by EM Castellan
I was glad to hear the king announce the ball—an escape from his calculating gaze and the whispers of the courtiers. However, before I could get rid of his attention, he and I had to dance together, as was customary.
“Congratulations,” he said as he led me around the parquet floor. “You make a beautiful bride. My brother is lucky.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes, his face unreadable. Did he ever let anyone see behind this mask?
“Thank you,” I replied with a lightheartedness I didn’t feel. I chose not to mention the fact he could have been the lucky one, if he had bothered to notice me before. I wasn’t my mother, after all.
Under the guests’ watchful gazes, we moved in a rapid synchronized pattern around the gilded room, along the lively melody of the string instruments in the corner. My lungs protested, my breaths turning shallow and raspy, but I ignored them in favor of the thrill of the dance.
“You’re an excellent dancer,” he added after a moment.
I couldn’t help it when a flush crept over my cheeks. The king was by far the best dancer at court. His acknowledgment of my own talent was a true compliment, especially from a man who so rarely gave any.
“Thanks to an excellent partner, Sire,” I said.
His smile grew warmer. He enjoyed the praise, and I congratulated myself on scoring a point here. His next words confirmed my small victory.
“Please, call me Louis. You just married my only brother. You’re like my sister now.”
I nodded my agreement. We reached one end of the room and turned around in time with the music, to a little applause. If the glittering crowd still stared at me without much sympathy, the guests at least made an effort to show approval of their king. He grabbed my hand again.
“What else do you enjoy?” he asked. “Besides dancing?”
“What any woman likes,” I replied, emboldened. “Reading. Running. Swimming. Hunting.”
For the first time, his golden eyes glinted with interest. Here was a king who liked women and mischief and nature. I was all three.
“So do I,” he said, his tone thoughtful.
I raised an eyebrow. “I know.”
The music concluded before he could dwell on my impertinence. Louder applause greeted the end of our dance, and we bowed to our audience, then the orchestra struck up another buoyant number and everyone took to the dance floor. Louis led me back to my husband, who stood by a glass-paned door with a gathering of guests around him.
“Oh,” Louis said in an offhand manner, “the Comte de Guiche is here.”
My good mood evaporated as the crowd parted to let us pass. Next to Philippe, his arm resting on his shoulder in a careless gesture, stood Armand de Gramont, a glass of wine in his hand and a devilish grin on his lips.
“Armand,” Louis said, his expression and his tone smooth. “I didn’t realize you’d been invited.”
The count bowed. “Wasn’t I?” Exaggerated concern pulled down at his mouth. “Does His Majesty wish me to leave?”
The courtiers around us bit back smiles. Only my rising pulse prevented me from rolling my eyes, and I mastered my mounting temper enough to keep a straight face.
“I don’t see why,” Louis replied, unperturbed. “Brother, I return your wife to you.”
But before my husband could take my hand, Armand put down his glass and grabbed my fingers. “Allow me. I would love to have this dance with the blushing bride.”
To my horror, I was reddening, in anger if not in timidity. I opened my mouth to retort, but Philippe waved a dismissive hand at us both.
“By all means.”
Armand shot me a rakish smile. I closed my gaping mouth, unwilling to contradict my husband before witnesses on our wedding day, which would only cause a scandal the court would gossip about for weeks. As graciously as I could, I curtsied to the king and gave my husband a nod, before allowing Armand to lead me back under the burning chandeliers at the center of the ballroom. Whispers trailed after us as we took our positions. I ignored them, focusing on the music and the pattern of the dance and not on my dance partner, who happened to be, as everyone knew all too well, my husband’s lover.
* * *
By the time night had fallen and the gaggle of guests had followed us to the bedchamber, my nerves were frayed and weariness threatened to overcome me. Despite Mother’s training, I still wasn’t used to being the center of attention, sustaining witty conversations and keeping a cool facade for so long. I longed for quiet and rest, but the day wasn’t over yet.
