That evening, I am laying in my bed with a book when there's a soft knock on my door. I allow them inside, and Father pokes his head in. I frown at this. He never comes to my chambers unless something is troubling him. He uses his cane to limp over, the mattress dipping when he sits on the edge of it by my legs, a strange look on his face.

"Has something happened?" I inquire naturally, sitting up in concern.

"No, no," he says, patting my knee as a comforting gesture. It only furthers my curiosity. "Well, I just. I feel as if you consider me cruel for the current events taking place. I know you do not wish to marry until you are ready, but darling, I will not be here much longer. All I want is to ensure your safety and the kingdom's protection. You understand that, don't you?"

"Of course, Father. But I believe you will be here longer than you think."

He offers a sad smile. "Ah, but I do not wish to chance fate."

He kisses my forehead and uses his cane to push himself back to his feet. He closes the door softly behind him, and I am alone again just as quickly.

I wish I was not bound to the castle.

I wish I lived an entirely different life.

***

Clarice barges into my room the next morning while Mary prepares my bath. She seems flustered, her blond, graying hair falling loose from her braid. She carries a dress over her arm, a new one I've yet to see. It's a pale red with lace sleeves, the skirt pure silk. She holds it up, beaming at me, and the words spill from her lips before I have the chance to speak.

"I made it last night when I heard the news. Oh, you must try it on, Annaliese! I could not get you in for a fitting, but I know your curves well enough by now. It should fit wonderfully." She shoves the fabric into my arms, ushering me into the tub where Mary chuckles in amusement.

"Clarice, how do you work so quickly yet never fail to create a masterpiece?" Mary asks the woman near her age kindly.

"It's a gift, I suppose," the other woman says, giggling. "Annaliese, do hurry up. I'm impatient to see how it looks."

I shake my head at the two, unable to hide my smile.

My bath is short with their pestering, and both help me into the gown once I am finished. As they gush over the look, I remember what Clarice said when she arrived. "Clarice," I start, grabbing her attention, "what is this news you speak of?"

She gasps in surprise. "Darling, you don't know?"

I frown in reply.

"King Jacob of Marindale contacted your father the day of the first ceremony and apologized for his tardy. He could not make it with his busy schedule. But he is coming today because he is interested in you! He wants to join the competition to win your hand in marriage," she rambles, her eyes alight with excitement.

Mary places a hand on her chest in shock. "King Jacob of Marindale?" she echoes, disbelieving.

Clarice nods rapidly.

I sigh. I had wished for news more, well, newsworthy. I will admit, though, that it is quite a big deal. King Jacob is the youngest king in all of the kingdoms, forced to take his father's throne when the man died suddenly of disease. He has been king since only fifteen years of age. Marindale is said to be a thriving kingdom will all the resources a civilization could ever desire, and I have heard no ill spoken words of the king. In fact, at only twenty-three, he is rumored to be the most adored king of our generation.

"I hear he's even more handsome in person," Clarice whispers, nudging me with her elbow.

I roll my eyes at her though I smile. "Perhaps, but with Father's masquerade, it will not matter."

"Oh, surely you can find some way to depict who he is in the crowd. Even a mask cannot hide all of his beauty."

"Clarice, I think you're beginning to overheat."

Mary laughs as Clarice plays along, fanning herself.

The two bid good luck to me as they hand me off to Max, who escorts me down to the main lobby where Jacob should be standing any moment now. Some of the other suitors act as if they have business in the lobby simply so they can get a look at him when he arrives. I stand aside my father who has rid of his cane and raises his chin, exuding confidence and pride. I clasp my hands in front of my stomach and straighten my posture so as not to disappoint him.

Then there is a trumpet sounding as the large entrance doors get pushed open. A herald steps into the doorway and announces, "King Jacob of Marindale and his mother, Queen Elara of Marindale!"

Naturally, everyone in the room dips into a bow, and I a curtsey. I dare to lift my eyes in chance of a peek. A tall man with broad shoulders strides into the castle, an easy smile on his face that makes his blue eyes appear as if they are sparkling. A woman with looks similar to his walks behind him, every bit of grace a queen should have. Her brown hair is long and reaches the bottom curve of her back, swaying gently with her soft steps.

"Thank you, Eudora, for such a pleasant welcome," Jacob calls, everyone's signal to rise. He dips his head in our direction. "It is my greatest honor to be given a chance at winning the princess's heart." His eyes meet mine and my cheeks betray me by reddening.

My father steps forward. "Welcome, King Jacob. A feast has been prepared in the dining hall for your arrival."

