The Diminished

by Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

  Instead, I was consumed with thoughts of Claes.

  He was inexplicably placid about the whole mess. He’d spent this morning cheerfully discussing the politics of seating charts and deciding on the arrangement of the high table at my engagement party, despite the outrageous fact that my engagement was to his twin sister and not to him, the person I’d been kissing for the past year. Loving, even.

  “How does none of this bother you?” I asked him, whispering to keep Birger from hearing. It felt like the thousandth time I’d voiced the question in the last two days.

  Claes smiled lazily at me and slung his black hair out of his eyes. It didn’t matter how I approached the question; Claes managed to slip away from it every time without so much as grazing the topic.

  “Your Royal Highness, do you have a question?” Birger snapped. “I know you’re still excited from your birthday, but I should think that I need not once again explain the importance of the arrangements for this party. Your engagement, more even than the announcement of your ascension to the throne, will be the singular event that solidifies your reputation in the eyes of the nobility.”

  I drew in a breath, still unused to my new title, and said, “No, sir. I understand, sir. My apologies.”

  Birger raised a bushy eyebrow, but continued his stentorian lecture on the politics of seating charts. I glared at Claes. He picked at his nails and pretended not to notice me.

  When Karyta, the butler, ducked in to announce the noon meal, Claes leapt out of his chair, grabbed my hand and dragged me from the room, giving Birger only the briefest of courtesies. The door closed behind us before Birger could assign extra lessons for the afternoon. We sprinted halfway to the dining room before slowing to a walk. Claes grinned, and his dark brown eyes crinkled above his cheekbones like twin crescent moons.

  “Let’s go for a ride this afternoon. Maybe we can filch a couple of rifles and bring home some game for tomorrow’s supper. How does that strike you?”

  I clenched my jaw and scowled at Claes. My burning need to confront him about my mother’s plan to marry me to his sister threatened to erupt at any moment. He had to have an opinion. There was no way that he was simply fine with the idea of my marriage to his sister.

  “Are you really going to ignore this?” I snapped.

  “Ignore what?” He paused by an end table and idly hefted a gold paperweight.

  “Ignore the fact that we’re planning my engagement to your sister!”

  “What about it?”

  I wanted to throttle him. How he could be so easygoing, so cavalier, was entirely beyond me. “Are you playing dull on purpose, or do you not care that I’m meant to marry Penelope?”

  Claes tossed the paperweight back onto the table and closed the distance between us. He ran a hand through my hair and kissed me on the cheek. “Don’t be cranky with me, Bo.”

  I shrugged out of his embrace and pushed his hand away. “I’m not cranky. Don’t try to make me sound like a petulant child. I’m a grown man.”

  He pursed his lips and looked out the window.

  “How long have you known?” I asked, heart pounding in my chest. I almost didn’t want him to answer, but I had to know. Had to know if everything I thought we had was a lie.

  “Honestly, I don’t understand how you didn’t see this coming. It’s the right thing to do, strategically. It strengthens your power base among the nobles. Everyone knows Penelope is brilliant. Everyone respects her. There isn’t a bit of tarnish on her reputation anymore.” He stilled for a moment, and I knew he was thinking of his father, far away in Ilor, out of the public eye, but then his face masked into a smile. “You’ll have a strong business partner who can, with any luck, bear you a singleborn child.” He giggled. “Do you find her attractive? I don’t think I’ve ever asked if you like girls, too.”

  “I... But... I don’t know. No,” I sputtered, my mind racing. He was the only person I liked. The only person I found attractive. The only person I trusted. I corrected myself—had trusted. The fact that he’d known about this mess, had been part of its plan all along, made me regret every secret I’d ever shared with him.

  “I didn’t think so. I do.” Claes smiled, and something deep in my chest cracked as I realized that the relationship I’d imagined between myself and Claes had little to do with the reality in which he and I lived. “Penelope likes power,” he continued. “I don’t think she’s attracted to anything else. She’ll make a wonderful consort.”

