Royal Betrayal

Chapter 1 The arrival

The horse's hooves clattered rhythmically against the gravel roads as Josoline sat in the carriage, her heart heavy with the weight of her father's decree. Why was he forcing her into marriage? Couldn't he have considered other options, like sending her to work?

She clicked her tongue in frustration, a habit she had picked up during her time in America. If she had known this was what awaited her upon her return home, she would have sought employment overseas. But her parents had tricked her, summoning her back under false pretenses, only to whisk her away to the palace in a gown fit for a debutante.

The thought of marrying any of the eligible suitors made her body recoil in disgust. Did her parents expect her to charm one of these men into submission? The very idea seemed ludicrous, and Josoline couldn't help but hiss at the absurdity of it all.

Unlike the other young women of her acquaintance, Josoline's mind was not occupied with thoughts of courtship and romance. She had always been more interested in stimulating conversation and intellectual pursuits than in making goo-goo eyes at potential suitors. The prospect of navigating the intricate dance of courtship filled her with dread.

She had heard whispers about the eligible bachelors from her cousin Becka, whose own season had been cut short by her parents' financial troubles. According to Becka, Prince Theodore, the younger of the two brothers, was a gentleman through and through: charming, intelligent, and well-mannered. His elder brother, having spent the previous season in Manchester, was rumored to be something of a wild child, a reputation that had earned him the title of the royal rake. But Josoline cared little for superficialities; what mattered to her was substance, not surface charm.

As for the duke, rumors swirled about his scandalous lifestyle and the ultimatum issued by his parents: marry or be disowned. But Josoline paid little heed to gossip, preferring to form her own opinions based on firsthand experience rather than idle speculation.

As the carriage trundled along, Josoline couldn't shake the feeling of trepidation that gnawed at her insides. What awaited her at the palace? And more importantly, how would she navigate the treacherous waters of courtship without compromising her principles? Only time would tell.

*************

The horseshoes clicked against the graveled roads. Max, the elderly carriage driver who had been ferrying Josoline around since her childhood. His voice carried through the carriage, half-yelling from his position outside. "Are you okay, my lady? You've been mighty quiet."

Josoline mustered up a smile, imagining Max's concerned gaze upon her. "Well, Max, I sure am not happy about going to the palace," she admitted.

"Well, my lady, you've grown wonderfully, and any of those men would be a fool not to want to marry you," he said encouragingly.

Her heart sank, the fake smile falling from her face. "Well, my dear friend, this I know, but my freedom will be limited."

She waited for his response but received none.

"State your business!" barked a rough voice.

"I've arrived with Lady Josoline Prescott from the Prescott estate," announced Max.

"Very well then," replied the voice.

The large gates opened, and the carriage drove through. Josoline peeked through the curtains at the beautifully manicured lawn, the trees perfectly trimmed. As the carriage approached the palace entrance, it loomed impressively before her. Though it appeared impeccable from the outside, Josoline couldn't shake her apprehension.

Max came around to open the carriage door, offering his hand as she stepped out with grace. She stood before a string of maids and butlers, eyeing each one intently as Max unloaded her belongings.

Climbing the steps to the grand oak door adorned with intricate carvings, Josoline marveled at the artwork. The footmen opened the door, revealing a vast, beautiful hall. She was in awe of the grandeur: the towering white chandelier, the polished marble floors reflecting her image, the vases and artwork adorning the walls.

"Lady Prescott, I'm the head maid here. I'll show you to your suite. The rest of the debutantes are in the garden watching the princes, the Duke, and other suitors practicing their riding for the upcoming competition. You can join them now," explained the elder woman, who appeared to be in her fifties.

Josoline remained attentive on the outside but screamed with distaste on the inside.

"Very well then," she replied, her voice unfazed by the woman's demanding tone. "Did they not teach you to give your name before spitting orders?" she asked matter-of-factly.

The lady's brows rose, and her lips formed a straight line. "I'm Miss Bucket, the head maid."

"Well, Miss Bucket, do I remain standing here, or am I going to the garden first?" Josoline asked in a bored tone.

Without another word, Miss Bucket led the way toward the gardens, realizing that Lady Josoline would be a handful. Josoline walked at a slow pace, admiring the paintings of the royal families from years past. She couldn't help but take her time, indulging in her love for art.

As they walked, Josoline paused to admire a particular painting—a voluptuous lady reclining naked on a settee. Suppressing a giggle, she wondered how such a piece had ended up in the palace.

"The line between art and life should be kept as fluid and perhaps indistinct as possible," a male voice remarked behind her.

"Allan Kapuor," Josoline whispered, surprised to find she wasn't alone.

Turning around, she was greeted by a lopsided grin and hazel eyes. The man, handsome and neatly groomed, stood before her. He appeared to be about her age.

"Yes, that's the words of Allan Kapuor, sir," she confirmed.

"Well, I see I'm not dealing with just any pretty lady," the man chuckled.

Josoline's brow shot up. "Excuse me?"

The grin never left his face. "Well, don't take offense, my lady. The ladies who come to the palace don't normally admire or know their art," he explained.

"Thank you, sir," she replied with a curtsy.

"People normally curtsy as they see me, but I should've introduced myself. I am Prince Theodore," he said, taking her hand and kissing the back.

Josoline's face flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. Believe me, I did not recognize you."

He laughed. "That's okay, Miss—"

"Lady Prescott," interrupted a very angry Miss Bucket, her eyes fixed on Prince Theodore. "Your Majesty, my apologies for Miss Prescott. She was to be following me, not be here," she said, glaring at Josoline.

"No, it's fine. She wasn't doing anything wrong," Prince Theodore replied, brushing off Miss Bucket's concern.

Josoline observed him, noting his deep brown riding attire.

"Well, I bid you farewell, Miss Prescott," he said, walking away.

She smiled politely as she did the same, moving away from Miss Bucket. She heard Miss Bucket's footsteps briskly approaching as they turned the corner, heading toward the glass door with a view of the