Prince Rainier
Maybe she's a Serena. No. Too bright. The brightest thing about her would be the million facets of her eyes.
The ball went out of control after the guards left. People do crazy things when they're drunk, and these people went balls out with no security guards to make sure no one got killed. I had sent all the guards after that carriage, and they returned only to tell me that they had lost it. Now doctors are moving in and out of guestrooms, checking on fools that got into brawls and fell down stairs, people who couldn't seem to manage getting drunk without inciting riots.
Maybe she's an Adriana. No. Too dark. She's neither too light nor too dark, but in that gray place in between.
The good news is that people are likely to be talking about this ball for a long, long, long time. The bad news is that all I've got left of the love of my life is this sparkling shoe.
Maybe she's a Cassandra. I can see that being her name. Cassandra. Ew. No.
At least no one touched the Bolbec. I've taken it upon myself to have a glass. I don't even care anymore.
Maybe she's a Corinne. No, no—definitely not.
So there's no husband. Just a family of fools who would bar her from becoming a princess. What sort of idiot would try to keep their daughter from something like that? What do they want—am I to understand that they'd rather have a shepherd? What on earth can any alternative in their minds offer them that I cannot? For God's sake—what are they thinking? And what have they drugged her with to make her think that she'd actually be happy with anyone else, anyways? She's been near me, I've told her how I feel. She's got my assurances. Surely she won't even be able to look at anyone else now?
Maybe she's a Lucy.
"My prince," Captain Rhodes tips his head as I drain the glass. It goes down like acid. Bitter, sour, and far too warm. "Perhaps if you could provide me with a description of her appearance, I could have the officers stationed in the villages keep an eye out for her."
Amelia, perhaps?
"She won't make it that easy," I say. "But go ahead."
"What does she look like, sir?"
Alexandra? That could definitely fit her.
"Five foot four, maybe. Brunette. Gray eyes. Pale gray. Beauty marks everywhere."
I can see him writing it down in the corner of my eye. "Anything else you can recall, sir? Any details?"
Tamara?
"I—I can't remember."
"She never spoke of anything that might give us any clues to start with?"
"She was always careful with what she said."
"I see...is there anything else about her you can recall?"
"She likes orchids."
"Orchids, sir?"
"The flowers. Orchids. They're her favorite."
"Of...of course. I'll send out a report to the guards."
Though the guards aren't likely to get any real results, I nod anyways and let him go off on his way.
Please. They're not gonna find her. Not with a bloodhound and a year's head start. The only one who can find her is me, and I have to find her family and smack some sense into them. Personally, I don't care if they burn to a crisp in front of me, but she seems to care a great deal what they think. Which means that winning them over instead of killing them is vital if I ever want to marry her.
But where do I even start to look for her? Well, I'm fairly certain that I'm not going to find her at the bottom of this glass of Bolbec, but I've already drained the thing. Dammit. Shouldn't have done that. As soon as I've returned from the Land of the Dead in the morning, I'll come up with something. Just before my world starts to go black, I see it.
The shoe.
I wasn't clear enough with my intentions. I need to advertise to the world—and her—that I'll make her my princess, not a lover or anything else she's probably dreading.
"Captain!" I call.
Rhodes hurries back inside. "Sir?"
"The—hic—the shoe!"
"The shoe, sir?"
"The shoe!" I point at it on the nightstand. The captain picks it up and looks at it from all angles.
"Is this hers?" he asks.
I nod. "Find the—hic—other shoe. Then you'll find the—hic—girl."