Beatrice sat stiffly in the rosewood chair, her back straight, her gaze fixed on the gilded clock over the fireplace. Ethel paced behind her, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor, while Conrad stood by the window, arms crossed.
"You need to act like you want this," Ethel snapped. "Because I promise you, that Aurberg girl does."
"Gertrude is not a concern," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
Conrad turned. "She's a soldier's daughter with a merchant's ambition. That makes her dangerous."
"She has nothing compared to our legacy," Ethel added. "And she's not afraid to run her mouth about wanting the crown. If you keep playing the quiet martyr, she'll be wearing your ring by summer."
Beatrice looked up. "So what do you want me to do? Seduce him?"
Ethel narrowed her eyes. "I want you to win. Smile, laugh, compete if you must, but do not let her get ahead. We didn't raise a daughter to lose."
Conrad stepped forward and placed a hand on Beatrice's shoulder.
