The Ring and the Crown

by Melissa de la Cruz

  “Congratulations again. I wish you every happiness with Prince Leopold,” he said with a shy smile.

  “Thank you,” she said. “And thank you for your most generous gift. I hear our sommelier is beside himself.”

  “It is our pleasure.” He smiled. “It is an honor to be part of your wedding.”

  Marie smiled and did not respond, hoping he would get the idea and gracefully end the conversation as soon as possible.

  “No one will have seen anything like it, I’m sure,” he said. “It will be spectacular, a real thrill.” It appeared he had more to say, but Marie had had enough; Gill was waiting for her, and she wanted nothing more than to bury her face in his chest and breathe.

  “Yes, yes, thank you. Please excuse me,” she said, trying not to be too rude.

  “By all means, Your Highness.” He bowed, but Marie could tell he was annoyed to have been dismissed so quickly.

  She tried to shake it off. She was tired of trying to please everyone. She was looking forward to tomorrow, when she would only have to worry about herself.

  The next morning, before the sisterhood went into seclusion, Aelwyn was called into her father’s office. Emrys’s back was turned to her. He was facing the window to the garden, where the staff were putting the finishing touches on that night’s party. When he turned around to face her at last, he looked grim.

  “Father.” She bowed.

  He motioned for her to sit, and she did, wondering why he had called her in. Did he know exactly what she and Marie were planning? In a moment he could clap chains on them both and put them to the fire. She touched the white illusion stone around her neck for luck.

  “My time grows ever shorter, my daughter,” he said. “You must be ready when you are called to serve.”

  “I will be, Father.”

  “How do you find the studies of the sisterhood?”

  “Dull,” she said. “Rote.”

  “You prefer Viviane’s approach to magic.”

  “I see the benefits of both,” Aelwyn said.

  “I am feeling my age, my child,” he said. “And, like it or not, you are my only heir.” He explained that once she said the words that bound her to service for a thousand years, he would leave his own mortal body. She would replace him, taking the title of Morgaine to Marie-Victoria and Leopold and their descendants, as he had served as Merlin to Artucus and his. As Morgaine, she would be forbidden from holding title or lands, marriage or children; a spinster. But as the royal sorceress, she would be the invisible hand that ran the palace and ruled the empire.

  She would be immortal, but never bear children…not that she cared about offspring at this stage in her life. But the thought that she could never have them in the future was daunting. Except, of course, the Merlin had fathered a child. She was living proof. Maybe there were others like her.…But if she ever bore a child, she would have to give the baby up to the Order as her father had done, and sentence her own progeny to a life of servitude. An honor, Emrys had always said. A shackle, Viviane had argued.

  “Do you know what the sisterhood and the brotherhood truly do, Aelwyn? Do you know what my job is? What your job will be?” Emrys asked.

  Aelwyn waited patiently, as she surmised her father was speaking rhetorically.

  “We keep the kingdom safe, my daughter. From the rot inside as well as dangers from outside. Viviane believes that we have surrendered our power, but in truth, we are the power behind the throne. The wizard chooses the monarch. We place the crown on their heads. It has always been thus.” He stared at her intently, almost as if he were looking into her soul.

  He knows. He must know what I’ve been doing, what I am planning. Was this a way to tell her he approved? That he would allow her to be the princess, and queen one day? She had no idea. But if he did know what she and Marie were planning, why did he not stop it?

  When her father dismissed her, Aelwyn’s thoughts flitted back to the night of the royal ball, when she had danced with Leopold. At first she’d wondered why it was that the prince had accepted Marie’s change so wholeheartedly. But she’d realized that Leo had just taken her change of heart in stride—Marie had finally succumbed to his charm—and there was no suspicion in his eyes. He was just relieved to see the princess finally coming around to the way everyone else thought about him.

  She remembered a conversation they’d had the night of the ball. They had stopped dancing, as Leo wanted to take a stroll through the Crystal Palace.

