Christmas Ruse (E-BOOK)

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My mother chewed on her thumbnail as she fiddled with my hair, taking a moment to step back and appraise me, like she was a painter and I her canvas. I watched her carefully as she repeated the process, trying to drink in the details before the palace guards came to collect me. Her dark skin looked luminescent in the firelight, and I couldn’t help but wonder if mine looked the same, as we shared so many features–the shape of our eyes, the untamable curly hair, the ever-present pout, I hoped even if my color was a few shades lighter than hers, that I resembled her because even with glassy eyes that threatened to spill tears onto her cheeks, she looked radiant and strong. 

The fireplace crackled with the last of our celebratory log, my ten-year-old brothers snoring loudly next to the dying embers, a tradition they gladly upheld this time of year when there seemed to be almost nothing else to do to keep them busy. I ruefully watched them, as memories of past holidays flooded back, and my stomach ached with the knowledge that I might miss seeing them light up on Christmas morning, regardless of whether my mother managed to scrounge a treat up for them. 

It was an honor to be selected for the Prince’s marriage competition, even if it was a mistake, but I resented the thought of missing Christmas with my family all for a few hot meals at the palace. How could I enjoy them, knowing my family would have to make do with scraps? I had no delusions that I would do well in the reclusive prince’s selection competition. I didn’t foolishly believe that the Prince would choose me for his bride, but the way my mother fussed over me made me want to do my best anyway. 

"You look beautiful," she said, brushing the side of my face with her hand. A murmur of sadness struck me.

"Thank you, Mother." The words were barely a whisper, and they were drowned out by the sound of horses outside the door. 

She took a deep breath, tugging on her own clothes as she glanced toward the door. "I, however, am a mess. Make sure you mind your manners. Don’t forget to smile. Be pleasant." 

It stung a little that she had to add those things, but the reminder wasn’t completely unwarranted. After all, my shyness had been mistaken for reproach on many occasions. My mouth fell open, a response on the tip of my tongue, but the thudding sound of a heavy knock against the door stilled my lips. A footman, dressed in all black, stood waiting just beyond the threshold of our home.

I grabbed the sack my mother had packed, which included almost everything we collectively owned, but the man at the door stopped me, his brow knit with an empathetic pout. "No personal belongings are allowed at the palace.” My stomach sank as I handed the satchel back to my mother, my mind spinning at the thought of arriving at the castle with no reminder of home to comfort me. He swept his hand toward an awaiting carriage as he continued, “Everything you need will be provided. Right this way."

I turned back to my mother, and finding her bottom lip quivering, I plastered on the most convincing smile I could. "This is going to be great." I hoped a cheerful lie would be enough to spare her from the heartache of being separated for the holiday. "A Christmas at the palace, can you imagine? Tell Bran and Gil Merry Christmas for me."

"Merry Christmas, Holly," she said, her bottom lip quivering as she blinked back tears. "You're a princess to me no matter what."

I pulled my hood over my head, tightening my worn cape around my shoulders before I slipped my boots on and stepped into the snow. The wind whipped my hair out of my mother’s pins, snow hitting me in blankets as I stepped toward the carriage. 

When I climbed inside the carriage, my gaze immediately found a familiar face. Cressida smiled at me, her white, rabbit-fur hat matching her fur-lined cloak. I offered her a smile as I took in the shimmery, blonde curls falling over her shoulders. Her cheeks and nose were delicate and pink from the cold in a way that was only made lovelier by the torchlight.

Of all the girls in my village to be selected, Cressida seemed like the most obvious choice. In terms of wealth, she and her family were as close to nobility as our village had. She was also the prettiest girl I'd ever seen up close, with a kind-hearted soul through and through. 

Two girls I'd also seen around the village sat across from her, one with dark curly hair styled similarly to Cressida's and another who was mostly hidden in her cloak. I knew the shrouded one to be the baker's daughter. Each of them gave me a small nod as I took a seat beside Cressida. It was surprisingly cozy, the movement different than I'd imagined as the horses jerked the carriage forward. 

"Holly! You were selected? How wonderful," Cressida whispered sweetly. 

I opened my mouth to respond, but I was cut off by the baker's daughter leaning forward, her orange hair peeking out from her cloak as she eyed me from across the carriage. "I wish I had chosen that seat," she said, looking a little queasy. "I didn't expect carriages to be so jerky."

"Would you like to switch?" I offered, but she shook her head.

"I don't think I can move," she replied, looking queasy as she tightened an arm around her stomach and took a deep breath. 

"Is this your first carriage ride too?" The second girl asked. I nodded, my face warming as a terrible pang of homesickness surprised me with its sudden arrival. "Cressida," the dark-haired girl started. "Do you think the Prince will be handsome?" Cressida squeezed my hand, and my head spun with the quick change of topic.

"He's sure to be handsome,” Cressida murmured with a blush. Her sigh was wistful as she continued, adjusting her hat like it was a tiara, “To think, one of us might become his bride."

Bride, yes. But more importantly, the eventual Queen. The royals could have married other royals, expanding their land or military through inheritances and treaties, but Gladenwell held a selection from the commoners instead, allowing the less fortunate to become kings or queens with the power to improve life for the rest of us.

The word bride felt silly somehow. With winter upon us and most of the village rationing food in hopes of making it to spring, desperately stocking firewood to not freeze in our homes, all we could hope was that we made it through to spring. The very notion of romance seemed less than urgent.

My mother was certain things in the village would have been glorious if not for the sickness that took the previous king and queen too young. We'd waited years for the Prince to come of age and hold a selection of his own, but I never could have imagined myself in the running, nor that the selection would occur during the week before Christmas, as it was normally a spring affair. 

Prince or not, who would want to spend the holiday away from their family? I'd always considered the selection and news of the royal family to have too little to do with me to pay it any mind—that is, until I was selected. 

The three other girls held hands at the center of the carriage, turning to me with looks of expectation. Lost in my thoughts, I had missed their conversation but put my hands in anyway. "Okay," Cressida started, a small smile on her face as she considered each of us in turn. "Let's promise to stick together. Someone from our village should win him, but no matter who the Prince chooses, we'll all remain friends." 

Friends? It was a wonderful notion, but I hadn’t even caught the names of the other two girls. My mother's words echoed through my head. Be pleasant. "I promise," I said with an earnest smile to the tittering girls.

I couldn't imagine myself getting swept up in the competition, and I thought this was as close as I'd ever come to being considered someone's friend. I didn't know what was coming next, but the idea that I wouldn't have to face it on my own was relieving. I only wished I'd reassured my mother more confidently that I would be all right.