The Royal Palace of Kaufman was a fortress of white stone and gold gates.
Inside the Queen's solar, the mood was tense.
Queen Consort Elena stared at the document in front of her. "The Dawson girl? The quiet one?"
Prince Cameron sat in his wheelchair by the window. He was staring out at the gardens, twirling a fountain pen between his long fingers.
"She's suitable," he said. His voice was raspy, a carefully cultivated affectation. "She has no political backing. Her family ignores her. She won't ask questions."
"She's illegitimate, isn't she?" the Queen asked, wrinkling her nose. "Rumors say..."
"Rumors don't matter," Cameron cut in. "She's healthy. She's docile. And she's willing to sign the pre-nup."
The Queen sighed. "Fine. If it makes you happy, Cameron. We just need you to be... comfortable."
She meant alive.
Cameron smirked at his reflection in the glass. "Oh, I'll be very comfortable."
Meanwhile, at the Sears Manor, the atmosphere was less cordial.
Blossom sat on the plush velvet sofa, sipping tea. She expected a warm welcome. She expected gratitude for saving their reputation.
Instead, she got the Duchess of Sears.
Cato's mother was a formidable woman with hair like steel wool and eyes to match.
"We are skipping the engagement party," the Duchess announced.
Blossom choked on her tea. "What? But... I've already ordered the flowers!"
"We cannot afford-I mean, it is not appropriate to celebrate so soon after the scandal," the Duchess corrected herself quickly. "It would look tasteless."
Bianca was sitting in the corner, reading a magazine. She didn't look up. "Besides, Cato hates parties."
Blossom glared at her. "Why is she here?"
Cato walked in then. He looked tired. "Bianca lives here, Blossom. You know that."
"But we're getting married," Blossom whined. "Ideally, she should move out. We need privacy."
Cato looked at his mother, then at Bianca. He didn't look at Blossom.
"Bianca is family," Cato said firmly. "She stays in the East Wing. You'll have the West Wing."
"Separate wings?" Blossom stood up. "But we're newlyweds!"
"I work late," Cato muttered. "I don't want to disturb you."
Blossom sank back onto the sofa. She realized, with a sinking feeling, that she was an intruder in her own marriage.
Back at the Dawson Manor, the driveway was blocked.
Three massive trucks emblazoned with the Royal Crest were unloading crates.
Guards in red uniforms stood at attention.
Andria stood on the balcony, watching.
They brought in chests of silk, boxes of rare spices, and cases of vintage wine. They brought jewelry boxes that required two men to carry.
It was a display of power. A message to the world: She belongs to us now.
Blossom drove up in her convertible. She had to park on the lawn because the trucks were blocking the way.
She stormed into the house and found Andria in the living room, inspecting a ruby necklace the size of an egg.
"This is ridiculous!" she screamed. "Why did they send all this to you?"
"It's customary," Andria said, holding the ruby up to the light. "For the future Princess."
"It's not fair!" Blossom stomped her foot. "Cato's mother said we can't even have a party!"
Andria lowered the necklace. She looked at Blossom with faux sympathy.
"Oh, Blossom. Didn't you know?"
"Know what?"
"The Sears family is cash-poor," Andria whispered. "Asset rich, maybe. But they don't have liquidity. That's why Bianca is still there. She pays rent."
It was a lie-Bianca didn't pay rent, she paid in other ways-but it stung just the same.
"You're lying," Blossom hissed.
"Ask Cato about his horses," Andria said simply. "Ask him why he sold 'Thunderbolt' last week."
Blossom's face went slack. She knew Cato loved that horse.
"Enjoy your West Wing, sister," Andria said, dropping the ruby back into its velvet box with a satisfying thud. "I have a wedding to prepare for."