  “But what about us?” I snapped, asking the question almost out of spite.

  “What about us? Nothing has to change. Penelope knows what we are, and honestly, it wasn’t as though this romance was built to last a lifetime. You’re sixteen. I’m not yet eighteen. Can you imagine how much we’ll change in the next five, the next ten years?”

  My throat constricted. I willed myself not to cry. He may not have thought we were meant for a lifetime together, but I’d imagined a life with him beside me often enough for it to feel very real.

  He went on, chipping further and further away at the dreams I’d had for us. “We’re young. We’ll drift apart. I’ll marry, or I won’t. You’ll have affairs. Penelope will have power and renown, and that’s all she cares about. She’s perfectly happy with this arrangement.” Claes wrapped his arms around my waist and smiled into my eyes.

  His nonchalant smile was the last hammer tap that sent my heart shattering. While I had been busy falling in love and dreaming of a future with Claes, he’d been engaged in a meaningless dalliance. He hadn’t reacted to the news that I was to marry his sister because he didn’t care. The only things that mattered to Claes were power and pleasure, and with his twin married to the King, he would have plenty of both.

  I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t seen it before. All the lies and half-truths and wiggly excuses that I’d forgiven because I’d believed that we were in love. I’d believed that Claes wanted the same things I did. Wanted a life with me.

  A cloud of flowery scent surrounded me, and something sharp poked me in the ribs. The telltale heat of a deep blush rushed into my cheeks. I stepped back out of Claes’s arms and turned to face Penelope. Taking a deep breath, I silently cursed my blushes. Every minor embarrassment, irritation or pleasure was always painted plain on my face.

  She was older than Claes by just three minutes and shared his features, though they were soft and feminine on her. The twins had the same thick black hair and fawn complexions; the same angular brown eyes, small noses, high cheekbones and full mouths. They were two sides of the same coin, but where I found Claes achingly attractive, those features didn’t hold the same draw on Penelope.

  Penelope winked mischievously at her brother and put her hands on her hips. “Your ears are as pink as seashells, my dear. Has Claes been telling you raunchy stories from one of his novels again? I’d hate for him to ruin your innocence before our wedding night.”

  I forced my face to impassive stillness as Claes chuckled and clutched his hands over his heart, wearing an exaggerated look of shock. “Your accusations cut me to the core, dear sister.”

  I looked from Penelope to Claes and back again and threw up my hands in frustration. “How is it that you are both content with this? How can such a political arrangement—” I spat out the word like a bitter seed “—not bother you?”

  Penelope arched an eyebrow at me and said, “Don’t be so melodramatic, Bo. Why do you think we stayed when our parents immigrated? This has been decided for as long as we’ve all been alive.”

  “Could we please move on?” Claes asked. “I’m bored of going ’round and ’round in circles. What’s more, I’m starving.”

  Penelope wove her arm through her twin’s and led the way into the dining room, leaving me spluttering and furious in the hall.

  * * *

  Mother, austere and imperious in a crisp navy shirt, high-waisted trousers and f
ur stole, swept into the room as I took my seat. She motioned for Claes and me to remain seated and continued to dictate instructions to her secretary, a mousy, obsequious woman who skittered in Mother’s wake, scribbling notes. After several minutes, she finally waved the woman away and turned to me.

  “Ambrose, darling, I hope you haven’t planned another of your elaborate luncheons today,” she said, settling into her chair at the head of the table. “I’ve gotten word that there are some issues that must be settled at the mill this afternoon.”

  I clenched my teeth. I had never been able to predict the tides of my mother’s desires. When I planned sumptuous meals, I was berated for my extravagance, but if the meals I chose were simple, they weren’t considered appropriate for entertaining guests—not even Penelope and Claes, who’d lived with us for years.

  “Just four light courses today.” Her lips began to purse, and I quickly added, “But that includes dessert.”

  “Hold it until tomorrow.”