  “Such a beautiful country,” he said to her that evening. “When we are married, we will travel the empire. In Paris they have erected the Tour Eiffel.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Aelwyn nodded, thinking it would be wonderful to see the world, to see every part of it. This was what she had left Avalon for—to see and feel and experience everything.

  “We must make certain to keep the empire safe and whole. The Iron Knights have reunited after their failed coup d’état. They are only biding their time. One hears that they have found a way to counter Avalon’s magic, and the protection that keeps us all sleeping soundly in our beds.”

  “You will keep us safe, my prince?” she asked, her eyes bright.

  “Yes, we will start here, in this city. Already there is too much theft, corruption, and danger. One cannot even travel the queen’s road without being set upon by bandits. It is a shame. They must learn to fear our strength again. I shall restore order and bring peace.”

  “A nation needs a strong arm,” she said.

  “And I will give it to them.” He smiled.

  “Yes,” she said. “You will.”

  “Ronan, it is simply not done. You cannot think you can come to the palace and call on the prince without an invitation,” Vera said, scandalized, as Ronan adjusted her hat in the mirror. She had suggested a few tweaks to the milliner, who complimented her on her good eye for design.

  “Why not? It’s the twentieth century, Vera, and I am tired of waiting,” she said. It had been more than a week since the royal ball. Ronan had been very good and patient, going through the motions of the season: calling on great ladies, attending a few minor suppers and dances with Archie and Perry. But it appeared their circles did not overlap with Wolf’s; while Marcus had become a diligent suitor, and had taken to calling on her every other day, the one she was waiting for never showed.

  She was a modern American girl, and Ronan was not one to wait around. She knew he was living at St. James with his brother, and what could it hurt? Why couldn’t she go to him? Perhaps he was busy, or he did not know where she was staying (doubtful). It appealed to her spirit of adventure—that same bravery, she thought, that he had so admired on the Saturnia.

  He had admired and loved her once; he could do so again, she was certain. She was going to make him love her again, or die trying.

  And hadn’t she already been presented to the queen? That meant she was part of society—didn’t it?

  “You may call on him after he calls on you, but only then! A lady does not call on the gentleman first!” Vera admonished, wringing her hands.

  “Relax, Vera. It will be fine. I bet he’ll like it.”

  When she arrived at the black gates of St. James, her confidence wavered a little. Was she doing the right thing? Or was this foolishness? He was reckless and impulsive, and so was she; she wanted to show him that. Also, she wanted to see him again. The days of the season were ticking by; soon it would be over, and she would be back on a ship headed to New York. There was so little time. Every day she did not accept Viscount Lisle’s proposal was a day that her parents’ investment in her was unmet.

  The lord steward of the house greeted her and showed her to a front reception hall. “Is Prince Wolfgang expecting you?” he asked.

  “No, I think not,” she said. “I thought I would call on him, as I missed him at the vernissage the other day.” She handed him her card, and he bowed.

  So far, so good, she thought, studying the portraits in the palace. Each ruler had a portr
ait next to the Merlin. It was amazing to see the Merlin so unchanged over the centuries. It was uncanny.

  There were footsteps in the hallway. She turned to greet Wolf, but it was not him who appeared. It was the old man who was always at his side.

  “Miss Astor?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “I am Duncan Oswald, master-at-arms. I am sorry to say that the prince cannot see you this afternoon. He has a very full schedule.”

  “Oh, it would only take a minute—I just wanted to say hello,” she said, disappointed.

  “I am afraid he cannot see you.”

  “Or he doesn’t want to,” she said, unwilling to apologize for her impudence.

  “I am sorry, Miss Astor.”

  She nodded, her pride burning. She began to walk out of the reception room when she saw him. He was rounding the corner with his brother. “Wolf!” she cried. “Wolf! It’s me—Ronan!”

  Wolf looked at her and at the courtiers. A scandalized look appeared on his face. He ran to her, his face red.

