To be the youngest, the least accomplished, in a house of successful people is damning. People often revel at my last name, Carter, but to me, that is the very thing that has always made me feel small. It has its perks–the shoes, the jewels, and the dresses of the latest fashion that it comes with. All of that, because of the empire, built from the ground up, by Silena Carter. My mother.

From a young age, I noticed that people treated me differently. My classmates’ mothers would scold them whenever they tried to tease me, yanking them away when I felt annoyed, treating me as if I was special. I loved them as I would my own blood and I’d like to think they felt the same way, but everything would change the moment my mother walked into the room. While the mothers offered each other friendly grins, their smiles towards Mother barely reached ears. Just a polite shadow of a welcoming gesture.

I guess it didn’t really bother me, that time. I paid no attention to whether people around me liked my mother or not. I liked being left to my own devices, relishing the peace and quiet, but it made me think. About my family. About my role in it.

At age 21, I’m still not so sure. I debuted in society four years ago, a spectacular outdoor ball at The Paseo’s willow orchard with lavender-colored crystals hanging from their branches. It feels like yesterday, yet so far away. My education ended quite recently, so I had to move back to the estate, bidding my life in the capital away. In short, I am bored.

I pause my reading, setting the novel on my lap. I’m in the drawing room, and across from me is my older sister, Celestia. She is a spitting image of Mother—emerald eyes, a pointy nose, and bright blonde hair cascading in natural waves instead of her usual tight updo. I run a hand through my own flatter, shorter hair, which ends at my chest and is a shade duller than Celestia’s. I try not to compare us often, but old habits die hard.

I glanced over my shoulder, needing a distraction. Light piano music plays from the stereo, drowning out the clink and clank of ceramics at the banquet hall. Helpers scurry across the room, with soup bowls and golden spoons in hand. Supper is about to be served, but I’m certain something will be happening tonight. 

They only use the embroidered napkins and the gold cutlery during anniversaries, holidays, but there isn’t any today. Mother must be making some kind of announcement.

Celestia, already finished drafting her business plan, or whatever document she was fiddling with two hours ago, has shifted her attention to a rose-colored parchment. The envelope is stamped with a jade seal, meaning it’s from House Sinclair. What’s written inside has her giddy with excitement. I suppose it must be from Orion Sinclair, her long-time suitor, who also happened to be the heir to Sideral’s most popular garment brand. No big feat, when Celestia herself is the marketing head of Sideral’s largest corporation.

The kitchen staff calls for us. “Dinner is ready, my ladies. Lady Silena requires your immediate attendance.”

Celestia and I exchange looks, and I shrug. She sets the letter down and we make our way to the dining hall.

When we arrive, our brothers are already there, Deneb seated at Mother’s left side and Seren at her right. It was too silent for my comfort, the stereo’s music only a faint whisper from the drawing room. I take the seat beside Seren and Celestia beside Deneb. I could hear my chair drag across the marbled floor as I sat. 

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Mother takes her knife and cuts a piece of bread, formally starting dinner. We follow suit.

“Deneb, I take it you are almost finished with the accounts from last week?” Even at home, she’s in her business attire. Her nails shone in contrast to her utensils, adorned with silver rhinestones and cut to a point. Her tone was as sharp. She shows no emotion as she speaks, making this question almost feel like an interrogation.

Deneb, who was by then used to this, nods. “I’ve taken the report to your study.”

“And you, Seren? How are the workers behaving at The Elysium?”

“Production is steady, Mother. Our employees are working efficiently.” Seren says, before chewing on a piece of steak.

“Celestia.” Mother starts.

“I have just finished the proposal. I’ll send them over as soon as—"

“You are to be engaged.”

The clang of a dropped spoon echoes through the room, sharp and jarring. Celestia’s fork. Everyone freezes. Seren stops chewing, his fork suspended mid-air, eyes wide. My heart races. Celestia, normally so composed, blinks rapidly. “You mean, to Orion?”

“House Sinclair might be rising on the market, but D’Or is no match for The Elysium.” She says, matter-of-factly. “I have chosen a commendable candidate. You will be meeting him tomorrow at dusk.”

Celestia’s face, pale and strained, flickers with a myriad of emotions: disbelief, anger, a trace of fear. “But Mother, Orion has been courting me for two years. I cannot just simply—”

“You can and you will reject him. You will simply state that he is no longer able to continue his courtship.”

“Mother—”

“I will hear none of it.” Mother snaps, her gaze finally lifting from her plate to pin Celestia in place. “I have promised them a daughter and you shall be wed. It will be good for The Elysium. And the House.”

“I… I understand.” 

I was biting my lip. Celestia falls silent, but a single tear betrays her, sliding down her cheek before she can wipe it away. She understands all too well: it's always The Elysium before the House. Business comes first. Not me.

“Does it have to be Celestia?”

All eyes turn to me.  Mother's eyebrow arches, a dangerous curiosity flickering in her eyes. I look away. “I-I mean, you said a daughter, so I just wanted to clarify if it has to be Celestia specifically or… any of your daughters?”

“What are you trying to say, Elaine?”

I release a shaky breath, steeling myself as I do so. “I am of legal age. I… I can marry.”

Mother's laughter erupts, cold and mocking, echoing off the walls. For a moment, it’s all we hear. “My, my. What a surprise,”  she says, her nonchalance thinly veiling her amusement. She returns to her meal, dismissing me with a wave. “You want to trade places with your sister? Be our guest.”

Celestia whispers. “Elaine…”

“I can handle it. You must trust me.” I wasn’t sure whether I was saying that to Celestia or myself. 

The adrenaline has worn off and I feel my hands trembling under the table. I turn to my mother. “May I at least ask which House?”

The corner of her mouth lifts. “House Kingsley.”