Yeara's lips parted, but no word left them. Little Cedric turned to her, as if looking at her would help him confirm whether what his papa was saying was true or not.
"There is a ball tonight which we will be attending. That is the reason you are not leaving today with him," he announced.
It was Lady Persophone who now turned to her husband with a raised brow, not expecting that at all.
It dawned on Yeara that maybe her papa had come earlier than expected, probably because of the ball—but why were they not informed?
"Husband…" Lady Persophone cleared her throat, moving the small towel as she wiped her mouth slowly yet sharply, correcting herself as she continued.
"Duke John, we were not informed about this."
She spoke as she looked at Yeara, then back at her husband questioningly. She could not believe her husband had not even informed her—his wife—about this. It had never happened before.
Everything was happening out of the blue. She was aware that her husband had spoken to the king last midnight; she had briefly arrived just as the king was leaving for his room.
But still, none of this had been mentioned. Not to mention the fact that she had already promised Duke Larkin that he would be marrying her daughter, and she had planned to tell her husband after breakfast.
"Well, the letter had been sent across to all high officials. The reason you were not informed was because the letter was sent to me while I was in the States, and I was not around to tell you," he explained.
His fork moved as he lightly poked the tender steak before bringing it to his lips, his eyes focused on the food—as though the shock his wife was feeling was less important than the meal.
"B..but our dresses, the tailor..what are we…" Lady Persophone's hands moved to her temples as she tried to steady her thoughts. Her ability to eat vanished as countless thoughts flooded her mind. They had not expected a ball.
"Then send for dresses. Payment is not a problem at all. Our daughter would need to go as well. It seems King Zalthor will be attending. At least they would need an introduction. Then tomorrow morning, they leave. He wishes to have the wedding in his kingdom."
He paused, his teeth gnashing lightly as the veins in his wrinkled neck popped slightly. He pushed his glasses straight.
"We cannot mess this up. This is the king we are talking about."
'Wedding?' Yeara thought, repeating the word in surprise, her hands tightening around the fork, her head still lowered. It was then that everything began to hit her. It was as though the word wedding echoed again, and suddenly, everything crashed down on her at once.
Duke John turned to Yeara, his eyes now fixed on her.
"Is that clear, Yeara?"
Yeara's hands moved to her dress, just atop where the napkin lay. She squeezed the fabric as if pouring all her unsaid words into it. Then she raised her head.
"Papa, I barely know him. I cannot marry a man I do not—"
"Silence."
Duke John's hand slammed against the table. The utensils shook. Lady Persophone, who had not seen it coming, flinched slightly, caught off guard by the sudden loudness.
Cedric's eyes widened as his gaze rested on his father—sharp, yet brief—before moving to his mother worriedly.
"Apologies if I startled you, my love, but do you hear what your daughter is saying?" Duke John spoke as he grabbed the glass of water, gulping it down hard as if that would calm him.
"It appears the books you've been reading have robbed you of all sense of realism." He spat as Yeara lips parted in surprise.
He turned to Lady Persophone, who then turned to Yeara.
"I and your father want the best for you," she said almost reassuringly.
Yeara's lips trembled. It was obvious her papa loved her mama deeply—but then why would he make her marry a man she barely knew? A man who did not even feel human.
Her papa had married her mama out of love. Then why was hers different? Was it because she was…
Yeara shook her head.
"You will marry him, and that is final," Duke John said as he stood, storming out.
Lady Persophone rose as well, quickly rushing after her husband. The door closed with a calm thud.
Yeara smiled weakly, as though that would stop the trembling of her lips. She lifted the fork to her mouth with shaky hands, but the food now tasted bland.
Her shoes pressed hard against the floor, as if that would somehow calm the painful mix of emotions she felt.
Cedric, who had been silent all this while, finally spoke.
"Sister Yeara," he called softly, carefully.
His blue eyes searched her face. He could see that his sister was sad. Yeara turned to him, forcing a smile. She did not want her brother to see this side of her.
"Do not force it. If you do not want to smile, don't smile. It's okay," little Cedric said.
Yeara nodded. Her lips curved downward as tears spilled down her cheeks.
"I am stronggg!!. Don't cry. I am strong," she sobbed, repeating the words over and over. But the more she said them, the more the tears fell. Her shoulders trembled as her hands covered her face.
Cedric stood and walked toward her, his small hands moving to her back. He tapped it gently, just like she did when he cried. He said nothing.
Yeara was not crying because she was told to marry against her will. She was crying because she felt like a bad daughter. They had been so good to her since she came to this manor. They had never asked her for anything—yet the one thing they asked of her, she could not give.
Her lips trembled at the thought.
And what hurt the most was that she did not want to be the cause of a fight between her mama and her papa.
Yeara wiped her tears and turned to Cedric, who gave her a reassuring nod.
To his surprise, Yeara began to laugh softly. She could not believe that her little brother had observed her so well—so well that he was doing the exact same thing she used to do when he cried.
"If you do not want to marry the king, then you do not have to," Cedric said, his tone serious.
Yeara stared at him, completely at a loss for words. She did not know what to say at all.
Then her eyes widened when he added…
"I will talk to the King."
The six-year-old spoke with finality.