She had greeted me, Lady Meredith Antebellum. Immediately so, the chatter that had been occurring by the other ladies at the table ceased completely. I didn’t have to part my gaze from the redhead to know that they were looking at me.

“Thank you for inviting me, Lady Antebellum,” I replied, lowering myself in a small curtsy.

“Please come sit with us, there is a spot next to Lady Montfort.”

I stood very still for a minute, the uttering of the Montfort name enough to illicit goosebumps on my skin. She had been the one to stain my dress at the banquet. And she will be the one to poison me. Alexandra Montfort. Although that last part was only something I knew, it had been popular gossip that Alexandra had spilt wine on my white dress at the banquet. I was sure that Lady Antebellum had to be aware of that, yet she chose to sit me next to her.

It wasn’t just any tea party. This one in specific, Lady Catalina is once again humiliated by Lady Alexandra. She runs away in shame and ends up meeting him.

I followed behind her, the ladies following me with their gaze. The round table had a glass dessert stand in its center, piled high with various cakes, cookies, and biscuits. Next to it stood a tea pot, expertly painted with roses and peonies. Tea cups and matching tea plates were sprawled about the table. A fine set of china, and a nice distraction for a moment. With every clack of my heel on the cobblestone, I could feel my fate looming closer.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

She stopped, reaching the right side of the roundtable, stepping slightly aside so I could see the lady I’d be sat with. The Alexandra Montfort. She had not even bothered to look at me, her head turned to the side pretending to be keenly concentrated on the nearby oak. Its red leaves rustled as a small gust of wind blew us by. It whisked Alexandra’s black curls gently, lifting my skirt slightly.

My hands reached for the chair, parting it from the table and seating myself. I settled in next to her, smoothing over my dress. The girl to my left suddenly turned to face me. She had long black curls, tightly coiled up like a spiraling staircase. Her skin was warm bronze, glistening under the sunlight. Her dark brown eyes were big and doe like, and stared straight at me.

“That had been Lady Carla’s spot,” she said simply, looking down at my chair.

Carla Santos. My step-sister, and the ex-saintess. Poor her. Must have been socially exiled after being deemed a fraud, and her father stripped of his title for hiding me away in the attic. She must hate me now. Another enemy to keep wary of.

“I hope she doesn’t mind that I took her spot.”

“Lady Carla? How shameful to be caught living as a fraud,” a lady chimed in. She sat next to Lady Meredith. Her hair was straight and had a honey color, eyes hazel.

“I knew she wasn’t a saintess. Must make you wonder what she did in the cathedral all the time if she wasn’t performing miracles,” another lady sneered. She had straight black hair and steely gray eyes.

“I don’t know why they let them keep their titles. They don’t deserve them. A holy family exposed for such heinous sacrilege,” the hazel-eyed lady said, shaking her head.

The doe-eyed lady next to me did not utter another word. She was deathly quiet, only sipping from her china.

“An even bigger shame that Lord Santos is also being lumped in with the frauds,” the steely eyed lady added. “Oh, such a waste of a glorious face.”

“He’s the only reason I believe the Santos were holy. That face is a work of god,” the hazel eyed lady sighed blissfully, leaning her head into her palm.

“If only he was invited to the banquet you could’ve asked for a dance, Lady Mary,” Lady Meredith teased, smiling at her.

Mary blushed, covering her colored cheeks with a napkin.

“Did you enjoy the banquet, Lady Santos?” Meredith asked, holding up the painted tea cup to her lips. She looked at me, her eyes fox like as she awaited my answer.

“My time there was enjoyable,” I replied, noticing where she was going with it.

“Pity that you had to leave there so early,” she replied. Her voice sounded as though she was sorry, though everything about her demeanor said otherwise.

“It would have been much more enjoyable if you could’ve stayed longer,” she added, now glancing over at Alexandra, who had begun to play around with her hair. She wrapped her fingers around her curls, winding them up nervously. She tried her best to feign disinterest, not bothering to look Lady Meredith in the eye.

“Such a pretty dress stained red. The one you have on today is quite pretty, Lady Catalina. Shame if someone were to ruin this one as well,” Mary chimed in, now looking at Alexandra past her tea cup.

“It would be a shame,” Alexandra murmured softly, reaching for the tea cup at the table. She brought it up to her lips, taking a sip. She then lowered her hand, almost placing it on the small plate before flicking her wrists. The tea splattered all over my arm, burning through my dress. She placed the tea cup on the plate, her eyes expressionless for a moment as I sat there, skin red and raw.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Showtime.

I rose swiftly, arms falling to my side as tears welled up in my eyes. The ladies at the table stared, some with their mouth agape, others simply covering themselves with their cups. I wiped my tears, running away from the table, down the cobblestone path.

I ran, tears pouring out of my eyes in streams. I followed the cobblestone path, far from the table and ran into the grassy fields. It was as if my feet knew where to go, where to turn and where to run. It didn’t take long for me to cease my crying, turning it off like a faucet. I walked calmly, head cool and collected. My feet trudged through the grass, my heels digging into the ground.

