Alera should have known better than to think she'd be able to have a day completely to do as she wanted.

As it was, she had spent too long in the stables with Jere, the stableboy who seemed to be the only person at court not only of her age but who actually cared to spend time with and listen to her rather than ignoring her and running the other way whenever she was too close. She knew her father wanted her at court that day, she just happened to get lost in conversation with Jere about anything else other than what her father wanted. As it was, it wasn't until the stable master had returned from the day's training that Alera remembered the time and was on her way up a rarely used back set of stairs to return to her room without anyone noticing her presence.

She dressed quickly into an outfit that had been laid out for her most likely since the morning, and she let out a sigh of frustration as she began to put it on. Silently she cursed Brigette, who only seemed to make herself present when she needed to correct Alera when she was doing something wrong rather than being there when she needed her help the most. At least the bodice could be tied in the front, and the ridiculous headpiece she was required to wear was easy enough to place on her own head. She checked herself on in the mirror, declared herself looking more like a brocade sofa than a princess, and after removing a piece of rogue hay from her hair, hurried from her room to find her father.

She could only imagine what he could possibly want to see her about this time. Had he discovered how much time she had been spending in the stables lately? She thought the stable master could be trusted, but maybe now she wasn't so sure. Or had Brigette informed him of her poor focus on her studies lately? She wouldn't pass it by the superstitious maid.

Whatever it was, it seemed as though every day was something new that Alera had done to deserve the wrath of King Roland. She tried her best to walk on eggshells around him, but most days, especially when his grief got the better of him, there wasn't much she could do to steel herself against his temper.

She knew he still missed her mother. They both did. But she also often considered that some days he wished it was Alera who had passed than his true beloved.

The large doors to the throne room were in sight much sooner than Alera would have hoped. Though there were two guards standing on either side, neither of them offered to open the doors for her. In fact, neither opted to look in her general direction either.

Which made her all the more nervous. Was she the only one in that whole castle who didn't know what her father wanted with her?

She was about to push them open when Brigette hissed at her as she approached from the opposite hallway.

"Did no one teach you how to dress yourself properly?" the maid murmured as she began untying and retying the bodice of Alera's dress.

"I wouldn't have had any issues if someone was there to help me." She glared at the maid.

If Brigette noticed, she didn't make it known. "If someone arrived when her father told her to, she wouldn't need help." She pulled the strings of the corset tight, taking Alera off guard and losing her breath just enough to not be able to answer back.

Brigette straightened and turned her attention to the headpiece on Alera's head. She scoffed as she fussed with it, setting it back on her head as if she straightened it when Alera knew it was fine to begin with.

"There, now you look somewhat presentable for the court. Whatever you do, don't anger your father. It's the last thing any of us need right now?"

"Why am I even here?" she asked over her shoulder as Brigette began to shuffle her through the throne room doors.

"You know better than to ask me," she said, all but pushing her into the room. And even if I did know, it wouldn't be my place to tell you."

The hand at the base of her spine that had been leading her into the throne room gave her an unexpected push through the doors, so much that Alera lost her footing and tripped over an unseen ridge in the carpet that ran through the center aisle of the room. Her surprised exclamation drew the attention of the other members of the court and now she had an audience as she tripped over the damn dress when she tried to catch herself and couldn't brace herself in time thanks to the whalebone corset stealing her breath and ridiculous headpiece falling into her face.

No one moved to stop her from falling. Not even Brigette, who was standing closest to her. In fact, Alera swore in the chaos of her entrance that she watched the maid actually step away from her instead of helping.

She didn't know why she was so surprised. Other than her dead mother, the only people who dared touch the fae princess were Jere and her father.

Her father, who had entered the throne room right as her cheek skidded across the carpet.

She should be used to this by now, Alera reminded herself as she struggled to get back to her feet. But more than her bruised cheek and scraped palm hurt her as she lay there. The hurting never stopped. Knowing that people were afraid to touch her created a much more lonely existence than anyone should have to endure. Even in the presence of the king, no one dared move to help their fallen princess. She even saw Brigette cross herself in a silent prayer to her gods, like that would somehow protect her should he attempt to assist Alera.