The bedchamber prepared for the consummation was a sight to behold, however, and it was enough to shake me out of my lassitude for a brief moment. The magicien in charge of the court entertainment had obviously been called to turn the place into a dazzling nest for newlyweds. Dozens of candles burned bright around the room, and flower petals floated in the air along with gold-dusted feathers. A buffet sprawled along one wall, heavy with silver dishes and delicacies. The decor itself mixed crimson, gold, and white fabrics, from the thick carpets under my feet to the curtains in front of the windows. When I walked in, a sweet smell enveloped me, the air crackling with magic.
After well-wishers and courtiers had withdrawn, only my ladies-in-waiting and my husband’s valets remained with us, and the atmosphere grew quiet and thick with trepidation. My heart rate picked up while Louise helped me out of my dress and layers of petticoats. When I was in my silk shift, I took out the pins holding up my hair and removed my jewels. Behind my turned back, fabric rustled and Philippe whispered to his menservants words I couldn’t make out.
“Anything else, Your Highness?” Louise’s clear eyes met mine, full of kind attention.
I pasted a brave smile on my face. “No, thank you. You may all go.”
Philippe dismissed his own valets at the same time. Then we were alone together for the first time.
CHAPTER III
To hide my nervous state, I sat on the high mattress of the canopy bed and folded my damp hands in my lap. The large ruby of my wedding ring sat heavy on my thin finger, and I fiddled with it as Philippe, in his nightshirt with a glass of wine in hand, surveyed the buffet.
“Would you like something?” he asked. “You haven’t eaten anything at dinner.”
So he had noticed. I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear to hide my embarrassment. Oblivious, he bit into a slice of orange and refilled his glass.
“How about a drink?”
He closed the distance between us to offer me the wine. Alcohol seldom agreed with me, but if I were to make an exception, tonight seemed as good a time as any. I drank, and Philippe sat next to me, reclining until his back rested on the velvet covers and his bare feet dangled off the bed.
Above us, the magic holding the feathers and petals airborne was fading. They twirled down to the floor one by one, my body relaxing by degree at the soothing sight. Unlike earlier, the silence was comfortable, and when Philippe reached to loop a long strand of my hair around his finger, I didn’t flinch.
The previous day, Mother had spent an excruciating amount of time explaining to me what would happen tonight, with more details than I ever wished for. Yet now that I found myself alone with my new husband, I was glad for the unwanted advice: At least my imagination wasn’t running wild and my fears didn’t overcome me.
“Come here,” Philippe said.
I reclined next to him, close enough that his perfume tickled my nose and the color of his eyes stood out. They were brown. Unlike his brother, he was no magicien, which was why I had agreed to marry him. He would never want the magic inside me.
He reached for me, and for a heartbeat I thought he would caress my face, but instead he drew me closer and kissed me on the mouth. I gasped, but our collision was gentle, his lips soft against mine. He tasted of orange and wine, and I felt I would forever associate these flavors with him.
To my surprise, he didn’t withdraw, instead pulling me to him until my palms rested against his chest, and deepening the kiss.
I closed my eyes as my body relaxed in his embrace. The world fell away, the bedchamber, the palace, and the kingdom vanishing from my thoughts. It was my first kiss, and the fleeting thought that is was perfect crossed my mind.
Until he abruptly pulled back.
“I can’t do this.”
I gaped, wrenched out of the moment and too stunned to move. He stood up, his legs unsteady, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was more drunk than I had thought.
A pang of humiliation shot through me. In her lecture, my mother had warned me about the various courses this night could take. But she’d never considered the possibility my husband might simply not want to touch me at all.
My irritation flaring, I sat up. “What’s wrong?”
Philippe paced around the room, blowing out candles. “Just … just go to sleep, all right?” he said, the words rushed and quiet. He wouldn’t meet my gaze.
“What about you?” I struggled to keep my temper out of my tone.
