The morning air inside the royal court was stiff with anticipation.
Queen Cecile stood tall at the edge of the terrace garden, sunlight streaming across her gold-trimmed gown. Courtiers and candidates lined the stone floor, their expressions expectant. The selection had been dragging on for days. Everyone was desperate for answers.
"Ladies," the Queen began, her voice crisp and authoritative. "The palace has decided and a group of young noblewomen has been considered as consorts to the Crown Prince."
Beatrice stood in her place near the end of the marble line, her hands folded carefully before her. Her burn wound was hidden beneath layers of fabric and bandages, but it throbbed nonetheless.
"Three ladies have shown notable promise." Queen Cecile continued
Heads turned and murmurs buzzed like insects.
"Lady Johanna Lockhart," the Queen announced.
