Chapter 1
Isla
I gasped as the corset top tightened, glaring at my sister in the mirror.
“You did that on purpose.”
Ilana grinned at me, her big blue eyes twinkling mischievously as she finished pulling at the back of the dress.
“A little.”
I stuck my tongue out at my oldest sister as she finished lacing up the back and stood back, appraising her handiwork.
“Well, you can thank me now, because you look hot.”
I made a face in the mirror, glancing at the pile of dark blonde hair balanced on top of my head, the perfectly applied makeup around my dark eyes and full lips, and the — admittedly — gorgeous gown that now flowed down from my exposed shoulders like a yellow and gold chiffon waterfall.
Okay, yes, I looked fantastic. I looked beautiful. I looked poised. I looked put together, and regal, and like a perfect porcelain doll ready to be placed on a shelf. I looked exactly how a princess should look.
Which is exactly why I frowned at what I saw in that mirror.
I hated having to “look the part,” and I definitely hated having to go to things like the ball tonight.
Our father, the reigning King of Avlion, finally acquiescing to our mother’s complaints, had finally agreed that it was high time for Ilana, Imogen, and I to start finding suitable matches for marriage.
High time indeed.
I was eighteen already, Ilana was three years my senior, Imogen two, and we’d never even been on a normal date. Because no, chaperoned, forty-person dinners, lawn parties, and balls don’t count as dates.
But that was changing. King Lucian, our father and lord of our kingdom, was finally looking for eligible men of the right means and pedigree to marry his daughters, and tonight’s ball was our grand unveiling. And not just us, either. There were a number of eligible princesses that were now at marrying age who’d be joining us in this ridiculously antiquated function. It was silly. I mean, we did live in a kingdom, in a castle and all of that, but that didn’t mean we had to pretend we were in King Arthur’s time or something.
Well, tonight we did, apparently. Tonight, we’d pretend we didn’t live in the age of the internet, and dating apps, and Facebook, and instead we’d spend the evening dancing with eligible princes, to a string quartet, in gowns.
Welcome to the 21st century, right?
And the other thing of it was, this whole princess thing was all lost on me. On Ilana though? Well on my older sister, it fit like a freaking glove. She had the long blonde tangles, the big blue eyes, the perfect waist-to-hips ratio, the dainty demeanor — all of it. She knew when to curtsey, when to “demure” her eyes, when to use the right titles, or the right serving forks.
In short, she was the ideal princess. I mean, honestly, the fact that I’d never walked in on her having a singalong with woodland creatures actually shocked me.
But me? Well, let’s just say I’d never mastered the curtsey and I had no idea which fork to use, for anything. Ilana fit the part — she played the role perfectly. But I’d known young the whole “princess” thing was going to be a sticking point with me. I preferred the library to the ballroom. I preferred bare feet to heels, jeans to gowns, and a quiet night curled up with a book to one spent twirling around with handsy, rich, pompous windbags trying to marry their way into my father’s titles. Not to mention my bed.
Yeah, no thanks.
“You two ready to go yet?”
Imogen stuck her head into my room. God, that dress looked amazing on her. Chartreuse green with gold trim which played off her fire-red hair perfectly and made her emerald green eyes pop.
“Oh, c’mon, Isla, maybe try smiling tonight?”
I rolled my eyes at both of my sisters, doing my best to hide the grin. In spite of both of them being “perfect” princesses, I knew neither of them was thrilled about all this either. It wasn’t Ilana’s fault that she’d been born blonde, and and blue eyed, and knowing when to say the right things. Just like it wasn’t Imogen’s for being born taller than either of us, with crazy long legs, perfect cheekbones, and killer wavy hair. They just both fell into the role we all had to play a little more naturally than I did.
“Can’t we just skip this, go lock ourselves in the media room, and watch movies and stuff our faces with ice cream all night?”
“I am so down for that,” Imogen groaned, sinking onto the corner of my bed. “Tonight is going to blow.”
Ilana groaned. “Don’t tempt me, cause I would totally blow this off if I didn’t think mom and dad would kill us if we did.”
I giggled. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”