81

Sitting on her window seat, Dove resignedly stares at the three ball gowns her handmaiden has lined up for her to choose from. They are each a different shade of blue, one with pearls embroidered on it, the other with layers of shimmering tulle, and the last with a tinge of green when the light hits the fabric just right.

All three dresses are magnificent, but she just couldn’t find it in herself to pick on, even less look forward to the ball. Nothing about her birthday has been enjoyable thus far, which doesn’t make it easier to know it will be the last one she spends at her home. She’d give anything to turn eighteen again, when there were no talk of betrothals or weddings, and no dead swans perching on her dresser.

She glowers at the thing once more, itching to cast it into the fire and be done with it.

Truth be told, she wouldn’t mind just disappearing before the ball begins. She could turn invisible and just leave, travel as far away from the castle until her problems become nothing but an itch she can remedy with a scratch.

She finally admits it to herself, her mother was right – again. She hasn’t been happy these past few days, and it only seems to grow worse the closer she is to getting married.

Jacques’ words echo in her thoughts, filling her heart with hollowness.

I hope Prince Rubin makes you very happy.

Dove had truly thought she could give the prince a chance to win her heart while allowing herself to be won over. She spent time with him during their picnic, she accompanied him on his hunt, and she really tried to see only the good in him in hopes it would ignite something – anything – within her. All she needed was spark, a sign that this was meant to be.

But now…now she knows this is a mistake.

Rubin was a wonderful man, an even better prince, and she holds no doubt that he can make a girl very, very happy. But she is not that girl. And it’d be cruel to marry him for advantage and steal his chance at finding true love for himself.

They both deserved that much.

But how does she tell him that? Even more, how does she tell that to her parents after they’ve gone through all this trouble to arrange this marriage? And Rubin’s parents, who travelled all the way here just so their son can get turned down.

Dropping her head back against the wall, Dove realizes how truly a mess she’s made of this. All because of a crush that spun out of control. She is truly hopeless.

“Princess of the year, everyone,” she mutters dryly, sniffling when her feelings threaten to surface.

Perhaps she should just run away tonight. It’s sure easier than her other options.

A knock sounds at the door, and she mutters a ‘come in’, not bothering looking up. Her handmaiden could dress her in any gown she liked, it didn’t matter. However, a hint of eucalyptus tickles her senses, and then a smooth voice comes from the door.

“I hope I’m not too late to wish you a happy birthday, Princess.”

Head snapping to the side, Dove can almost cry at the sight of Jacques. He remembered, after all.

Abandoning her window seat, she elegantly crosses the floor while maintaining a neutral expression. In truth, she wants to run to him and throw herself into his arms. Without him, this day was just another twenty-four hours, the sun just another star, and the ball just another event for talking politics.

He was what made her birthdays truly memorable.

Stopping a respectable distance from him, Dove meets his eyes, reminding herself not to drown in their warm comforts. “I thought you forgot.”

“Would the moon forget to set for the sun to rise?”

“…no.”

“There you have your answer.” Jacques’ smile conveys both fondness and remorse as he studies every detail of her flawless face. From her soul-piercing eyes to her delicate lips that he’s had the absolute honour of kissing, even if only once. He’ll miss every freckle, every lash, every line and every hair when she’s gone.

The castle won’t ever be the same without her. He won’t ever be the same.

“Well, thank you for stopping by,” Dove breaks the palpable silence between them, folding her hands behind her back to hide how much they’re trembling. “Will I see you at the ball tonight?"

“I’m afraid not,” he replies solemnly. “Some of the donors have come down with fevers. My responsibilities lie with them tonight.” She nods, trying hard to hide her disappointment. “I just stopped by to wish you a happy birthday, Princess, and to give you this.”

Dove’s gaze flickers to a medium-sized box that rests in his hand with an enveloped note attached to it. It’s too thin to be a book, and yet too large to be a piece of jewellery – not that he would ever conder it a gift. He knows her well enough to know she doesn’t care for jewels and gemstones.

“What is it?” She goes to open it only for him to cover her hand, stopping her.

“You can open it after I left, which I regret is now.” Jacques hesitates before gently folding his hands over hers. Bringing them to his lips, he nearly whispers, “Happy birthday, Dove. May your future be as bright as the light that you radiate. And may your every wish come true to its fullest extent.” And then, he places a lingering kiss on her fingers before gently letting them slip from his hands.

Frozen in place, Dove watches him back out of her room, only to pause in the doorway.

“You should wear the third dress; it will compliment your eyes.”

And then he’s gone, closing the door behind him and leaving her hovering on the edge. Searching for the strength to move, Dove hugs the gift to her chest while savouring the lingering smell of eucalyptus in the atmosphere. Her fingers still emanate the heat of his lips, though it’s quickly fading.

Finally, she releases a shuddering breath, clinging to her strength. If she cries now, she won’t stop, and no one wants a crying princess attending a ball that’s held in her honour.

Sniffling, Dove swallows the knot in her throat and takes a seat at the foot of her bed. Gently lying the gift on her lap, she opens the envelope first to read the note inside.

‘*My beloved Dove,

Time is perhaps but a concept to an immortal creature as myself, but I’ve come to treasure every waking second that I’ve spent with you. If I could only freeze it to my will, I wish for it to be the day I first realized how important you’ve become to my existence. Without you, a day is just another twenty-four hours, the sun but another star, and I a man without purpose.

Yesterday, you said you want the thing that one finds the most beautiful in the world. I believe beauty lies in the eye of the beholder, which is why my gift will speak for itself to what I believe true beauty is.

And I shall forever regret not realizing it sooner.

Happy birthday, Princess. You shall forever own my heart.

All my love,

Jacques*’

Dove’s tears are not far off as she places the note on her bed. With trembling hands, she lifts the lid off the box, covering her mouth to stop herself from crying right there. It’s a hand mirror, one with little doves engraved into the white gold frame.

Lifting it out of the box, Dove stares at her reflection while Jacques’ words repeat in her head.

*Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder, which is why my gift will speak for itself to what I believe true beauty is*.

It’s her.

She is what he finds the most beautiful in the world.