She had no choice but to rush to meet the king. Who was halfway close to taking another corridor.
"Excuse me, Milord. Pardon my manners. I'm Belle, sister of the girl whom you chose as your bride last night." Belle said, while brushing her hands through her gown, the one she had meticulously selected to wear today to straighten the edge, in case there were any rough edges, given the way she had rushed here. The silk was her second-best, dyed a modest sage that brought out her jade green eyes. Not the emerald green she'd worn to the ball, but it would do. It had to do.
