The Fake Bride

It was quiet inside. With all the commotion of last night and today’s early morning and Trinity’s own wrecked of emotions, she had entirely missed the vacant feel of the place. As the lord strode ahead she watched his back warily. Just a moment ago he had witnessed her in what could only be the most entertaining scene to the devil himself. His civility was uncharacteristic.

But she sniffed and he threw his head back, frowning in distaste.

“Look at you,” he chided. “No one could possibly believe you are a princess with those pastries under your eyes.”

Her hands flew to her eyes, and to her horror, the areas were swelled and stung quite a bit. She sniffled, a pathetic little indignant whimper that did nothing but made him try to stifle his laugh.

“Sit down,” he ordered when they reached the drawing room; the fireplace now smoldered, eating away what was left of char and ash. Trinity took a stick and buried the singed logs with the ash, extinguishing it altogether.

“It’s rather quiet today,” she said, folding herself into the chair.

“Well, I knew it would come to this, so I had dismissed the servants the night before. Wouldn’t want any wandering ears and eyes around now, would we?” He winked insinuatingly.

“Now, tell me, how do you plan on carrying out this little plot?” he inquired, falling back against his arm chair with legs crossed. Expectant.

Trinity sighed, “The truth is I have not the slightest idea.”

“I expected that too. Very well, how are your etiquettes?”

His serious tone made her want to laugh. Should you really be the one to say that?

“Better than most, Sir,” she replied resentfully. Better than you, at least.

“You don’t have to be better than most, you only need to be better than me,” said he with a droll chortle.

She saw no point in having this circuitous talk, especially with someone like him. She was about to leave when he continued, completely impervious to her growing impatience.

“Dancing?”

“I’ve never really tried,” she confessed, wary of the direction this was heading.

His prying eyes travelled from the tip of her hair to the end of her shoes. With a simple gesture he decided dismissively, “Must be dreadful. But never mind it, a sob tale of unfortunate limb defect during childbirth is not so bad.” To which Trinity made a low, threatening grumble in her throat.

“Can you read or write?”

“As well as I can speak, my Lord.”

“Well, that I did not quite expect.” He sat up now, leaning forward, genuinely interested. “How did you learn it?”

While mildly stunt by his sincerity, she explained, now regarding him with a little respect. Only a bit. “The king insisted that literacy is important, therefore, he allowed me to learn from the same teacher as the princess. But of course, he allowed all the servants a chance to learn.”

“How generous of him.” At once, he lost that curious look, as if the king’s name somehow spoiled the merriment for him. Bless his old soul if he caught wind of this talk. “Tell me, Trinity, what is it that you’re good at?”

She considered this question carefully. She had never given much thought about what she was good at. She was a peasant, and that was that. There was nothing special to tell anyone. “I can cook,” she said.

“No, no. Not something that a maid can do, please. Something that a princess can take pride in.”

Something that she was proud of? She could only think of one, but she feared he would laugh at her. It wasn’t something one would expect of a maid, so she diffidently said, “I’ve studied medicine and cures. My skills and knowledge are limited but I’ve learned much from the palace’s apothecary.”

She had not expected him to smile at him, so when he did with an animated glow in his eyes, she was taken aback; he snapped his finger. “That’s it! Now that’s something impressive.”

“But I don’t understand,” she protested. “What is the point of this questioning? I am not like the princess. I can’t be like her. A princess doesn’t need to know—”

“Your idea of a princess is all thwarted and narrow-minded,” he interjected sharply. “Do you think a princess only needs to look beautiful? Well, that’s part of it, but I expected someone so close to a princess to know better. Her Royal Highness’s attribution, you know them well, don’t you? That’s why you admire and love her.”

More than anyone, she knew the princess—the real princess. She was kindhearted and brave and confident. She was humorous, quick to laugh and quick to cry, the temperament that endeared her to so many. She was honest but never cruel. She could speak five languages fluently; she could easily engage in any political discussions among men without losing her composure, and she could as easily dominate and win over the most opinionated oppositionist. She was that and many more.