  “Ronan! What are you doing here?”

  “I’m calling on you.”

  “But—you can’t—this is not done. You should have waited for me to call on you first.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I know—I—Ronan—you should go.”

  “You’re telling me to leave?”

  “Yes.”

  She picked up her parasol, furious with her and with him. He was actually ashamed of her! “Fine. Good-bye, Wolf,” she said. She would be damned if she saw him again.

  Now that she had decided to spend her future alone, there was nothing Isabelle wanted more than to leave London immediately and start her new life, far away from everything. Her cousin Hugh, however, insisted she attend the opening party at the palace gardens. She could not refuse lest she arouse suspicion, for he would never let her go if he knew what she was planning. Typically the garden party was an afternoon affair, but since it was a special season—the Wedding Season, as everyone was calling it now—the palace decided to throw the party at night, complete with billowing striped tents, a full orchestra, and dancing. The gardens were transformed into a wonderland worthy of Titania and Oberon’s court. A true midsummer night’s dream—a carnival and a party, all in one.

  “Isabelle, may I introduce you to Lord Stanley,” Hugh said, gesturing to a handsome young man puffing on a cigar. He had a swoop of dark hair rolled off his forehead in a pompadour style, and his jacket sleeves were pushed up to his elbow. He looked her over slyly. “So this is the famous Isabelle of Orleans,” he said.

  She waved the smoke away from her face and forced a smile. “Pleasure…”

  “…is all mine,” William Stanley said, smiling at her with a leer and forgetting to kiss her hand.

  Isabelle nodded politely and walked away. If Hugh thought he could fob her off on just anyone, he was mistaken. She would rather live alone than marry any of these arrogant fools. With relief she spotted the familiar dark head of her cousin Louis, and her heart leapt—only to fall again when she saw that he was with the girl from the other morning. She was wrapped around his arm like a koala—the royal couple had received one from the Australian territories as a wedding present.

  Louis extricated himself from her grip and came up to Isabelle, kissing her on both cheeks with affection. “You look tired,” he said, concerned.

  “Thanks, that’s just what a girl wants to hear,” she said dryly. When she saw the hurt look on his face, she apologized. “I’m sorry, I don’t feel like myself lately.”

  “It’s all right, Izzy,” he said with a sigh. “I’m used to your moods.”

  “I suppose you’ve had fun this season. You seem to have become quite a favorite of Celestine’s. Be careful—her father might have your head if he finds out you have been taking liberties with his youngest daughter.”

  “There is nothing to fear from the duke. I aim to propose to Celestine tonight,” Louis said as they made their way through the garden maze toward the main tent, where jugglers, acrobats, and fire eaters were performing for the entertainment of the assembled guests.

  Isabelle had been distracted by a mime that came too close, so when his words sank in she was not prepared to hear them. “What do you mean, propose?”

  “It’s only right,” Louis said, clenching his jaw.

  “But you are only—”

  “I turn eighteen next month, and will come into my inheritance. Hugh is ready to settle the estate for me. I will leave before the summer ends.”

  She turned to her cousin with a new light in her eyes. Of course. Louis had an inheritance through his father, as well. He was the Count Beziers of Languedoc. There was a small castle in Cévennes that came with a yearly income and some land. It was nowhere near as large an estate as Orleans, but it would be enough.

  He held her hand. “I hope you can be happy for me, Isabelle. I hope you will come visit me and Celestine sometime.”

  “Oh Louis,” she sighed. “I am happy for you.” Sweet Louis, who had always been such a good person, a good friend, and a good man. Where did she go so wrong? How was it that Celestine Montrose could capture his heart, his hand, and all the riches of his inheritance in one fell swoop? How did it happen so quickly? What was she doing while Louis was growing up and falling in love?

  She had been alone with Hugh for too long—had grasped on to Leopold as an escape, only to find that the raft was sinking. It was a pity one never loved the person who loved you until it was too late. And it was too late; she could see that. Louis was only standing by her to be polite, but his eyes were already scanning the crowd, looking for his love.