  I waved for Karyta to begin the luncheon service. She would make sure the kitchen knew to keep back dessert. Servants flowed around the table pouring water, iced tea and wine. In unison, they set the first course in front of us. Gunnar, my valet, leaned over me and tasted everything in front of me. I forced myself not to roll my eyes. I’d practically made the soup myself the night before.

  After a nod from Gunnar, Karyta introduced the meal. “A creamed soup of the first summer snow peas, with fried sage leaves and bacon.”

  I watched carefully as Mother took her first bite. Since I had taken over the menu approval in the household, food had become something of a hobby of mine. The soup was a new variation on an old favorite of hers, made with herbs picked the day before and cream from our own cows. I’d asked Jasper, the cook, to add a single dragon fire pepper—a variety I’d acquired from a rare seed dealer and grown in the estate’s greenhouse—to the large pot of soup. Mother closed her eyes and sighed. Pleased, I spooned a bite of the soup into my own mouth. The familiar creamy sweetness of the peas played well with the smoky bacon and crispy sage. I swallowed, and a mellow but notable heat filled my mouth. Perfect.

  I looked up to find Mother’s hawkish glare fixed on me. I glanced around the long table. Claes and Penelope, eyes fixed on one another, spooned up their soup with placid expressions on their faces but pointedly did not meet my gaze.

  “Ambrose, darling,” Mother said, her voice far too sweet.

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “What, in the names of all of the goddesses, have you done to this soup?”

  I nearly batted my eyelashes and asked what she meant, but the vapid posturing that worked so well with my tutor only made Mother angry. Instead, I bowed my head to hide my smile. “I do apologize, Mother. I only thought to improve upon an already exemplary recipe. Do you find it disagreeable?”

  “You know how I feel about overly spiced food. Your father would be disappointed in your inattention and neglect of the tastes of the people at your table.” Mother placed her spoon back in her soup plate and waved Karyta over. “Bring me some of whatever the servants are having, please.”

  Karyta’s usually implacable expression twitched. “It’s cabbage and potato, but Jasper’s added a heap of the same peppers to the broth. It’s enough to make a body perspire, ma’am. Begging your pardon.”

  Mother’s eyes flashed at me, and she said, “Fine. I’ll simply have a lighter luncheon. I trust you haven’t similarly contaminated the remainder of the courses with your culinary experimentation?”

  Karyta whisked away the soup plate and glowered at me over Mother’s head. I would feel the harsh side of her tongue later, no doubt, but she wouldn’t chastise me in front of my mother. Jasper, the head chef, was her twin, and the two of them had practically raised me, along with Gunnar. The three of them had always treated me like I was their own child. Normal. They’d never allowed me to self-aggrandize, and I loved them for it.

  In a calm voice, I said, “No, ma’am. There will be a vegetable terrine, followed by roasted pheasant, and I’d planned a meringue and fruit for dessert.”

  “That will do. Serve the dessert, if you please, Karyta. I apologize for the confusion my son has caused.”

  I returned to my soup, which I quite enjoyed, triumphant. Something about irritating my mother, who’d so upended my life recently, was delightful.

  As the servants cleared the first course, Mother said, “Queen Runa wants you married within the next two years, and I think if we select a date for the summer after this, that should provide a sufficiently long engagement. It will give you both an excuse to spend time in the capital between now and then, cultivating your relationships with the merchants and the nobility.”

  “Do you think that will be enough time to plan the wedding?” Claes asked. “Given the circumstances, shouldn’t it be rather ostentatious?”

  Penelope laughed, sharing a meaningful look with my mother. “It’s a wedding. How much work could it possibly be to plan? A ceremony and a few days of feasting. Done.”

  Claes rolled his eyes. “You don’t know anything about what it takes to move through high society, do you? A wedding like this will take ages to plan. It’s got to be damned near perfect. Bo and I’ll handle everything.”

  “We will?” I asked in a choked voice.

  “Don’t be petulant, Ambrose,” Mother said. “Now, enough about the wedding. We haven’t even had the engagement party yet.” She turned to Penelope. “Would you care to ride with me to the mill this afternoon, dear? I’ve gotten word that there is an issue with the foreman and a manager that must be resolved immediately. It will be yours soon, and you’ve a lot to learn before you’re prepared to take over the running of the estates. No time like the present to begin.”