“You know how she is. She’s not just beautiful. That’s not why she deserves to be the princess. She is a princess who takes pride in her accomplishment and herself,” he paused shortly, “that’s why, you, too, must take pride in what you do best. That’s how you can be her but still remain true to yourself. Do you understand?”

Trinity nodded. She had not thought of it that way. But it did make sense, and strangely enough it filled her up with immeasurable courage.

“Good, now you get going and get change,” he ordered. “It’s time.”



“You don’t look anything like the princess” was the first comment the lord made upon seeing Trinity fully dressed in the princess’s gown.

She stared at him with blank eyes. As if that was something new!

Instead of a retort, she turned away sharply, her lips almost a pout. It was the truth, but didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“Is it the dress or the person, I wonder.” He was teasing her, and she couldn’t help taking it personally.

“A princess should never frown,” he said and placed a flower wreath on her head. The veil fell over her face, and she blinked in surprise.

He winked. “It would not be wise to expose our little secret now, would it?”

She was glad he had thought it through; she had forgotten that little detail. When he put out his hand with its palm up, she was uncertain what she should do with it. “Now is the moment you should take my hand,” he advised, his voice laughing. Grudgingly, she slipped his hand in his, and he gripped it tightly to her dismay.

There might not have been any point in lowering her head as they made the walk to the entourage waiting outside, but Trinity nervousness kept her on watch for her feet, for fear she would step on the dress’s delicate hem.

“Look up. There is no need for fear,” he whispered into her ear, a weak sound against the buzzing in her brain. She did as she was told and was glad to find that no one was staring at her in the eyes—not that they could. The party of a little more than ten consisted entirely of solders, whose military code still traveled with them even to this peaceful, remote land. Carefully, Trinity entered the coach with the earl’s help. She fell heavily into the seat as soon as the door closed behind Lord Detles. It was as if the dress was a fighting armor. She couldn’t understand how the princess could tolerate such cumbersome costume, let alone walk in it with such grace.

“You can rest now until we arrive,” he said. “We can’t afford to have you smothered by that dress before the wedding.”

By this point, she was too tired to care about his words. The coach rolled out of the mansion gate, heading toward the north. Resting her head against the back of the box, she gazed wearily at the mountain range jutted in the distance. As the road went on and on, green hills turned to tall snow-capped mountains. It wasn’t long before sleep took over.

The ground tasted of dirt and hard rocks. Coughing, the little girl groveled in the dirt, trying to stand. Shards of rocks dug into her knees and hands. In her mouth were the tastes of sweat and blood, and when she coughed again, red splotches spattered like scarlet blossoms. But it wasn’t anything as beautiful as such. It was her blood. Her pain and humiliation.

“Stop acting all pitiful. Get up!” barked a gruff man with a red, fuming face, who stood before the girl.

“That’s what you get for stealing, you thief!”

“I’m sorry, Sir” she said through tears. “I was just hungry, that’s all. I didn’t mean to steal. I—“

“I thief is a thief,” he cut through her words with a voice as jagged as a knife. “Don’t bother with excuses.” He brought his hand down for a hit.

The little girl cringed and braced herself for the pain.

“Stop!”

There was a violent slap and gasps as the crowd looked upon the sight, aghast. Slowly, the girl opened her eyes, finding to her surprise that she did not feel any pain. Instead, she saw gold. Such gold hair, such light that sparkled on that head of hair. If this was heaven, it was at least beautiful and warm.

“Princess!” she heard whispers. “It’s the princess.”

Even the man who had beaten her dropped to the ground with his forehead in the dirt. “Forgive me, Princess, I did not know.”

“Don’t you think you’ve apologized to the wrong person,” the eloquent, bird-like voice said. “The slap certainly hurts, but this girl’s injuries are much worse. Can’t you see?”

“Yes, of course, p-princess. I regret my action. Please forgive me. I-I will give you as much bread as you want. P-please forgive me,” he stammered at the girl.