The maid looked like she was mentally preparing herself actually to help. Like touching her would be a fate worse than death and she was reading herself her final rites before taking a step closer.

Or she would have. If King Roland hadn't waved her back, as if he was protecting her, saving her from a fate worse than death.

"I think you've created enough of a spectacle for one day," her father rumbled as he offered Alera his hand.

She didn't flinch—he had never actually hurt her physically—but the offered hand still had her hesitating. Even as the court watched her father help her return to her feet, she wondered how much of it was for show and how much of it he truly meant.

"Leave us," he said to no one and everyone at the same time.

There was a surprised murmur amongst the court, but no one challenged their king's command. Even Brigette looked grateful for the excuse to walk away from the blasphemous princess.

As she stood and brushed her dress off, her father's words still hadn't completely registered. He had asked her to dress and come to court but gave her no information regarding the reason. And now he had cleared the throne room of everyone, save Xavier, the King's one trusted advisor.

Roland was already on his way to his throne, a silent request for Alera to follow. Xavier remained where he stood, his attention on his King more than on his daughter. With a sigh, heavy with the weight of the crown, her father took his seat and leaned back as he watched her approach.

"You have been of a marrying age for over two years now, Alera," her father started.

Alera could already feel the panic grow in the pit of her stomach. She knew where this conversation was going to go. Where they all seemed to end.

"The last attempt at solidifying an alliance happened those two years ago." It was Xavier who chimed in next. No one else would dare talk over her father as he did. "And after you refused him, no one else has come forward. For two years."

The king waved his hand, a sign to Xavier to cease speaking as Roland returned his attention to his daughter. "I cannot pass the kingdom on to you alone, Alera—"

"But why not? I am more than capable—"

"You know well why not," Xavier cut in, which received another silencing glare from the King.

With another sigh, the king continued. "You must have a husband, Alera, and it is my wish to make it as advantageous as possible."

The pit in her stomach grew. That was why he had called her here without explanation—because if she knew the real reason, she most likely would have run away and never looked back. As it was, her flight or fight instinct was already kicking into gear, and she was clenching her dress in her fists in case she needed to make a quick getaway.

The king may have sensed her reaction because he stood and slowly began to approach her. "It has been a difficult decision," he continued. "I've been quite... hesitant... to pass you off with what you may be carrying in your bloodline."

Alera felt the pain course through her at his insinuation. At her fae blood, she meant. At the reminder he had of her mother. At the one thing that keeps everyone away from her or wanting to touch her.

As if to soothe her, her father took her hand between his own. The look in his eyes almost mirrored her own. That regret that he could not take it away from, or make her life easier.

It was gone in a moment, as if he didn't want any grief evident in what he needed to say next.

"I've accepted an offer from Prince Nicholas from the Abigor Kingdom."

"You've what?" Her response was loud and incredulous.

"Abigor is a highly successful trading kingdom," Xavier interjected. "Any princess would be begging to be betrothed to its heir and Prince."

"But I'm not just any princess."

"You're right," her father said." You're not. Which is why you should be—"

Grateful. She heard the unspoken word. Because they all knew that no one of worth would ever want her, and she should feel fortunate that there was someone with enough power who could make the exchange profitable for everyone but her.

She was no more than chattel to him, and he couldn't wait to give her away so that she could finally be someone else's problem.

The realization had her eyes burning with tears, especially when Xavier gave her a knowing smirk while her father couldn't even look at her.

"That is all," he said with a dismissive hand.

And that was the end of it. There would be no more questions, no challenges. He was the king, and Alera was barely a princess in the eyes of the court.

She swallowed back the pain as she picked up her skirts and turned on her heel to take her leave. She got as far as the throne room doors before she heard her father call out her name.

Alera couldn't bring herself to turn to look at him, and he didn't wait for her to do so either.

"Lest you forget, your birthday is tomorrow. You'll be expected to be present at dinner."

For whatever that would be worth.

She didn't acknowledge that she heard him. She didn't nod or respond. Instead, she pushed over those heavy throne room doors and held back her tears as she hastily escaped to the one place she could find solace.