  For the rest of the meal, Penelope spoke with Mother about the various businesses we held, and I counted the minutes until I could excuse myself and get to the barn. They spoke about a perfumery—obviously, a sort of code for something else, as Penelope chose her words altogether too carefully, but I let my mind wander rather than focusing on their conversation. I kept thinking about the person Mother had asked about after I was named heir. It wasn’t as though her keeping secrets from me was unusual, but she was almost never so open about it.

  I watched the clock on the wall, willing the seconds to pass more quickly. Nothing could bother me when I was on a horse.

  * * *

  After lunch, Claes followed me down the rocky, heather-covered hill to the stables. He had to know I was annoyed with him; I hadn’t said a word since we left the dining room, and he’d spent the whole time trying to make me laugh. Carrying the two long fowling pieces he’d snatched from the safe by the door, he mimicked my mother in a high, proper accent, “Your father would be gravely disappointed.”

  I glared at him. “She did not say gravely. She would never have made a pun about Father. She isn’t that horrid.”

  “She’s right, though, in a way.”

  “What do you mean?” I stopped walking, and Claes turned to face me.

  “You’ve been testing your mother’s patience these last couple of days. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were acting like an amalgam, two-faced and fearsome, not the blood-of-the-empire singleborn you are. What’s gotten into you?”

  “We aren’t children anymore. There’s no such thing as amalgams, and you know it. Anyway, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You’ve been cross since you learned about the engagement. I don’t understand, Bo. It makes perfect sense. Once you marry Penelope, you’ll be the richest singleborn in the whole of the Alskad Empire, and the crown prince besides. Before you know it, you’ll have every noblewoman and man in the empire slavering at your feet, begging for favors.”

  I bit my lip, blushing. I knew I had to get used to the idea of all that attention focused on me, but it didn’t come naturally. Not
like it did to the other singleborn. I’d never felt like I could live up to the expectations of the people around me, much less those of an entire nation.

  I reached for something to say. Anything. “It is incredibly rude to discuss the intimacies of my finances, Claes.”

  “Gadrian’s hammer, Bo. Why wouldn’t I talk about your finances? When you and Penelope are married, they’ll be my finances, too. All we want is to see you become the best King you’re able to be. Why does that make you so uncomfortable?”

  I knelt to tighten my bootlaces. I didn’t want him to see me blush again. When I stood, Claes took me by the hand and led me into the leaf-draped privacy of an ancient willow tree. He leaned our guns against the gnarled trunk and took my face in his cold hands. “You don’t need to be frightened of the succession. You’re singleborn. You were born to rule.”

  He pressed his lips to mine, and I did my best to relax into his kiss, but I couldn’t. I saw Claes in a different light now. It was one thing for him to resign himself to the fact that a political match between his sister and me made sense. It was another thing entirely that he’d pursued me, that he’d romanced me, knowing that I would someday be asked to marry his twin. Worse than that, though, was the thought that he might’ve been responsible for what happened in Esser Park. That kind of recklessness was terrifying—innocent lives could have been lost in a rash bout of political scheming.

  The overwhelming weight of his lies battered against my love for him, chipping away chunks and shards, and left me with nothing. Worse than nothing. I was incomplete, like I’d forever misplaced a piece of myself.

  I stepped back, cold with the knowledge that I would have to guard my tongue around Claes from now on, would have to keep my own secrets. So I simply said, “The Queen is healthy yet. It’ll be a long time before I sit on the throne.”

  “Perhaps you’re right, but we’ll have you ready either way. Now, then, are we sorted?”

  I nodded, and Claes patted my cheek before retrieving our rifles and holding the branches of the willow aside to let me pass. “Let’s go. I’ve a craving for goose, and I had the juiciest letter from the capital yesterday. I simply cannot be asked to keep this much delightful gossip to myself.”