That Royal Betrothal

Prologue

*2 weeks before*

I remember mum’s exact words. Like her last words to me about my betrothed marriage. She had said,

“All of this looks so bad, child, but try fixing it.” I have always looked up to mom as a very realistic person. A woman of principles, virtues and love for her family, I adored her. She had this perk of being protective of her home and deals with it just right.

That day exact replayed in my head over and over again like a broken brick, fixing over and all over again. I had attempted to convince my mum to stop this, looking forward, raising my chin up and stabilizing my shoulders like a true royal princess.

“You, you can fix this. Why won’t you?” I had said to her. Mrs. Sanders was an epitome of a perfect queen. She had been a peasant long enough even before she became a royal queen of England. She looked younger than her age and is a mouthwatering beauty.

“To fulfil all righteousness, child. You will understand sooner or later. Pray thee, this masculine is the best for you. There is nothing more surreal as this.” she says in her clean English accent. Years of being a royal queen really shaped my mum. I mean, you should have seen her when she was a full-time peasant mistress. Always chilling like a villain.

“Mum? I don’t think I’m ready,” I said as calm as I could. After years of being taught how to be a proper English, I have been told to be relaxed even when angered to the extreme. I held the folds of my lilac knee length night gown, staring at the moonlight outside the window.

“That comes the best part of it all,” she smiled highlighting her perfect sets of white teeth, swaying her graceful manicured hands in the air with her curls going here and there.

“You are ready to enter this whirlpool, child. This is your betrothed, love. You would do just fine.” I stared in surprise at what she said knowing that she was the one that actually understood me in the palace. And the fact that she was going to let her daughter; her only begotten daughter in all to get married to another who was unknown. Who didn’t matter to us in the palace just a while ago.

Really, I had expected more from mum. Apart from being her only daughter of the four royal heirs, my siblings were all males and I was the second born. My elder brother got married to his betrothed, two years ago, and they really do fine presently but I can’t compare my situation to his because the girl literally grew up in the castle.

“Okay, mum.” I grunted in defeat, bending my shoulders down. I had decided to face this head on even if I had no idea how. I’m a full grown charming woman to even begin with so I wasn’t going to be affected in the slightest manner.

“My goddess! What are you doing, dear? You don’t ever slump your shoulder backwards in defeat. You are a princess and you should be graceful at all times.”

She gave a sigh and braced herself too. She then wrapped me into a hug squeezing me so tight and protective.

“Ur—mum? This is so unladylike.” I reminded her in her usual neat, arching my brows.

“I know, dear. F*ck it!“

She said in a spin of second and hugged me tighter. I gripped her warm hug and settled in, breathing gently.

I was really going to miss her, you know.

Zara

I waited patiently in my new bedroom for my newly wedded husband to consummate the marriage after the ladies in waiting escorted me. I had gotten married earlier today with the royal troops, trust me. It had been a flamboyant wedding that was the talk of the town. You should know what it would be like in England.

My mind was inseparable from the fact that I was 10,000 miles away from my home. I was in Spain my husband’s homeland. I nervously gripped my red knee length nightgown and reminded myself I would handle this just fine like a total mature woman. Talking of that I laughed because I was a little girl in a grown up’s body.

Throughout the wedding, I continuously talked in monosyllables when he had tried to start a conversation with me and cringed at flamboyant Spanish accent when he had said those two words

“I do.” Yet, I reminded myself that I couldn’t love in this marriage because, that was not its aim.

I rose up fro