I Love You, My Cursed Prince

"Did any men flirt with you?" Prince Vidar asked.

"Yes, Sir," Muriel said with a light nod.

His fingers were on her right shoulder. He seemed to be crouching beside her. His warmth was on Muriel's right and the hand on her shoulder felt like a left hand. His voice shuddered a little. "Ahhhhh ... they must have been delighted. Your exquisite figure ... tightly kept in pretty gowns ... and your bosom shining in the candlelight. You must have enchanted them as you danced."

"I wish you would have come to the capital," Muriel said gently.

The fingers on her shoulder curved tightly, but Muriel felt no pain. "You should've used the word could."

"Is that so, Your Highness?"

His voice was a bit strained when he next spoke. "I ... I can't even set you free. I can't let you reach out to me. How can a creature such as myself go off to the Capital Season?"

"Are you truly so awful that you can't leave this place?"

Aside from their breathing and the heaving fire, there was no sound for a time. Then, the quiet was sliced through with Prince Vidar's next statement. "You're a curious woman. That's an appealing trait, but it can be a dangerous flaw too."

"You didn't answer my question."

He stopped gripping her shoulder. Then he patted her there. "I'm not required to."

Muriel swallowed down a groan. "I'd love to dance with you for a change."

"I'm sorry."

She couldn't get him to say anything else about it. He refused to acknowledge the concept of ever going out in public ever again.

Perhaps two weeks after that conversation, Muriel received two of the oddest presents. They were dolls, but they were a bit different from the previous ones.

The first one looked nearly exactly like the blonde one that looked like Muriel. The differences were in her hairstyle, makeup, and clothing. Her hair was up in a teased and fluffy style, decorated with with strings of pearl-like beads, small white feathers, and pink fabric roses. Her lips were red and her cheeks were rosy. She wore an elaborate ballgown in a pale blue color with so many festoons of white lace, pink ribbons and bow-knots, and more false pearls, that her wide skirt nearly seemed heavy. More false pearls and bows were on her stomacher in neat rows.

The second doll was a man. He looked like that handsome man in the painting, that man that was practically haunting Muriel's brain at this point. Of course, he also looked like the Crown Prince, but different. His brown eyes weren't cold. They were open and tender. His dark hair was held back with a purple ribbon; it trailed down to his waist. His coat, waistcoat, and breeches all matched. They were a shiny gold with dark blue and bright red fruits embroidered on the cuffs, near the shiny black buŧŧons, and down the sides of the breeches. He was ready for a ball.

Muriel was happy to display the pretty dolls in her bedchamber. They had obviously been made with care. Yet as she looked at the two dolls, their eternal expressions looking strangely cruel in a teasing manner, Muriel's nose heated and prickled. She nearly sobbed into her hands. She had to take a wet cloth and press it into her closed eyes in order to calm her nerves.