Marmalade's Love Potion

Princess Ivy’s smile was all sharp edges as Penelope turned to face her. The sparkle in Ivy’s bright blue eyes was malicious, her smile widening as she looked Penelope up and down.

Penelope glanced briefly at Ivy’s gown in kind, taking in the richly beaded bodice and layered skirt of purple silks before fixing her gaze on Ivy’s face.

Had Princess Ivy’s intent ever been genuine, ever been kind, Penelope would have found her enchanting. Her pale skin was smooth and dewy. Constellations of shining gold freckles were smattered artfully across her bare shoulders. Her cheeks blushed a regal pink, and her eyes were clear and wide, fringed in thick lashes. Yet in their depths lay a hardness, a brittle calculation and cruelty, that Penelope had always recoiled from.

Though Penelope’s fingers were cold with nerves, the dread she might have expected at another confrontation with Ivy failed to surface. She had lived through far worse than the bitter words of a petty girl. And she had far greater concerns tonight.

“Princess Ivy, still as sweet as your House’s namesake, I see. I do hope you enjoy your evening.” Penelope gave a dismissive nod and turned her gaze towards the curtain.

Ivy laughed, a quiet purring sound. “Truly, I’m surprised to see you here tonight. Why, I haven’t had the pleasure of crossing paths at an event like this in years.”

Penelope paused, wary. “I was invited,” she bit out.

“Why, yes, of course you were invited, as you have been every soirée and ball and… well… every significant celebration of the last decade. Yet you appear at this one, after all these years of polite declines and mysterious absences? How very intriguing.”

Penelope frowned, her mind reeling as she turned again towards Ivy.

Penelope had never declined an invitation. As a child she had lived for those invitations. She hadn’t received an invitation to anything in nearly ten years. At least, none she had been aware of...

Had the Sisters declined them on her behalf? No, surely not… Ivy must be lying.

“I never—”

Penelope snapped her mouth shut as she realised people were crowding closer, whispering together in small clusters. They pretended not to be listening, yet there was a palpable tension in the angles of their posture as they leaned in, the better to hear.

Princess Ivy preened as she sensed she held the attention of the room.

“Well?” Ivy persisted, prowling forward to close the distance. “What, or rather, who, has so captured the attention of the elusive Penelope Starwood that she would finally deign to emerge from solitude?”

Ivy’s sharp gaze bore into Penelope, the corners of her coral-pink lips quirking.

Ivy had always spoken in traps and riddles, the glossy surfaces of her words hiding trick steps that never failed to unbalance Penelope. Though familiar with Ivy’s verbal sleights of hand, her question now threw Penelope completely off kilter.

Had she truly been invited all these years to royal events? Why had she never known? Who had declined them?

Behind Princess Ivy, her usual flock of sycophants eyed Penelope with smiles on their faces and disdain in their eyes, gazes narrowed with predatory glee.

They were waiting for Penelope to trip herself into their baited web, to protest and defend and justify herself until she was entangled, humiliated by her own words.

If she misspoke now, she would either ensure she looked utterly foolish, or else insult half the court. Or both.

Well, by Ivy’s own admission, Penelope was apparently seen as mysterious. She could give them mystery.

“Oh, my company tonight is a surprise.” Penelope leaned forward as if imparting a playful secret. Ivy leaned back in surprise before schooling herself, angling once more towards Penelope. Her breath was minty and sweet.

“I’m actually rather impressed I’ve managed to keep it from you, Ivy,” Penelope continued with a slow smile. “You’re usually so well informed.”

Though she hated trading barbs, weighing and measuring her every word, Penelope couldn’t deny the thrill of satisfaction as Ivy pinched her lips in displeasure, before pasting her false smile back in place.

“A surprise, is it? How fun! Indulge me in a game of guesses? Let’s see...” Ivy tapped her chin in mock thought as she narrowed her eyes, a blonde ringlet bouncing across her cheek.

“Well, it can’t be Prince Caspen of Grimwood. After all, your sister, Princess Clarity, was telling me all about their betrothal just last week. A lovelier match I couldn’t envision.” Ivy smirked at Penelope’s reaction to the news. “Oh, don’t tell me I’ve gone and spilled a family secret, now, have I? I had thought everyone would have heard by now.”

Penelope breathed through the sting. She hadn’t known Clarity was betrothed, and was evidently the last to find out. Penelope's gut broiled with jealousy at the thought of Ivy trading gossip with her sister.

Ivy’s eyes glinted in victory as she recognised the taunt had landed. Anger and humiliation burned in Penelope’s stomach alongside an aching sense of grief for all she had missed of Clarity's life.

“First Scion, Prince Ethan, is already married of course—” Penelope swallowed at the mention of Grimwood’s First Scion, her memory flashing with the image of the ruthless prince in the woods, “—as is Prince Michael... Oh, I have it, it must be Prince Esra.”