Jacob bows his head again in agreement, and he follows us to the meal, his entourage close behind: his mother, a handful of knights, and an equally strong man who I assume is his adviser. He sits across from me during the feast, occasionally tossing me smiles and simple questions, like what color I find most appealing and if I am enjoying my meal. It should be I asking if he enjoys his meal in my home. I remain quiet, though, as I am always instructed to do. I answer his questions briefly, and that is all.

After the feast, he requests my company for a stroll through the gardens. He is the first suitor brave enough to do so. The others have yet to get over chatting to themselves about "strategy," not that I am complaining. I rather like being alone. And I can predict I would not enjoy such conversations with high princes and dukes. Most are conceited whilst others are exasperating to accompany.

So far, Jacob appears to be neither of the types. He asks me what my favorite flowers are, and I tell him the red roses are particularly lovely. It is a typical answer, this I know, but it is an honest one all the same.

When we reach the roses, Jacob plucks one from its stem, away from the thornes. He turns to me with a smile and says, "Yes, the roses are particularly lovely. May I?"

My eyebrows furrow at this, but I give a slight nod. He pushes my hair off my shoulder and tucks the rose carefully behind my ear. He does not pull back as quickly as he should. He lingers near, his face inches from mine.

"But I think you are lovelier."

At this, I cannot help but to stifle laughter. He notices, now the one who is confused. He steps away with a frown. I ruined his moment, but what did he expect?

"Forgive me," I say, barely able to suppress my laughter. "It is very kind of you to say, however, it is also none surprising."

He quirks a brow. "Oh?"

"Men are all the same," I say before I can stop myself. "It will take a lot more than showering me in compliments to win my affection. I am not so easily swooned."

I fear I have offended him for a moment when his face remains blank, but then he grins and my shoulders sag in relief. "Duly noted," he remarks. "I appreciate the tip."

I smile in return. "Use it wisely."

It is difficult for me to confess that the stroll had been pleasant. I did make a single mistake with a comment I should have kept to myself. It was merely dry humor, which he did not have the taste for, but it was easily brushed aside and we walked for many more minutes before heading back indoors. I curtsied to him, he bowed to me, and we went separate ways.

I am surprised when I reach my rooms and Leopold is standing at the door. I have not seen him since the first ceremony days ago. Red creeps up his neck when he sees me approach, a sheepish smile on his face. He scratches the back of his head when I finally reach him, waiting expectantly for the reason of his visit. Max is beside me, and after a short silence, he prompts the prince which seems to snap him out of his stupor.

"I was curious of your schedule tomorrow afternoon," he says. "Perhaps you would have time for lunch?" He blushes immensely as the words leave his lips.

I offer my kindest smile. "I am uncertain. Clarice may need me for a fitting before the ball tomorrow night, but I will try to find an opening. I would love to have lunch."

He beams, and begins to stutter. "T-thank you, Princess. I l-look forward to hearing from you." Then he hurriedly dips his head and scurries off.

Max snorts.

I elbow him in the side. "Do not judge with haste."

"I don't like him," he says bluntly.

"What has he done to you?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I'm sure he will do something soon."

I shake my head at him and chuckle. "Well, I think he's nice."

Max opens my door for me. "Perhaps he is, and perhaps that's why I am not fond of him. There is such a thing as too nice, Anna." He only uses my nickname when no one else is around.

I pat his chest to casually push him out of my room. "I'd like to disagree on that."

There's a sadness in his eyes I don't understand. "Anna, please do not let any of these men fool you. All of them are here to defeat the other, not to care of the feelings they crush along the way."

I frown at him. "Max, why are you saying these things? I am no fool."

"I know that, truthfully I do. But I worry about you. Sometimes you seem aloof in situations where you need to be paying attention. It is easy to be manipulated by a man seeking power. Any of them will do whatever it takes to win your hand in marriage."

"Max, do stop being so pessimistic. You're making my brain hurt."

"I am only looking out for you."

I sigh and cup his cheek with my hand, his stubble scratching my palm. He closes his eyes and leans into my touch. "I appreciate your protectiveness, but you must understand that I do not need it all of the time. I can handle myself, whether you believe that or not is up to you. But you must trust me, Max."

His eyes open the moment my hand falls from his skin. "I trust you," he says quietly, eyes boring into mine. "It is them I do not trust."

"One thing we can agree on," I say. "Now, I would like to get some rest before supper, if that's quite all right with you."

He hesitates, but nods nonetheless and backs away. "I will retrieve you then."

Even when he leaves, his words do not. They resonate deep in my thoughts where all of my other worries lay, and I find it impossible to rest after all.