All Chapters of Denial before Surrender: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The cabbages did not care that Aurora Hawthorne was about to turn twenty one. They sat in their crooked rows beneath the kitchen garden wall, beaded with dew, apparently indifferent to birthdays, bloodlines, and the six generations of Hawthornes buried beneath the royal chapel. A slug had eaten through one of the outer leaves. Aurora found this reassuring. “You’ll ruin your hem, Your Highness.” She lifted her skirt another inch. “I thought I had already ruined it.” Master Vale glanced at the dark stripe of mud along the pale blue fabric. “Then you’ll ruin it further.” “An important distinction.” The gardener made a noise that might have been a laugh, although he disguised it by clearing his throat. Beyond the wall, the palace was waking. A cart rattled over the service courtyard. Somewhere inside, a bell summoned servants to duties they had probably begun an hour earlier. The kitchen chimneys sent thin streams of smoke into the cool morning sky. Aurora crouched beside the neare

Aurora had been born at four minutes past midnight. This minor inconvenience had been recorded in the royal archives, embroidered into a commemorative tapestry, and mentioned every year by the Bishop of Westmere as evidence that the Almighty favoured a fresh beginning. Aurora suspected her mother would have preferred an earlier finish. Now, according to the clock above the breakfast room door, she had less than two days remaining in which to be twenty. She buttered her toast. “Do you suppose,” Belle asked, “that princes are taught to kiss?” Aurora’s knife stopped. Across the table, Lady Penrose lowered her cup with extraordinary care. “In the same way we are taught dancing,” Belle continued. “There must be some instruction. Otherwise, how dreadful for everyone.” “Your Highness,” Lady Penrose said. “What? I am not suggesting practical lessons.” “That is enough.” Belle looked at Aurora, seeking an ally. Aurora returned to her toast. “I imagine they learn to make speec

Belle knew the difference between being looked at and being seen. Being looked at was easy. She had discovered that at fourteen, when a visiting ambassador forgot the end of his sentence because she smiled at him. By sixteen, she understood that people forgave a pretty girl for arriving late, asking foolish questions, or taking the last sugared apricot. Being seen was less dependable. At breakfast, she had asked whether she might attend the welcoming ceremony beside her sister. Lady Penrose had promised to enquire. By supper, everyone had forgotten. “You are pulling.” “I am hardly touching it, Your Highness.” “Then it is a remarkably painful absence of touch.” Belle’s maid loosened her grip on the strand of blonde hair. In the mirror, Cora’s expression remained professionally patient. That was worse than irritation. Irritation at least acknowledged that Belle had managed to affect someone. “Leave it down,” Belle said. “For supper?” “For the journey to supper. You may pin

Philip Harlowe inspected the palace before he allowed himself to admire it. The western roof had been repaired recently. The gatehouse guards wore good boots. Every horse waiting in the courtyard appeared adequately fed. Wealth announced itself most reliably in the things a household expected visitors not to notice. Beside him, Julian folded a travelling blanket. “The left cuff,” Philip said. Julian glanced down at the prince’s sleeve, then smoothed back a narrow fold. “Better?” Philip examined it. “Yes.” The carriage struck a shallow rut. Their knees touched. Neither moved immediately. Outside, a trumpet sounded. Julian withdrew his hand and reached for the silver-headed cane Philip carried when arriving somewhere important. His leg did not require it. Entrances did. “The pearl case is with Merrick,” Julian said. “The other gifts have gone ahead.” “And the emeralds?” “In your chamber.” Philip nodded. He had crossed the eastern ocean for this. Not merely the palace, a

By late afternoon, Aurora had learned that preparing for a birthday required the removal of nearly everything she liked about an ordinary day. Her books had been cleared from the sitting room to make space for flowers. Her appointment with Master Vale had been cancelled because the dressmaker needed her to stand still while a woman with pins between her teeth considered her waist. Even the corridor outside her chambers had become impassable beneath a procession of servants carrying candles. “It is fortunate,” she told Elsie, “that I only grow older once a year.” “Lift your chin, Your Highness.” Aurora obeyed. Elsie fastened the clasp of the pearl necklace. “Must I wear those again?” “Her Majesty asked.” Of course she had. Aurora examined her reflection. Tonight’s gown had the lower neckline Philip had recommended. The pearls lay perfectly against her skin. She disliked how much that annoyed her. On the dressing table, beneath an abandoned ribbon, lay a note from the archives