Earning the Love of a Princess-Chapter 307: Violet: Winning By Default

6 December, 1348. Westerhaven Palace, Islia.

Violet stared at herself in the mirror as two of the maids assigned to her, adjusted the heavy skirts of her wedding dress. It was made of intricate, silvery grey brocade and was by far the most spectacular gown she’d ever worn. Even Lady Thierre had stared at it enviously.

Speaking of her mother, Violet could see her in an armchair on the other side of the beautiful bedchamber, arms crossed and with a face like thunder.

"Cheer up, Mother. It’s not every day that you get to see your daughter become a princess. You should be weeping tears of joy."

Lady Thierre gave Violet a cutting glare. "Don’t be impertinent!"

Violet simply shrugged and faced the mirror again.

She’d known her parents, especially her mother, were bitter over their treatment in the lead up to the wedding. They were angry the king had kept his word and only summoned them to court the day before the ceremony - and that Violet hadn’t managed to convince him otherwise. As if she had the power to convince King Edward of anything.

They were angry to not have received grand new wedding outfits paid for by the royal purse. Instead, they’d been given no choice but to wear the best garments they could afford from Orravalo.

Perhaps most offensive of all, there had been no leniency from King Edward with regards to the taxes the Duchy of Orravalo owed the crown. In fact, the king had slyly suggested the duke would be in a position to pay next year’s obligations early, given he had no dowry to worry about for his eldest daughter.

King Edward hadn’t wasted a single chance to show that no one ever got the better of him. Especially not some greedy, upstart family that cornered one of his sons into marriage.

Violet had borne the blunt of her parents’ disappointment, of course. It felt like letters from Orravalo had arrived in her chambers almost daily, full of complaints about how little benefit the Thierre family was receiving from the upcoming marriage.

How was she supposed to do anything about that? Her new father-in-marriage had no love for her, the queen even less. Why did her parents think she had a right to ask for any favours at all?

Most times, Violet would feel her temper roar every time she saw a new letter without even opening it. Just the sight of her mother’s handwriting was enough to make her scowl. The woman who could read and write perfectly well but who’d never bothered giving her own daughters a proper education.

Her mother’s voice snapped Violet’s mind back to the present. She was complaining about the king’s refusal to lend Lord Thierre a sum of ducats, needed for some reason Violet didn’t know or care about.

"Daughter! Are you even listening to me?"

Violet gave her mother another shrug and kept her eyes on her own reflection. She had never looked so grand, yet all the finery in the world couldn’t erase the sadness on her pale, grave face.

Her hair had been curled and left loose over her shoulders, in the traditional manner. There were diamond encrusted hoops in her ears and a string of pearls at her throat.

Nothing could make her look like a joyful bride, though. She simply watched in silence as the maids pinned a customary flower crown to her head. The crown was made of delicate snowdrops, one of the few flowers that bloomed during the cold months.

The tiny white blossoms against her hair were nearly as pale as her skin. She was dressed all in silver and white, as if her outfit wanted to loudly proclaim her purity to all.

She looked and felt like a river of frozen tears.

"Violet!" her mother thundered, clearly tired of getting so little response. Both of the maids helping her dress jumped in fright but the bride herself remained calm. She slowly turned away from the mirror. "What is it, Mother? What ails you on this happy day?"

"Are you deaf or merely stupid?"

"I’m actually neither." Violet gave her a small smile. "Though right now, you have me wishing I were, in fact, deaf."

"I am sick of your disrespect and your failure to follow through with your duties as a daughter! You’re responsible for helping your family prosper! So you will listen when I-"

"No, Mother. You will listen to me." Violet made her tone as crisp as she could. "You will never raise your voice to me again. You’ll speak to me with the respect and reverence I deserve, or not at all. And if you think I’m incapable of having you thrown out of these chambers right now and barred from the chapel, you’re very wrong. So shut your mouth and smile. Your never ending complaints are making my head ache."

"How dare you speak to me this way?" Lady Thierre rose from her seat and started lumbering towards her.

Both of the maids exchanged horrified looks. The younger one looked like she was about to cry from fear. Violet found she was more amused than anything.

"The question you should be asking, dear Mother, is how dare you speak to me this way? In less than an hour, I’ll be a royal princess and your future queen. In less than an hour, you’ll remain a bitter old woman who’s wearing your only jewels to draw attention from your frayed gown." Violet smiled wider as she saw Lady Thierre’s face lose every trace of colour. "So play your part as the proud mother or get out of my sight."

The only good thing about her new life was to be finally free of her parents, Violet thought. She needed to cling to that with all her might.

- - -

The slow march down the chapel aisle on her father’s arm was a blur, almost as if it were happening to someone else. The smell of incense made Violet’s nose sting. The pews were crowded with faces, some hostile, other morbidly curious.

Invitations to the wedding had been coveted by the courtiers, of course. They’d all wanted to watch the incredible sight of the mighty Crown Prince Leo from the House of Devon marrying the daughter of a nobody.

The palace buzzed with all kinds of rumours. Most people speculated Violet had to be pregnant. Why else would the prince be marrying her, when she brought no wealth and she wasn’t even a striking beauty?

Not the way her late sister had been...

Word of Ilse’s passing had also swept through the court though, fortunately, no one had dared ask Violet about it. The most she’d heard were a few mumbled commiserations from nobles.

She was glad too, because she feared she’d burst into tears if anyone asked about her sister.

She couldn’t deny it - she missed Ilse desperately. Her warmth, her humour, her ability to somehow see the light in troubling circumstances. Even her irritating naïveté that had made Violet huff with frustration. Being without her twin was like walking around with a yawning gap in her chest.

Violet couldn’t grieve publicly, of course. In public, she was supposed to be nothing but grateful and excited at the thought of marrying into royalty, at marrying a handsome and rich man. She was becoming the Crown Princess of Islia.

She was the luckiest girl in the world, wasn’t she?

It was only at night, when she was alone in her luxurious apartments, that she could grieve. Only then would she weep and alternate between begging Ilse for her forgiveness and berating her for leaving her alone. She’d ask herself over and over if she could’ve done more to convince Ilse to fight for her life.

Ilse didn’t even bother visiting her dreams anymore. She was well and truly gone.

There was only one person who would likely understand the depths of her grief.

But she could never talk to her betrothed about the loss of Ilse.

Truth be told, she couldn’t speak to Leo about much of anything these days. Apart for the most superficial of polite greetings, the man had nothing to say to her.

And really, what did she have to say to him?

All this meant Violet had to face the greatest challenge of her life alone. So she would do it.

She looked at Leo standing by the altar, dripping in gold and with a completely blank look on his face. What would he have looked like if it had been Ilse gliding down the aisle instead?

Would he have smiled with genuine happiness, like a man in love? Would that flat, vacant look behind his eyes be replaced with something else?

I’ll never know, Violet told herself as her father placed her hand inside the groom’s far larger hand in symbolic gesture. I’ve taken my sister’s rightful place but it’s no victory.

Even when Ilse is dead and I’m anointed as a future queen, Ilse remains number one. I’ll always be her poor second.