by Annette Lyon
And I wouldn’t have had one of the happiest times of my life, Sofia thought.
A painful reality struck her anew, one she’d successfully pushed out of her mind all day: that she would be leaving the castle soon. She would miss so much about it, from the comfortable bed and sheets, to wonders like electric lights and luxuries like eggs for breakfast.
She would have happily given up all of those things — even the memory of them — if she could only continue to have Antonio in her life.
His voice brought her back to the moment; he was finishing the tale about how the entire staff had gotten violently ill overnight, and how Marcell appeared surprised to find that the two of them weren’t sick, but were making excellent progress on their work thanks to the old sewing machine. The Queen didn’t raise an eyebrow or otherwise react negatively at the mention, for which Sofia was grateful.
With the story told, Antonio and Sofia stood in silence, holding hands even tighter as they waited. The Queen seemed to think and rethink through everything she’d heard. Finally she nodded, stood, and addressed them directly.
“My sources have long suspected something of this nature, that a traitor had infiltrated the castle in an effort to start a war with Florenzia. Such a conflict would cause much suffering, and perhaps bring an end to our beautiful country.”
Her voice wavered slightly at that; the Queen clearly loved her kingdom deeply. She dabbed a handkerchief to the corner of one eye and then smiled through welling tears. “I have done everything I could, in concert with my advisors, to ease the strained relations with King Dangelo, but nothing has worked. I knew that his behavior and distrust of my ambassadors had to be the result of being fed lies. Such falsehoods have always contained a kernel of truth expertly distorted, which meant that the traitor had to be someone in the castle. But I never suspected Marcell.”
The Queen raised an arm and flicked her wrist, which was apparently a signal for her guards to appear. They quickly flanked her, but before she left, she spoke to Sofia, gazing directly into her eyes. “I trust that neither of you will speak to anyone else about this matter?”
“Never,” Antonio said. “It is in your wise hands.”
“You have our word,” Sofia added with a deep curtsy.
“Good,” the Queen said. “You will almost certainly be summoned later for a full report.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” they both replied.
The Queen walked toward the castle with her guards. She didn’t look worried or rushed; anyone watching would have thought she’d just enjoyed a pleasant chat about the flowers. She whispered an order to one guard, who nodded before walking over to Sofia and Antonio, as if he’d been assigned to escort them from the garden. Fortunately, the man stopped and watched them from a distance of about thirty feet, not quite enough for full privacy, but far enough that they didn’t feel overly intruded upon.
When the Queen kept walking, Antonio let out a long breath as if he’d been holding it. Ignoring the guard, they faced each other, and at the same time, reached for each other. They laughed at having the same thought. Holding both of Antonio’s hands and gazing into his eyes, Sofia could almost pretend that this was her life — that she belonged at the castle and would always be able to meander the grounds with Antonio at her side. That come winter, she would knit him sweaters from the castle’s own sheep’s wool as he added lace detail to the Queen’s newest gown.
In reality, she would return home and quite likely never see him or the castle again. Quite possibly never leave Provenza again. How soon would that farewell be? If the wedding got called off completely, she might be sent home as early as that very evening.
She lowered her chin and stared at their hands, hoping to hide her building tears. Antonio stroked the tops of her hands with his thumbs.
“Sofia, what is it?”
She searched for something to say that was truthful without being pitiful. The last thing she wanted from Antonio was his pity. She’d come to care for him deeply, for although she hadn’t known him long, she’d spent more hours with him in the short span of a couple of weeks than she had with probably anyone else in her life, excepting her mother and Sergio. She and Antonio had worked together. They’d talked and laughed together. They’d solved problems and worried together. She’d cried with him, and he’d comforted her.
I might even call this a seedling of love, she thought, although her feelings had grown far stronger and deeper than any mere seedling.
The sound of the Queen’s footsteps returned. The two of them looked up to see her rounding the corner and coming back to them. Sofia and Antonio waited expectantly as the Queen drew near. For a moment, no one spoke, but Sofia readied herself to curtsey again. She held in a sniff and prayed that her tears were no longer visible.
The Queen eyed them as if inspecting the workmanship of fine stitching. “I came to say that you will both be rewarded for your loyalty and goodness. Whatever you were promised as payment for your work will be added upon tenfold.”
“Th — thank you, Your Majesty,” Sofia said, overcome.
“Yes, thank you,” Antonio said, and they both bowed and curtsied again.
The Queen wore an inscrutable smile. Without another word, she walked away with her guards, and this time, she did not return.
The remaining guard held out an arm to show the way. “To your quarters,” he said. “I will take the rear.”
Sofia quickly wiped her eyes, and in silence, she and Antonio were escorted back to the castle.
Chapter Eleven
The guard stayed with Sofia and Antonio until they reached the servants’ quarters, where they discreetly released each other’s hands to avoid gossip. As they entered the kitchen, the sight of the guard instigated a flurry of excitement. When word arrived a few minutes later that Marcell had been arrested, they bombarded Sofia and Antonio with questions.
“Did you really meet with the Queen?” Donya asked.
