//CLARA//
The mansion had become a battlefield.
I stood at the top of the stairs like a ghost in my own home. Just another ornament to be dusted.
"Chin up, Eleanor. You look like you're waiting for the guillotine," Aunt Cornelia snapped, adjusting my lace collar for the twentieth time.
"Maybe the guillotine would be quicker. At least then I wouldn't have to worry about my posture."
"Don't be grim. It's unsightly."
The front doors groaned open. The arrival was a cacophony of carriage wheels, snapping flashbulbs, and synchronized bowing.
Then there was Felipe.
He didn't seem to notice the stiff formality or the way Aunt Cornelia was practically vibrating with terrifying glee.
"Your Highness," she breathed, curtsying so low I thought her knees might give out. "Welcome to our home."
Felipe's eyes found mine over her head and walked straight to me.
"Eleanor," he breathed, taking my hand. "The tides were too slow. Every mile felt like a year."