The open fields turned into a small forest, large oak trees in autumnal shades of red and orange loomed over me, obscuring the sun. The passage had grown quite dark, with only tiny rays of sun bursting through openings in the branches. Still, my feet kept walking, sure to where they’d lead me.

In the clearing, a figure walked over and leaned on one of the oaks, back pressed against it. He had straight black hair, brushing just past his eyes. It flicked in and out of his vision, a small cowlick on the side of his head. His eyes were the color of rubies, almost matching the leaves on the floor, narrowed down at the ground. He held a mallet on his left, which he let it hang by idly. He wore plaid shorts with a matching polo shirt, its collar sticking out. This was him.

I began to sniffle, keeping myself from full-on wailing (even though Catalina did so in the book). He glanced up, red eyes meeting mine. He stared at me for a moment, eyes simply watching as I walked up to him.

“Are you alright?” He asked, straightening up on the oak but not completely pushing himself off it.

I sniffled in response, raising my palm to wipe away tears.

“Oh, I’m fine. It must be the cold,” I mumbled, avoiding his gaze sheepishly.

His eyes pandered down to my sleeve, stained with the tea I had been thrown at earlier. He glanced back up at me, raising an eyebrow.

“You must be hurt,” he spoke, eyes trained on the red skin peeking through my sleeve.

“It doesn’t,” I lied, shrugging.

He continued to stare at me, eyebrow still raised. Was the meeting with him in the book so awkward? It feels like he’s staring into my soul.

“Let’s get you to the butler. He’ll be able to fetch you some ice to treat your burns,” he said, finally pushing himself off the oak. He stood tall, his back wide and muscular, muscles rippling through his shirt. He walked towards the clearing, leading me to the light and out of the plains. I lagged behind, eyes scanning my surroundings for any meddling faces. The walk was full of silent discomfort as we trekked through the grass and once more reached another cobblestone path.

“Why were you in the forest?” I blurted, turning back to look at the trees in the background.

“I needed a break,” he replied with a shrug, figuring that was enough of an answer.

“Why were you?”

“I needed a break,” I threw back at him.

He nodded, continuing to walk, mallet slung over his shoulder.

“What is it for?”

“What is what for?”

“The mallet.”

“Ah,” he paused, swinging it around his fingers. “Croquet.”

Croquet? As far as I knew, it was Lady Antebellum hosting a tea party. Where would he be playing croquet at?

Our walking eventually lead us somewhere, a field with small arches and colored balls plastered around. The clicking of balls being driven into the arches could be heard, with small bits of chatter. There was the butler from earlier. He was standing at the sidelines, watching the men. We walked up to him, the ruby boy looming over him.

“She needs some ice. She was scorched with tea,” he explained, glancing back at me as I stood there next to him. The butler raised an eyebrow in surprise, curtsying in my direction. “I apologize, Lady Catalina. I will go fetch you some ice,” he said, turning on his heel and walking back towards a small outline of a manor.

“Thank you,” I said, turning to the boy. He was staring at me once again, his eyes boring into mine.

“It was nothing special what I did.”

“You comforted me.”

“I did?” He asked in minor disbelief.

“I would say you so. Even took me to get help,” I added, tilting my head.

“It was the right thing to do.”

We stood there in silence again. I shifted awkwardly, not really wanting to return to the tea party and face Alexandra.

“I never caught your name,” I say, glancing up at him. He was tall enough in which I couldn’t really make eye contact with him staring ahead, instead having to lift my gaze to meet his.

“I’m Nicholas Montfort.”

I had finally did it. I met the second male lead, Nicholas Montfort. He was the nicer of the two Montforts, at least in the book. He fell for Catalina just as quickly as Arthur.

“I’m Catalina Santos,” I greeted back, curtsying.

“Aren’t you the saintess?” He asked, hand on his chin in thought. By now, most people recognized me due to my pink hair, though he hadn’t even batted an eye at it. All this time I had figured he knew who I was, though now I felt just as arrogant as Arthur for assuming so.

“I am,” I confirmed with a nod.

“It would be of great help if you could come around the Montfort bases. We have many wounded soldiers from the war effort there,” he paused, now turning slightly to meet me head on. “I would appreciate it if you could possibly pay us a visit. I think your presence would boost soldier moral and quicken the healing process.”

He was asking me to go perform miracles at his base. Montfort territory. I would be walking straight into enemy lines, practically hand delivering myself to Alexandra to tear up like a chew toy.

Before I could give him my response, a voice called for him from the fields.

“Nicholas! It is your turn to strike,” a boy called, his skin a warm bronze like the doe lady at the table. I wonder if they’re related.

“Coming,” he called, turning to me.

“I must go now. Consider my request, Lady Catalina,” and with that, he spun back around and walked back to the field, the mallet dangling in his hand.