“Yes,” Sofia said. “We pretended she had a fitting, and—”
Angeline interrupted. “But the Queen’s fittings are my responsibility.”
“True,” Sofia said, “but under the circumstances, we thought it best to approach Her Majesty right away.”
Sabrina, one of the young housemaids, ran into the kitchen at a break-neck pace; everyone went silent as they waited for her to catch her breath. “Marcell,” she panted. “He wasn’t only arrested.” A few more breaths. “He was caught trying to poison Prince Gregorio’s tea with arsenic from the kitchen!”
Cook grunted and tossed a dishcloth onto the table. “Nonsense. The rat poison never leaves my...” She opened the lower cupboard where the tin belonged, and it was missing. She slammed the cupboard shut. “That horrid, horrid man!”
“There’s more,” Sabrina said, highly pleased that she commanded the attention of the room. “Marcell was discovered to be Florenzian born! He fed King Dangelo lies in hopes of starting a war. The Queen has already sent an ambassador to Florenzia. I heard it all while setting the Queen’s fireplace. By morning, King Dangelo will almost certainly have stood down from his threats — and he’ll likely want to hang Marcell himself.”
The news should have made Sofia happy, especially knowing that she and Antonio had unraveled the puzzle soon enough to prevent catastrophe. But the events of the day marked the likely end of her stay at the castle — the end of her time with Antonio.
A virtual storm of questions rained on Sofia, including several from Angeline, who suddenly behaved as if she and Sofia had always been the best of friends.
For Sofia’s part, her head ached, and she was tired. She no longer saw Antonio and had no idea when he’d left the kitchen, so she decided to withdraw to her quarters to get some rest. Getting there took another ten minutes as she answered — and dodged — more questions, but she finally got inside and locked the door. She lay on her bed and tried to nap, but the chatter outside kept her awake, so she pulled out some knitting and began to work.
With each stitch, she wished she were with Antonio. In spite of the events of the day, she couldn’t feel anything akin to heroic. Elena and Donya knocked on her door more than once, calling things like, “You must tell us more,” and, “Is the Queen as pretty as they say?” or, “Does she really have two different eye colors?” For how sick her fellow seamstresses had been that morning, they certainly had enough strength to talk and talk.
If Sofia let them, they’d demand every detail. She didn’t want to talk about anything to do with Marcell’s treachery. When the knocks and calls lessened, she could still make out loud talk in the kitchen, which ended up with several servants speculating about how much money Sofia would be rewarded with. Someone else said that she’d certainly be sent home in a grand carriage with full honors, likely in the morning so her town could celebrate her arrival.
Morning? That’s too soon. Far too soon. But better than tonight. Will I see Antonio before I go?
She lowered her knitting and leaned her head against the wall, trying not to cry.
If we are to be separated, perhaps it’s better not to say goodbye. Better to go home with happy memories than to say farewell, knowing I’ll never see him again.
“Sofia? Sofia!” Elena called through the door, followed by energetic pounding more intense than the knocking from before. “Open up. Right now. It’s urgent.” If it hadn’t been for her tone, Sofia would have ignore her.
Elena’s urgency convinced Sofia to answer the door. She slid the stitches higher on the needles so they wouldn’t fall off, then reluctantly went to the door and opened it, hoping she wasn’t inadvertently inviting in the other women servants. “Yes?”
The seamstress stood on the other side with wide eyes. “One of the Queen’s guards is here to fetch you. You’re to have another audience with the Queen.”
“I’ll be right there.”
With an excited squeal, Elena hurried off. Sofia went to her looking glass, nervous over the prospect of telling the whole story again, this time before the Queen and her advisors. Sofia took in her somewhat bedraggled appearance, sighed, and hurried out to meet the guard. One didn’t make the Queen wait.
The guard said nothing as he led her through areas of the castle she’d never seen. Along the way, she thought through everything that had happened and tried to determine the best way to explain. She guessed what questions she might be asked and tried to come up with ways to phrase her answers so as not to appear like an uneducated farm girl.
At last they reached a set of white double doors guarded by men on either side. Sofia was led inside, where the Queen looked out a window on the other end of what appeared to be a library — not a council room, and not the throne room. No one else was present.
Where are her advisors, and if they aren’t here, why am I?
“Miss Sofia Torres,” the guard announced with a stiff bow.
“That is all, Tomas,” the Queen said. “Please do your other errand.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He bowed again and left.
Only after the door clicked shut did the Queen face Sofia, who curtsied, eyes lowered, hoping she was behaving properly. “How would you like to come work at the castle full time?” the Queen asked without preamble.
Sofia’s heart leapt at the thought, then plummeted with equal speed. She dared a look at the Queen as she answered. “I would be most honored, Your Majesty. Truly honored. More than anyone could possibly imagine. But—”
The Queen’s brow lifted; she clearly wasn’t used to being refused. “But what?”
“My mother is very ill, and I must return to care for her. I gratefully accepted this temporary position in hopes of being able to pay for medicine and—”
“I didn’t know.” The Queen’s face softened. “Come. Sit.” She moved to a couch and patted the cushion beside her.