Though she affected a casual air, her posture was coiled with tension. Ivy was clearly desperate to know the identity of Penelope’s escort. Penelope was loath to give Ivy anything.

She cocked her head. “Must it?”

Princess Ivy frowned, impatient.

“Do you take no pride in your suitor then, that they are such a secret?” Ivy needled with an arrogant tilt of her chin.

Was Steph her suitor? Did she want him to be? Penelope tamped down the whirl of confusion and conflicting emotions before they overwhelmed her.

Penelope was suddenly exhausted of these petty games. She was done.

“Hmmm,” Penelope mused, her attention drifting once more to the gap in the drapes. She just wanted a peek, a glimpse, of the room beyond. Of her parents, of Clarity, of Sister Rosin and Sister Heely... Of Steph. “Perhaps I’ve come for the kitchen boy.”

Penelope bit her smile as Ivy’s face scrunched in confusion and a few titters rang out from those pretending not to be listening.

“Again, enjoy your evening, Princess Ivy.” With an airy flap of her hand, Penelope turned to stride away.

Before she had moved more than a few paces, a hand caught at Penelope’s sleeve. She spun to glare at Ivy.

“No need to be so coy,” Princess Ivy smiled, though all false sweetness had curdled, her lips stretching into a grimace. “I’m sure First Scion of Starwood has her pick of Grimwood’s eligible sons. Go on, do share.”

With a scowl, Penelope twisted her wrist from Ivy’s touch.

“The Scions of Grimwood are not flowers to pluck, Princess Ivy.” The blossoms of Penelope’s dress flared black and midnight purple, the ridges of their petals sharp with spines. Ivy stumbled back in alarm, her blushing cheeks splotching with truer colour as she tripped over the hem of her gown before righting herself with a glower.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” said a voice laced with amusement. Penelope’s already thudding heart skipped a beat as she turned to find Steph approaching through the crowd.

Her fingers twitched where they gripped the stem of her honeybelle, and she had to swallow down a frantic sort of giggle.

“Princess Ivy of Sweetwood,” Steph drawled. “It seems your manners have deteriorated since last we met. Quite the accomplishment, I must say.”

He was smirking at Ivy, dark eyes hard and glittering, lip curled at the corner. His face was very nearly the picture of her dream, his bearing cold and haughty, though his disdain was focused intently towards Ivy. Steph’s expression wavered, eyes softening for just a moment, as he met Penelope’s gaze.

Steph was dressed in a suit of stiff, shining fabric, almost black but for subtle hints of bronze where the light gleamed. A square of floral embroidered cloth accented a pocket emblazoned with the Grimwood House crest and Scion’s emblem.

The cut of his suit was simple, almost austere, lengthening the lines of his limbs and emphasising the grace of his shoulders as he melted through the crowd of gossiping spectators.

At his throat was a choker of pearls, a honeybelle tucked behind one ear. His hair fell in soft chestnut waves that, while mostly tamed, still managed to curl in all directions. His appearance reminded Penelope of the gardens outside; wilful wilderness cultured within disciplined lines, nonetheless radiating a distinct aura of impish chaos.

He was exquisite, moving with the practised athleticism of a soldier and the dancing elegance of nobility.

Penelope’s heart fluttered, her gut writhing as hurt and humiliation and anger battled with a giddy affection and fierce yearning to reach out for him. The flowers of her gown ruffled their petals, shimmering between a multitude of hues.

“You look exquisite, Princess.” Penelope allowed Steph to brush a kiss across her knuckles. He beamed a smile when he saw the honeybelle clasped in her hand and brushed a thumb across its petals. He let her hand fall gently between them, yet twined his fingers loosely with hers, allowing her to pull away if she so chose. Penelope stepped closer.

“Thank you, Prince Steph. I appreciated the honour of your House’s escort this night.”

Penelope bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing as Ivy drew herself to full height, cheeks scarlet with outrage.

“Prince Steph? Wait… aren’t you that boy who—?”

Penelope couldn’t help the grin that stole over her lips as Ivy’s eyes widened with recognition, and then horrified realisation.

“Pardon me, here I am chiding your manners when I’ve so clearly failed to introduce myself.” Steph grinned with a feral edge as he swept forward with a low bow just this side of mocking.

“Prince Stephan Graham Seth, Fifth Scion of Royal House Grimwood, at your service. Well… perhaps not at yours.” Steph turned his back on Ivy as he offered Penelope his arm.

He showed no outward sign of acknowledgement as harsh gasps and whispers spread through the crowd at the snub, and it took all of Penelope’s self restraint to keep her demeanour relaxed.

In Steph’s eyes, however, Penelope could see a spark of vulnerability, a fear that she might in turn snub the offer of his company.

That spark blazed into relief as she looped her arm through his.