allowing him to lead her in the direction of where Ro was standing.

"You know, since we are to be married, you can call me by my given name. At least in private."

"Thank you. . . Antonio. You may do the same for me if you like."

He tilted his head a little, smiling. "You do like protocol, don't you, Genevieve?"

"I fail to see why that's a flaw."

"Do you want to know what I think?"

"You will be my husband soon, I think I ought to."

"I think you're afraid of anything unexpected. Your sister died young and suddenly, and so now you have to arrange everything into neat little boxes."

"Why do you assume you know my deepest fears?"

"Because you, Genevieve Edeline Du Châtillon, are my uncle in a ball gown."

Genevieve stifled a giggle at the mental image of the commanding King Peter in a ball gown and slippers. But even so, she looked up at Antonio and asked,

"You still want to marry her, don't you? Even if it could mean ruin for your kingdom."

Antonio shrugged. "I love her. Nothing else really matters after that."

Genevieve could not think of a way to respond to that. But it turned out she didn't need to.

"I promise I'll be a good husband to you. We'll be good friends, and I promise to let you have equal control of all matters of state once we're officially King and Queen."

It was everything she wanted from him, yet somehow the words felt hollow.

They finally reached Ro, who smiled up at Antonio like he hung the moon and stars.

"May I have this dance?" he asked her, holding out his hand.

Ro moved to take it, but hesitated, looking at Genevieve as though asking permission. Genevieve smiled her approval and watched Antonio lead Ro out to the floor, both of them beaming. As the music began, she took a melomakarona from the table and popped it into her mouth, wrapping another up in a napkin and putting it in her pocket to take to Isabella later.

She turned her attention to the dance floor, where Ro and Antonio were happily dancing the Minuet. Genevieve watched them dance, a fond smile on her face. For all her resistance against it, she found herself liking Ro. She was kind and genuine, which was a refreshing break from the facade of the royal court.

And Antonio, he was a good man too. He seemed to truly care for Ro and his sisters, and perhaps he would come to care about her as well. Not in the same way, of course. Because the way he looked at Ro, that was something that did not happen twice.

She knew that look. Her father looked at her mother that way, her grandmother looked at the portrait of her grandfather that way. Genevieve's eyes drifted towards the king and saw that he was staring at the Duke of Chélorou with his heart in his eyes as well.

It was strange, the sense of loss she felt when she allowed herself to think about her future with Prince Antonio. Even though she was so wholly in favour of a political marriage, a small part of her had always assumed that she and her husband would somehow fall in love.

But Antonio? Antonio was in love. In enough love that he'd been willing to give up his kingdom, and go against his father. Would someone ever be willing to go against everything they were born for, everything they believed in, for her? Would she ever be willing to do that for someone?

Could she be happy if no one ever looked at her the way Antonio looked at Ro? Was love something she'd wanted all along, but never acknowledged?

And suddenly, a terrifying realisation came over her: she wanted love. Perhaps not exactly what her parents had, or what Antonio and Ro had, but certainly something akin to it.

She excused herself from the ballroom, making up something about her hair needing more powder, but in reality, she just ran up to her room. She wanted her mother. No. She wanted her sister.

She wanted Rosella.