Sofia felt quite certain that sitting on the same piece of furniture with the Queen had to be a serious violation, but obeying the Queen trumped etiquette, so she obliged.
“Tell me about your family.” The Queen sounded genuinely interested.
She explained her family’s difficulties. “So you see, I must return, no matter how much I have enjoyed working here.”
No matter how much I have come to care for your master tailor.
“What if I were to bring your family here, to the castle?” the Queen suggested. “I could provide my doctors and a full-time nurse. Your family would live in a nearby house in the village, or here in the castle, or in a nice little cottage that’s here on the estate. Your brother would have the finest teachers and could even attend a university if he chooses to. It would all be paid for.”
“I couldn’t possibly—”
“No, I couldn’t possibly thank you enough for what you have done for Monterra and her people. Thanks to you, we have a bright future. I imagine my great-great-grandchildren living in this castle, working their hardest to do what is right by their people. In large measure, they will owe you for that privilege.”
Sofia pictured what life would be like living and working here, and watching Antonio do the same. “I am not the only one who helped.”
“That is right,” the Queen said. “Antonio was involved as well.”
“Yes.” The word came out with little sound. “I would be most honored to work for the crown and to have my family living in the city with me.”
“Not at the castle or on the grounds?”
Sofia shook her head. “I would rather not be an... obligation... to anyone.”
The Queen took on a knowing smile. “By ‘anyone,’ may I infer that you mean Antonio?”
Are my feelings so entirely transparent? Sofia nodded without saying a word.
“You suspect he may not return the sentiment.”
Now Sofia’s head snapped up. “How did you know how I feel toward—” She could not make herself say she loved him; she could hardly think the words.
But she knows.
“I’ve lived many years, my dear.” The Queen patted Sofia’s hands. “I have seen many things over that time. Many of my duties require the ability to watch people and interpret their thoughts and feelings. I saw how you look at him. I know what love looks like.”
Sofia thought hard and was surprised to realize that she didn’t feel embarrassed by the Queen’s assessment, but reassured and understood.
“Then you understand,” Sofia said. “Antonio probably gave me extra attention because he knew I wouldn’t be here permanently. If he never intended for us to have a relationship, I would never want him to feel—”
The Queen lifted a hand, cutting off Sofia’s words. “I would never suggest such a thing, either. Remember, I watched you both earlier. Just as I knew you were trustworthy, and just as I knew that you loved him — well, I suspect that the truth will be far more convincing coming from him.”
As if someone outside had been waiting for a cue, a knock sounded, and the door opened. Tomas appeared again and bowed.
“Ready?” the Queen asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” Tomas stepped aside and extended one arm to motion someone into the room.
Antonio entered and bowed for the Queen, who nodded in acknowledgment and bid him approach. “Antonio, would you tell this fine young woman what you related to me earlier?”
“I would be happy to, Your Majesty,” he said, turning to Sofia.
“Wonderful,” the Queen said. “In that case, I shall take my leave. I have some important issues to attend to. Many things need doing and undoing when two kingdoms mutually agree to cancel a wedding.” She stood, prompting Sofia to do the same, then smiled at them both. “I wish you every happiness.”
With that, she winked at Sofia and walked out. Tomas exited behind her and closed the door, leaving Sofia and Antonio alone in the Queen’s personal library.
“She summoned me earlier,” Antonio said, coming nearer. Sofia wasn’t sure whether to back away to save herself — and him — from hurt, or to close the distance. In her indecision, she st
ayed by the couch. “The Queen said you will likely be working for the crown from now on. Is that so?”
“Yes,” Sofia said. “But I have requested lodging in town so as not to put any undue pressure on you. I wouldn’t want you to feel obligated—”
“Sofia.” He came closer and held her by the shoulders. As always, his touch sent a spark through her. “Not a thread of obligation exists in what I feel for you. I’ve been sick with worry that I would lose you when our work was done, and I could only hope and pray that somehow the heavens would smile on me — that you might love me as I love you, and that, in spite of your home being far away, I would see you again.”
He brushed a lock of hair from her face. She closed her eyes at his feather touch then opened them again to find that he was leaning close — so close she had to remind herself to breathe.
“I love you, Sofia, more than I ever thought possible. The very idea of losing you is enough to break me. I want to see you today...” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “And tomorrow...” He kissed her right temple. “And every day...” Her left. “Again and again.” Her cheeks. “Every day of my life.”
As he had in the workshop when it was just the two of them, he finally kissed her lips, only more thoroughly than before, to the point that her toes curled in her slippers and she wondered if she could actually walk on air. With joy, relief, and so many other emotions swirling madly inside her, Sofia eagerly kissed him back.
“Sofia,” Antonio said somewhat breathlessly.
“Mm?” She kissed the cleft in his chin, then left a trail of kisses along his jawline.
“When your family arrives, I have considered asking your mother for permission to court you.”
She pulled away enough to look into his eyes, which were warm and earnest. “I’d like that very much.”
“Truthfully, though, I would rather not make that request.”
Sofia tried not to show her confusion and hurt. “What do you mean?”
“I would much rather ask your mother for your hand.” Antonio lowered to one knee.