The Last Page: Episode 03

Ein makes her way into the grand ballroom, her heart pounding. The palace brims with nobles adorned in extravagant gowns and dapper suits, their laughter and chatter echoing from every corner. A headache is forming just behind her eyes as she tries to find Lochlann in the crown.

He is engrossed in conversation with Ciara at the far end. Lochlann’s eyes narrow when he sees her, a curt nod the only greeting she receives from her fiancé. Ein shivers and turns away from him, something about his expression unsettling her.

She will do what she does at most balls: dance with as many people as she needs to as etiquette requires, and then situate herself at a table in a corner. But first, a drink.

She is cut off by her great-uncle, Duke Ruisín Ó Siadhail, her grandfather’s brother, just as she reaches the dessert table.“ Ah, my dear niece,” Ruisín says, taking Ein’s hand and patting it. “You are looking as lovely as ever this evening.”

“You’re too kind,” she says, her stomach rumbling as she watches another noble lady scoop up the last slice of chocolate cake. “I trust you have been well.” 

“Oh, quite, quite,” Ruisín replies. He leans in, dropping his voice. “Though I confess, I am growing concerned for our poor king’s health. Each day, Uaithne’s condition worsens. And at such an early age, too.”

Ein hesitates, choosing her next words with care. “Yes, but I am praying for his health every day.” Ein catches sight of her mother, shoving her way through the crowd as if she had been summoned.

“It is rather troubling,” her uncle continues, grabbing a wine glass from the tray of a passing server, ignoring the fact that Ein's mother has joined them. “The Mac Iomaire line has been plagued by poor health for generations now. Seems they never live long. An unfortunate trait for a royal dynasty.” Her uncle is not the first person who has mentioned this to Ein. At the rallies and protests she’s run into, she’s heard many say that their reign is doomed to be short-lived.

“Dying young was never an issue for the previous dynasty,” her mother says, her voice laced with anger. “The only individuals who died prematurely were those falsely charged with treason and executed.” She takes the wineglass from the duke’s hand, tilts it back, and downs its contents in one gulp. The empty glass is returned to him with a pointed gesture. With a regal grace, she turns away from him and takes one of Ein’s hands in her own. “Are you feeling well?”

“I am,” Ein says. “And I promise to be careful tonight.”

Turning back to face the duke, her eyes full of steel, she says, “I trust you have enjoyed your wine, Ruisín.”

Ruisín’s smile falters for a moment, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “Why, yes, Míde. The wine is simply exquisite.”

Míde’s eyes narrow before turning away and disappearing back into the crowd. 

Ein stands beside her uncle, biting her lip, not sure what she should do.  She opens her mouth to apologize for her mother’s behavior, but he cuts her off. “It was not my doing, Ein,” Ruisín states, his voice carrying a hint of desperation. Words he has said thousands of times, both to her and to Míde. “I was not involved in the execution of your grandfather.”

“I believe you,” she says, her tone soft yet firm as conflicting emotions tug at her.

Ruisín hangs his head, remorse in his eyes. “Thank you, Ein. I love Míde as if she were my daughter. She came into my care so young; I raised her as my own… I do not know what changed. Why does she now suspect me? Excuse me, I need more wine now.”

Overwhelmed with fatigue, she frowns and seeks refuge at one of the tables, giving up on the now-empty dessert table. But just as she takes a seat, she hears his voice, clear and accompanied by the click of a spoon against a glass. With a confident smile, he says, “May I have your attention, esteemed guests. I would like to take this moment to express my gratitude for your presence here tonight.”

The prince raises his glass, his gaze finding her. “Tonight marks a significant moment, not just for me, but for the future of Ishoraie. As you all know, the wedding between myself and Lady Eirnín is set to take place in a few short months. A wedding that both of our families had hoped would result in a loving partnership filled with joy and contentment.”

There is a pang of discomfort at Lochlann’s words. She knows that their engagement was arranged before either of them could speak, and though she respects Lochlann as a person, she doubts either of them will find love or joy in it.

“But today, I stand before you not only as a prince but as a man who has found his true love.” Lochlann’s gaze shifts to Ciara, who stands by his side, blushing and trying to avoid looking directly at the crowd. “She is a woman without equal, and I can only hope to be worthy of her.”

Ein’s breath catches in her throat as realization dawns upon her. A sense of betrayal gnaws at her core, but she cannot figure out why she would feel that way.

“Ciara Ní Fuaráin has captured my heart,” Lochlann proclaims, beaming at the crowd. “It is my fervent wish to share my life with her, to stand by her side as her husband and prince.”

Ein’s heart pounds in her chest, and she can already feel the tingling in her fingers and pins on her back. She has been discarded. In public. Without warning.

"They have only known each other for two months," a noblewoman says behind her.

"She’s a commoner. Is it even legal for him to marry her? How can—" another whispers beside her.

"But she is from Renlaine. What if—" someone else says behind their hand. But then, she hears her own name in the mix.

"What has Lady Ein done—"

"—no one will want Lady Ein now—"

Ein takes a deep breath and steadies herself. She refuses to crumble in front of anyone. Instead, she rises gracefully to her feet and marches toward the happy couple.

"Congratulations,” she says, sweeping into a grand curtsey, channeling all the poise and elegance at her command, begging her knees not to give out. “I wish you many years of happiness and health.”

She glances up at Lochlann, his jaw hanging and his eyes wide. Was he expecting something else? Was hoping for something else from her?

She does not wait for a response. Her composure breaks, and she rushes out of the ballroom and into the veranda, collapsing before a wisteria tree. Despite being outside, the air is thick and suffocating.

She does not care if he loves another person, but how could he humiliate her in front of the whole kingdom like this? There was no love in their union, and she had wished herself free of it many times, and yet.

He did not even respect her enough to tell her in private. He embarrassed her in front of the entire court. Her head swims with dizziness as she attempts to make sense of it all. 

She hears ocean waves in her head, moving in time with her overwhelming heartbeat. She's going to faint; there is no stopping it. At least she is outside. She can only hope that it is a friend that finds her.