He gestured at an armchair by the window. “I’ll just—”
“And that’s it?” I crossed my arms and stared him down. “Philippe, this is our wedding night.”
He finished his round of the bedchamber and let a single candle burn on the abandoned buffet. In the sudden darkness, the lone light cast flickering shadows on the wall, turning his silhouette into an ominous specter. Yet fear wasn’t among the turmoil of feelings that tumbled through my chest.
“Is it because of Armand?”
I didn’t care how inappropriate this conversation was becoming. I wouldn’t back down until I knew the reason for his behavior. He grabbed the glass I’d left lying on the bedcovers, and glass clinked in the half-light as he poured himself another drink.
“No. Armand understands.”
I wanted to believe him: As permissive as the French court was, Philippe was still a prince, with a duty to marry for his country. Whether he and the Comte de Guiche shared a real bond or not, it was expected to dissolve after his nuptials.
A silence followed his answer as he drained his wine and I waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, I chased after another explanation for his conduct.
“Is it because I’m a girl?”
He let out a hollow laugh. “No, my love, it isn’t. I happen to like girls.”
His reply hit me like a slap. My occasional visits at court had allowed me to witness his brief affairs with some of the young women here. But given his very public love for young men, I had always wondered—along with the rest of the courtiers—if these relationships were genuine. Evidently they had been.
“So you like men, and you like women,” I said, just to make sure I wasn’t leaving out any aspect of the situation at hand.
Philippe opened his arms wide. “What can I say? I don’t see the point in favoring one side over the other, when I can enjoy both.”
Except I didn’t appear to fall into any category he liked. Humiliation bloomed in my core.
“So it’s me.” I couldn’t keep my emotions from my voice this time. It wasn’t that he didn’t want someone of my gender. He just didn’t want me. I took in a quick breath and swallowed my dismay. Whatever his feelings, he’d agreed to marry me. He didn’t have a choice now. “But I’m your wife.”
He faced me at last. “You’re right. We’re married. And we’ll still be married tomorrow, and the day after that. What is or isn’t between us won’t change that. No one has to know it.”
I shook my head at the naivete of his words and left the bed. He stood taller than I was, but I still advanced on him.
“I’m an English princess! You’re the heir to the French throne! At some point, people will know. They will care. And it will definitely change things.”
Was he so deluded that he thought we could pretend at being married and no one would notice? We were royals. Gossiping about us was already half of Europe’s favorite pastime. Did he really think we could keep any secret for long?
He raked his fingers through his hair and grimaced, as if refusing to let my words sink in would render their meaning void. “I just need some time, all right?” He sighed and took hold of my arms. I tensed, but he only leveled eyes with me. “I just need time.”
The candlelight played on his face, highlighting its youth and weariness. My anger deflated. Maybe I could give him a little time. After all, he was forced by the king into this marriage just like I was, and I was as much a stranger to him as he was to me. The situation wasn’t easy for either of us. My own stance turned stern.
“I will not be shamed.”
He nodded. “You won’t. I promise.”
I gave him a little push, and he released me. I returned to the bed, but this time I slipped under the sheets and sank into the lavender-scented pillows. After a pause, Philippe grabbed a pitcher of wine and refilled his glass again.
“So that’s your plan?” I asked. “Drinking yourself into a stupor?”
He sat in the armchair, gave me a wide smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and held up his glass. “Yes, my love. That’s exactly what I’m planning to do, until I’m drunk enough to forget who I am and to fall into a blessedly dreamless slumber.”
I almost threw a pillow at him, then decided it wasn’t worth the waste of energy. He was welcome to wallow in self-pity to his heart’s content. As he’d said himself, we would still be married tomorrow. He’d still need me, and I’d still need him. For better or for worse, we were in this together.
