Was it mature of me to pick a fight with a sixteen-year-old girl, hopelessly in love with my husband? Of course not. Even now, when I look back, I wish I had found a gentler way to say what needed saying.
“Shut up. You just got lucky. I saw him first, and I’m not some country bumpkin!”
“You are indeed right. I got lucky and have no background whatsoever, but still, young lady, you are ten years younger than me, so thirteen years younger than Janus. He isn’t interested in little girls.”
“At least I’m not some old hag. I’ve known Janus<3 for years. I can wait. Even his own father married someone twenty years younger!”
Her arguments grew more tangled the longer we spoke, each one flitting away from the last, as if she was desperately searching for something solid to hold onto.
“I know you care for him, but if you truly knew Janus, you’d know he dislikes being compared to his father that way. He’s different, and he wouldn’t want people to misunderstand him.”
I’ve made the same mistake myself, more times than I care to admit.
“You…! Nothing is final; it’s just a marriage. Those can be annulled.”
She was clearly grasping at straws at this point, but hearing her repeat many of the same doubts I myself had held and still hold onto broke something inside me, so I snapped back by doing my best to rob her of any possible delusions.
“Nothing is final? I’m the woman whose bed he shares every night, the woman who has borne him two children, a boy and a girl. What are you even talking about?”
"Ch-ch-children?!"
Gertrude stood before me, her eyes empty and lost, when I felt a familiar vitality drawing near. It was the same young man from the welcoming party—the tall, broad-shouldered one whose face was so unremarkable that it somehow became unforgettable. He slowed as he approached, as though he had simply wandered into our little scene by chance, brushing past the bushes with practiced ease.
“Ah, here you are, young miss.”
He knew exactly where to find us, though he pretended otherwise. His timing felt almost poetic, as if the world itself had decided it was time for this conversation to end. I had said all I could, and maybe, just maybe, Gertrude would finally let go. Still, I remembered how stubborn hope can be at that age, refusing to die even when it should.
The young man stepped closer until he stood right in front of Gertrude, between her and me. He took her hand, and slowly, life seemed to return to her face.
“Th-theo… Theodore, what are you…?”
“Sigh, Trudy, your mother wanted you two to come back since the rest of the guests have arrived.”
“Oh… right to the tea party…back to mother… *sniff* *sob*.”
Her tears fell quietly at first, but once they began, there was no stopping them. She brushed away his hand, and before he could reach out again, Gertrude turned and fled, her sobs trailing behind her as she disappeared deeper into the garden’s shadows.
“I’m sorry, it seems I’ve said too much.”
As much as I disliked her, seeing her cry her heart out still made a pang of guilt run through my body.
“No, it’s alright; this was bound to happen sooner or later. It’s not your fault, Lady Yuwen. Do you remember the way back? I’d better go after her.”
“I remember you can leave.”
Without looking back, he hurried after her with a worried expression.
Even though he said it was alright and bound to happen, I still felt guilty for making this knight’s princess cry.
I wandered back toward the front entrance, the weight of a young girl’s heartbreak clinging to me, dampening my mood. The rest of the guests had already gathered, women from nearly every corner of the world filling the space with laughter and quiet rivalry. Queen Salmaris was there, her beauty as dangerous as ever, though her dress was mercifully less revealing this time. She wore delicate sandals, her feet no longer bare, but she and her dress still looked as if she had just stepped from the sea, with the fabric clinging to her oiled skin. The wives of the Eichenherz and Aquendrias diplomats mingled nearby. Still, the more rugged factions—the Ibasans, the Dwarven expedites, the tribespeople from the ivory king—were nowhere to be found. Not even the elves had sent anyone. And, for now, there were no dragons. I could only hope it would stay that way.
After all, this was meant to be a tea party, not a battlefield for politics—at least, that’s what everyone pretended.
Rika had arrived with her mother, wearing the same green dress from the welcoming party. Despite her height, she hovered behind her mother’s shoulder, awkward as a fish out of water, until her eyes found me. Then she broke into a run, all hesitation forgotten. Her mother watched her go with a fond, amused smile before drifting over to join Hildegard and Olivia, who were already deep in conversation with the Queen and her daughters.
“Ruby! It has been so long!”
Rika hugged me as if we’d been parted for years, squeezing so tightly I thought my ribs might protest.
“It’s not even been a week since I saw you at the Welcoming party. How are you?”
“Urgh, I swear these shoes are killing me. It’s been over a decade since I last wore heels, and my mom is constantly trying to get me to attend these stupid matchmaking parties.”
“So you are here because there are no guys here? But what about the Poets?”
“The Poets? Please. Most of them are old enough to be my father, or so frail a strong wind would carry them off. Even my mother has her limits. But what about you? You aren’t looking too good.”
“Oh, that… I think I broke a girl’s heart.”
“You broke a girl’s heart…?”
Rika raised an eyebrow at me, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes before answering,
“I will tell you later. I think it’s about to start.”