Doon

wafer thin, caramel-colored skin—staring at me. I recognized Roddie MacPhee’s wife from the marketplace.

Her mocha-colored eyes pleaded with me, silently begging me to do something to return her loved one. My throat tightened as she turned away. I didn’t understand exactly how the witch’s magic worked, but the disappearances were partly my fault for bringing the cursed book into the kingdom in the first place. I just prayed taking the journal across the bridge would restore the missing people to their families … unharmed.

The minister’s reverent voice shifted my attention away from Mrs. MacPhee and back to the ceremony. “The Completing affirmation shall now commence.”

The announcement echoed through the chapel, every word like a nail in my heart. My eyes darted to Sofia seated several rows in front of us with the rest of the Rosetti clan. Gabby, practically bouncing out of her seat with excitement, leaned over to whisper in her sister’s ear.

The ever-poised Sofia smiled indulgently and then whispered something back that caused the younger girl’s eyes to widen, an irrepressible grin lighting her up from within. Sofia glanced over her shoulder and scanned the crowd. When her eyes landed on me, she lifted her chin, a small smile sliding across her lovely lips. And I could almost read her thoughts: You may have had him for one night, but he’s mine for eternity.

“Nice,” I mumbled under my breath as I broke eye contact with the gloating queen-to-be. My spine crumbled and I slumped in my seat, focusing every ounce of energy I possessed on not falling apart. Jamie was supposed to be mine! For a brief second, I fantasized that I’d met him in Alloway that day I saw him on the street, and that he was an ordinary boy. He would’ve smiled at me and said hello, maybe inviting me to get a coffee.

The image popped like a soap bubble. Jamie was nothing close to ordinary and no amount of wishing would change him—not that I really wanted to.

“Did you say something?” Kenna asked belatedly, her eyes glued to Duncan as he took his place beside his brother.

“Nothing,” I mumbled, hoping she was preoccupied enough to let it drop.

A young steward walked up the center aisle carrying an elaborately carved wooden box. He ascended the stairs to the platform and set the box on a table to Jamie’s right. The chamber was silent enough to hear a pin drop.

The clergyman’s voice rang through the crowd. “Man is not meant ta be alone, nor in Doon shall he rule alone. James Thomas Kellan MacCrae, have ye chosen a suitable partner that will help ye rule the kingdom in wisdom and in truth?”

“Aye,” Jamie answered with certainty, a tiny smile curving one side of his mouth—the smile I’d always imagined was just for me. My stomach clenched, bile clawing its way up my throat.

“Laird, please record yer selection for our future queen on this slip o’ parchment.” The vicar handed Jamie a feathered quill with one hand, while gesturing toward the table and the wooden box with the other.

What did he mean, “record yer selection?” All the muscles in my body stiffened.

“What the—?” Kenna exclaimed.

“Shhh.” I pressed my elbow into her side as she scooted out of my reach.

“Seriously, Vee, could they draw this out any more? Is he trying to torture you?”

I smiled gratefully at my friend—my sister—who voiced the words I felt but couldn’t let myself say. Coming clean with Kenna had not only lifted a huge weight from me, but also united us in a common cause.

Squeezing her hand, I lied for her sake. “I’ll be okay, Ken.”

After Jamie placed the folded paper into a cream-colored envelope, the steward pressed the hot wax seal onto the flap, closing it with a quick flourish. Applause filled the room as Jamie turned toward the crowd and executed a deep, graceful bow, a huge grin revealing the long dimple in his right cheek. “All will be revealed in due time, but ye must attend the ball this evening.” Cheers echoed through the room at Jamie’s teasing announcement.

“What an idiot!” Kenna muttered beside me. I knew she wanted me to agree, but I didn’t have any anger left. It didn’t matter anyway. The name he’d written on that slip of paper wasn’t mine. A blessed numbness descended, buffering me like a cloak against a cold night. I just hoped this odd detachment would stick around long enough to get me through the ball and then over the bridge.

“We have one more order o’ business ta attend to, friends,” the clergyman said, obviously joyful while attempting to keep the ceremony on track. He indicated a rough slab of sandstone at the center of the altar. “Prince James, I ask that ye take a knee on the Liath Fail.”

A reverent silence descended on the room as Jamie lowered to one knee, his golden head bowed. Analytically, I noticed the slight curl of his hair where it lay against the tan skin of his neck, the strength of his calf muscles defined beneath woolen hose, and the humble set of his broad shoulders as the simple gold and diamond circlet was placed on his head—it was like a page ripped out of a storybook.

“Rise, new laird of Doon, and take your rightful place before your people.”

Fluidly, Jamie stood to the responsive roar of the crowd as they shot to their feet while I remained frozen to my seat. Despite my newfound aloofness, a lump filled my throat, my volatile emotions threatening to pull me into the frenzied adoration surrounding me. The rustling of multicolored silks and plaid kilts encircled me, and I grasped for the protective cloak that was already slipping through my fingers.

Less than five hours. You can do this.

Rising slowly, I joined the crowd, bringing my hands together in polite, respectful applause—just another person in the crowd, not someone whose heart and soul was, and always would be, irrevocably intertwined with the young King of Doon.

CHAPTER 28 Veronica

Loser was not a word I liked to use to describe myself, but I was pretty sure only a pathetic loser—or a complete moron—would subject herself to this torture. And yet here I was walking into a ballroom that looked like it had been decorated by Jane Austen and Tinker Bell. As I stepped through the doorway, I drew a deep cleansing breath, resolving to relax and enjoy the otherworldly brilliance before me.

Kenna, Fiona, and I were among the first to arrive, so the displays of tantalizing edible art—including a dessert table anchored on both sides by confectionary sculptures resembling the Castle MacCrae—remained untouched. When I ran into Mags, I would be sure to tell her how amazing everything looked. She and her kitchen staff had certainly outdone themselves for the occasion.

Beyond the tables of food, a row of french doors opened to reveal a harvest moon lighting the elaborate gardens and lake beyond. The vast ballroom itself, adorned in garlands of flowers and greenery, glowed with hundreds of candles, their warm light casting a golden sheen on every surface like a coating of pixie dust.

The room oozed romance.

I had a sudden desire to knock over the nearest candelabra and burn the whole place down. Instead, I pressed my fingernails into my palms and took another deep breath.

Three more hours, Veronica. You can do this.

My dark emotions firmly in hand, I turned toward my best friend, determined to focus on her possibility for love. “When do you think Duncan will get here?” I asked, snagging a glistening melon ball from a table as we passed.

Kenna spun around, fire in her eyes. “I’ve no idea. And it doesn’t really matter at this moment. Fiona, explain that whole envelope thing.”

So much for turning the focus away from my own crappy life. But when Fiona’s eyes flickered to mine, I nodded for her to continue. I needed to hear this.

“When the new king is crowned, he must record his selection fer his queen and coruler, but he does no’ have ta declare his betrothal right then. If he feels he needs more time ta prepare, or ta court the girl, he kin write her name down and open it at a time of his choosing.”

“So it could be years before Jamie opens that thing?” Kenna demanded.

“Usually, yes. But the timing of the Completing this year is … unorthodox. The king has ta be betrothed before the Centennial. When the Brig o’ Doon opens, his intended must stand by his side and welcome the