I closed my eyes to avoid staring at the dancing shadows on the ornate ceiling. My traitorous mind chose this moment to replay the memory of our earlier kiss. The taste of orange still lingered on my tongue, along with the soft feel of his lips. For the briefest instant, I’d thought I could be happy. I clenched my jaw at my own naivete. Marguerite and my mother had been right. I was wed to a man who would never love me, and rain on my wedding day hadn’t brought me happiness.
We were royals. Our happiness was irrelevant.
* * *
The following day, I woke to an empty bedchamber and a letter from the Queen Mother. With a few words penned in tiny handwriting, Anne d’Autriche invited me to visit her that afternoon at the royal palace.
Rain was still falling down in sheets as my carriage left the Palais-Royal to rumble through the narrow streets of the capital for the short ride to the Louvre. To my surprise, my new mother-in-law met me at her apartment door, wrapped in a long black cloak and with only two ladies for company.
“I thought a bit of fresh air would do us all some good,” she said. “I hear you’re not one to be afraid of a little exercise?”
I couldn’t help but smile. Given the choice, I always preferred the outdoors and a walk to sitting around in a drawing room making small talk to ladies with a better sense of fashion than mine. And rain had never stopped me before, much to my mother’s dismay.
“I’d be delighted,” I said.
She linked her arm with mine, and we proceeded along the corridor, ladies and palace guards trailing after us. However, the moment we reached the palace’s inner courtyard, it became clear there would be no risk of us getting wet. Above the quadrangle, a translucent shield shimmered with magic and turned the pouring rain into a shower of golden flecks.
I closed my gaping mouth before the Queen Mother noticed my reaction, but wonder lingered in my chest nonetheless. A quick glance around confirmed my instinct: There was no magicien here, which meant the spell had been cast by the Crown Magicien, Fouquet. Any court magiciens were allowed to do magic in the royal palace, but only he was able to perform such long-lasting and flawless magic. Much like the rest of the kingdom, I knew little of his power, except that it was vast and unique. Indeed, for reasons mysterious even to the best magic scholars, Fouquet was the only man who combined the skills of a magicien and a Source. Cardinal Mazarin had discovered his gift and brought him to court, where he’d entered the king’s service.
Unimpressed by the remarkable spell at work above our heads, Anne
d’Autriche steered me around the courtyard, while our retinue hovered on the doorsteps.
“I’m pleased you were able to make time for me,” she said.
I bit my lip to keep from admitting aloud I had nothing better to do and focused on maintaining a sure footing on the cobblestones.
“And how are you feeling today?” she went on. “Believe it or not, I do remember how draining one’s wedding day is.”
I couldn’t tell if she was referring to my poor health or not, so I pasted a reassuring smile on my face. “I’m well, thank you.”
She tilted her head to the side to observe me, much like Philippe. Her gaze, however, was as shrewd and knowing as Louis’s, with the same golden tone. It was clear who the king had inherited his skills as a magicien from.
“And I trust all went well last night?”
Now that was far more direct a question than I cared to hear from my new mother-in-law, but I didn’t let my confidence waver. “Yes, all went well.”
I wasn’t about to tell her that there’d been no consummation. Before my ladies’ arrival in my chamber this morning, I had cut my finger and smeared some of my blood onto the bed sheets. The incision smarted under the fabric of my glove, but it would heal soon enough and save me from suspicion in the meantime. I would keep the secret of my wedding night for as long as I could, and my mother-in-law would be one of the last people to find out about it. I was more used to lying about my magic than about my private life, but her expression betrayed no mistrust as she patted my arm.
“Oh, good.” She flashed me one of her rare smiles, the relief clear in her voice. “Philippe can be so mercurial, one never knows what to expect from him.”
It seemed to me both her sons were impulsive men, but I didn’t comment. My silence allowed her to go on: “I know that, given the choice, he wouldn’t have been your first pick. But even if my other son had favored you, as king he had to marry for his country. From a diplomatic and political point of view, Marie-Thérèse was his only option. He needed a Spanish queen who could give him heirs.”