The princess turned around, her long, golden hair fluttered like butterfly wings. Her large blue eyes were curious and generous as they penetrated the girl’s. Then she smiled.

“Come, take my hand,” she said cheerfully. “A lady should never lie on the ground.”

The rocking of the box woke Trinity up with a violent jolt. She sat up in her seat and looked around as she was still half asleep and muddled.

“We are almost there,” said Lord Detles on the opposite wall of the coach. “Thanks to you snoring so loudly that I barely caught up on my sleep.”

“I did not,” she asserted.

“Well, you certainly did mumble quite a few interesting things. Bad dream?”

With some hesitation, she finally nodded.

“Do you want to tell me?” At which she shook her head.

He crossed his arms. “Hmmp. And here I thought we are friends.”

After a moment of mutual silence, Trinity spoke, carefully, “I dreamed of the past, of my first meeting with the princess. I…I’ve never told anyone this before but this is an important memory to me. I must be feeling sentimental already.” She sniffed.

“Tell me, I won’t laugh.”

“What can I tell you besides the fact that she was my savior? If I hadn’t met her, who knows how I would have turned out. You weren’t there, but even if you were, you would never understand how I felt when I saw her for the first time. She was beautiful and courageous…like an angel.”

He smiled to himself as if the memory was also his to share. “Hmm, I suppose she has always been that way.”

“What about you, my Lord? Why are you doing this while knowing it could endanger you? I know the earl is family but is that all to it?”

He smiled his enigmatic smile, one that revealed a secret but told nothing against its owner. “I have my own reason, and you have yours.”

“I’ve told you mine. Now it is your turn to be honest.”

He laughed quietly, not in a sneering manner but in gentle endearment. “In that way we are very alike.”

That smile of his always struck her as odd. And that part of his only seemed to reveal itself when it came to the princess.

“Lord Detles, are you, perhaps…do you love her?”

“Oh, dear. It seems as though my little secret is exposed.” He smiled his familiar wicked smile, his face twisted as if mocking her. In a flush of embarrassment, Trinity wanted to sink to the ground so she could hide the discomfiture of assuming such a thing. Then it dawned on her that the arch of his brows might not be an expression of mockery. Perhaps he was so used to jesting about everything in life that he could not show any other emotion on his face otherwise, because if it was not him who had worn that expression, she could have interpreted it as slight sadness.

“It’s not something worth pursuing anymore. It’s not as if love suits me,” he said. “Keep this a secret between the two of us, will you?”

Perhaps the rumor about the lord being a rogue skirt-chaser wasn't entirely true. He was only trying his best to hide his secret love. The other women were only a distraction to him. Perhaps his love and his heart were much larger and deeper than she had thought. She pitied him and he could see it. They both knew it was best for the princess to not have ended up with him. He loved her but he was the type of man that would only hurt the one he loved.



The main road leading to the capital of Elithianora was lining with people. They went about their lives busily and no one seemed very excited about the bride’s arrival. Occasionally, a few children would run along next to the coach but would get tired and returned to their play. It was as if this was an everyday occurrence to the people. Nothing of an amazing sort.

Once the palace gate opened, Trinity’s stomach lurched and the rocking made her want to throw up. The lord gripped her hand comfortingly and she did not shake him off.

The ride was over. The time had come. Trinity stepped down and stared despondently at the palace that was beautiful but she knew would soon become her prison. With her palpitating heart, she took her companion’s hand as he led her into the palace with an old chamberlain at the lead. And although she didn't want to, her hand slid out of his. He turned to her with a confidant smile and whispered, “Remember, you are not a princess, but you may become one if that is what you wish for.”

Tears in her eyes, she said, “If you hear from the princess, please tell her…tell her that I will live well, so she too should be happy.”

“I know,” he assent, kissing her hand like a gentleman would to a lady. “It seems as though I know a great woman when I see one, but I am never destined to have her. Good bye, Trinity. The next we meet, I hope you will still be our princess.”