  “I want to do the right thing—we got a bit carried away before, and I want to make sure that she is taken care of. I want to take care of her,” he said. It was as if he was talking to himself more than her. His Adam’s apple bobbed painfully.

  “Of course you do.” She nodded. “Well then, what are you waiting for? Get down on one knee. Isn’t that what the season is for?”

  Ronan did not think she had merited an invitation to the garden party, but Perry insisted that he had called on Lady Marlborough, who held the lists, and she assured him Ronan’s name was on it. “Perhaps you made an impression at the royal ball,” he told her. “Don’t look so shocked. This is what the parties are for, you know, to see beautiful young people out and about. You are very decorative, and just between you and me, the court is looking a wee bit dismal these days. They need fresh blood.”

  She was pleased to have been selected, and excited too, to see the real palace where the royal family lived. St. James was the center of the world. In the past few days she had been visited by the Boring Baron more times than she could count. He had sent many lovely bouquets and had been very close to proposing, she could tell. He just needed a little nudge from her, a little indication that his proposal would be accepted. It was the same with Marcus, who was soldiering on with his courtship like a lad getting through his finals, checking all the boxes with a dogged determination. Yet Ronan could not do it; could not bring herself to accept either of them. She had simply smiled and thanked them both for their company and sent them away.

  Her visit to St. James the other day still made her burn to think about. The way Wolf had sent her away—as if she were a mere scullery maid! Well, she would show him. She had been invited to the palace this time. And if she saw him, she would ignore him until he felt as hurt as she did.

  Ronan arrived at the party in a beautiful turquoise gown. Her maid had draped her hair with a string of lustrous pearls. Archie and Perry were dressed in “penguin suits”—practically casual wear—black jackets and bow ties. She saw the baron approaching from the left, and winced. “Quick, hide me, it’s the Boring Baron,” she said. “He aims to propose and I can’t let him—otherwise I’ll face his mother’s wrath, I’m sure.” She had finally made peace with Lady Julia over tea, who pretended not to know what Ronan was talking about, and insisted that Marcus had mo
st likely been joking.

  “Never fear, my lady,” Perry smiled, pushing her behind a tent flap while the baron, Lord Audley, looked confused.

  “Did I just see Miss Astor?”

  “Nope, sorry—try that-a-way,” Archie said, pointing him to the opposite end of the party.

  She exhaled a sigh of relief. Then, out of the corner of her eye she saw him. Him. It was as if she had a sixth sense when it came to Wolf—as if she could close her eyes and divine his presence when he was near. But outwardly she gave no indication that she was vibrating with anticipation, and continued to chat gaily with her friends.

  “Oh, there’s the Lupine One,” Perry said, motioning to Wolf, who was talking to three very pretty girls. “With those Montrose girls. I wonder who he’ll choose? Or perhaps he’ll take all of them,” he said, looking pleased at the naughty idea.

  “He asked about you at the vernissage,” Archie said, elbowing Ronan.

  “Did he, now?” she said, keeping her face serene.

  “Mmm-hmm,” Perry said.

  Ronan shrugged. “He can ask about me all he wants. Questions are free, aren’t they?” She decided she knew exactly how to play his game.

  After dinner, which was truly lovely—outdoors under the tents, with the candles flickering and the moon so pale and white—the evening started with a few dances. Ronan made sure that every time she saw Wolf approaching in her direction, she was able to cajole a nearby gentleman to dance with her. In a few minutes, her dance card was full.

  She could feel his eyes on her the entire evening, but she paid him no attention. Even when they were practically next to each other and he said, “Excuse me, Miss Astor.”

  She just shrugged and danced away with Marcus, who was determined to win her over, it seemed, with a variety of whining, mooning, and annoyance. “What is wrong with you? Aren’t you here to find a husband?” he said testily. She had just told him she was unsure of her schedule for the next few weeks.