The Last Page: Episode 02

“I have news from the palace,” one of their servants says, interrupting their dinner. Dierdre leaps from her seat and snatches the envelope from the silver platter. "It's for Ein!" She skips back to her sister, holding out a perfumed envelope.

Ein stifles a groan and stabs her mashed potatoes with her fork. Ever since her mother informed her of her engagement to Prince Lochlann, such letters have been frequent and always fill her with dread. “Tell me what it says.”

Her sister takes her seat again and takes a long drink from her wine glass before breaking the wax seal. "Prince Lochlann will be hosting a ball in one month!” Dierdre claps her hands, and when the sound of breaking glass echoes in the room as her, thankfully empty, wine glass hits the floor and shatters. "We need to go shopping!”

“No, I do not need more gowns.” Ein picks at the lamb on her plate, cutting smaller and smaller chunks, trying to convince herself she could continue eating even as her stomach churns. Once, she found joy in balls. They provided so many examples of human interactions, so many nuggets of ideas for potential stories. Now they are gilded cages, reminders of the life closing in around her. With her abillity to stand on her feet for long periods of time deteriorating at an alarming rate, she doubts she can dance for long. She wishes to lose herself in books, to live a thousand lives through ink and parchment. If she cannot go on adventures herself, she can make sure all her heroines can do the things that she cannot do anymore.

But her fate is sealed. She will marry Lochlann and become a princess bound by duty and propriety and hope that the royal physicians can cure whatever ails her before rumors spread of the sickly princess and she is locked away.

“Fine, you might not need a new gown. But I do! Come with me, Ein.” Dierdre is crouched on the floor, picking up shards of glass. But Ein does not need to see her sister's face to know how wide she is smiling.

“You do not need a new gown; you just think that Lady Claire might be there today," their mother says smiling over the rim of her glass. Just water for her; she has always said she hates the feeling of intoxication and the only partakes when in the company of those whom she cannot stand.​

“And? Please? I need your support, Ein. Please come with me.”

“Yes, we can go shopping,” she tells Dierdre, finally bringing a piece of lamb to her mouth. She knows her family will worry if she goes out without eating too much. She might not be a child anymore, but both of her parents worry sometimes as if she is one. Her health condition has rendered her perpetually responsible for the feelings of those around her.

Dierdre leaps from the floor holding a napkin full of glass shards. "Perfect! I shall summon the coachman to bring us the carriage first thing tomorrow morning."

"Not too early," Ein says.

Her sister nods, but does not say anything more.

Their meal is finished without any further fanfare, and Ein slips out of the dining room and into the stables before anyone can object to her going for an evening ride.

She guides her horse down the winding path, ruminating on the news. A ball, and so soon before the wedding. But why? Lochlann does not enjoy balls himself, but he attends them and wears a dazzling smile the entire time. The few times he has hosted one personally, they were planned months in advance, not weeks. 

They have not spoken in three weeks, not since that day at the library with Ciara. Does it have something to do with the new student at the Academy? He's not a student there himself anymore, so it should not be that. Is ​there a visiting noble from another country she has not heard about? 

She hopes it is not related to their wedding, where they will be expected to play the part of lovebirds, even if they both agree privately that they are not.

Love and romance are the stuff of her books and dreams, not her reality. And yet, she must convince the whole world that it is. The faction of nobles who want to see her family banished, their ancestors stricken from history, are already upset about her engagement to the third prince. Portraying it as a love match strains credibility, but it's a story they must be forced to accept. They cannot have it being said that this is another scheme.

She kicks her horse into a full gallop. She wishes her family had been banished, that everyone would forget her ancestors ever held the throne, that her mother was ever a princess.

​She nears the edge of the woods and pulls on the reins. The sun is setting. She does not have time tonight to wander the woods. She turns the horse around, heading home.

As the mansion comes into view, she spots her father in the garden, standing before a large bush, pruning shears on the ground next to him. He waves as Ein approaches, grinning and holding out a crimson rose toward her. 

She pulls her horse to a halt; her breath grows short, dots swimming before her eyes. The reins slip from her fingers as the ground rushes up to meet her. Then, darkness. 

Voices swirl around her as Ein regains consciousness. Strong arms cradle her, and her father’s face hovers over her, forehead wrinkled with worry as he carries her inside, calling for the doctor. And then silence and darkness again.

Awakening again, now in the parlor, she is disoriented, her head heavy and throbbing. “Míde, she’s awake,” her father calls out to Ein’s mother.

“Oh, Ein, thank the heavens you are alright,” her mother says.

Ein manages a smile. “I’m fine.” But she knows that she is far from fine. This attack came without warning. There had been no tingling in her hands, no drop in her stomach, no race of her heart or hearing her pulse in her head. Just dots, and then nothing. 

Usually, she uses those early warnings to get herself to the ground until the dizziness fades. She usually has time to make sure she doesn’t plummet. But this time, she fell from her horse. 

For the first time, she allows herself to put words to her fear; this ailment may kill her.