“I have, Father,” Randolph said dutifully, leaning over to help the king sit up. The king waved away his assistance angrily.
“I don’t need your help,” he said fretfully. “I never have before and I certainly don’t now.” Randolph froze for a moment, then sat back in his chair, stung.
“How are you feeling, Father?” he asked after a short pause.
“Terrible,” came the reply. “And it’s not made any better by seeing you dressed so shabbily. It‘s disrespectful, that‘s what it is, if not downright shameful.”
Randolph touched the fabric of his neckcloth nervously, wondering if it had been disarranged by the napkin. Then he shook the concern off impatiently. “Father, surely that doesn’t matter just now.”
“Appearances always matter,” the king replied stoutly, and more than a little pompously. “You must remember that. Appearances always matter to people like us.”
“Is there anything I can get for you?” Randolph asked after another pause, during which he successfully repressed the many retorts that had sprung to mind.
“Don’t be a fool,” his father said, pulling at his sheets irritably. “What can you possibly get for me that I couldn’t get myself?”
“I don’t know, Father,” Randolph said, with half a smile. “If I did, I wouldn’t have had to ask you.”
“Hmmph,” grumbled the king. “Well, then. Now get along with you. You’ve tired me out. I need to sleep.” His eyes had drifted closed as he spoke, and once again he looked like the feeble, dying man that the doctors said he was.
Randolph stood and bowed to his father, feeling that even with his eyes closed his father would have known if he had skipped this gesture of respect. Then he quietly left the room, and stood for a long moment just outside the door. Letting go of the knob, he slowly retraced his footsteps down the hall and around the corner.
The rest of the prince’s evening was spent in conversation with various advisors and servants, all of whom had minor-seeming questions that apparently were all of vital importance and needed to be answered immediately. Eventually the doctor arrived, and the conversation he had with Randolph caused the prince to once again scatter the people swarming him and return to his father’s room. Once there, he took up a bedside vigil which he told himself was somehow appreciated, even though the king only had criticisms and complaints to utter every time he noticed his son’s presence.
The king did not last the night, though he did have the satisfaction of lasting a full two hours longer than the doctor had predicted. As a result, he died with a rare smile on his face. For some reason, that smile made the king’s death seem that much more gruesome to Randolph.
Too tired to grieve, Randolph fell into his bed and slept dreamlessly.
* * *
Randolph was kept very busy in the coming days. There were endless appointments with advisors and servants to be kept, and countless expressions of sympathy to be accepted. There were funeral arrangements to make, and the official coronation to be got through. Treaties and trade agreements needed to be re-ratified, and the military adjunct was becoming more and more fretful about the still unseen-to situation in the north.
By the end of the first day, Randolph had been crowned king, had complete control over and responsibility for the entire kingdom, and wanted nothing so much as to leave it all behind and go home to Rosamund and the children.
It wasn’t until the third day that his stepmother Eugenia sought him out. He had been grateful to her for keeping her distance during the funeral and the coronation, and he had been scornfully unsurprised that she had not been part of the vigil during his father’s last hours. But all good things must come to an end, he supposed as he saw her entering the room.
Randolph was in the royal apartments, overseeing the travel preparations that were being made. Since kings could not travel as lightly or freely as princes, his announced intention of traveling north to put the army to rights himself had caused a flurry amongst the palace staff. His already busy schedule was now quite full, as he attempted to keep the journey from turning into one of the ridiculous parades that his father’s travels had always been.
“Good morning, Randolph,” his stepmother said. “Or should it be King Randolph now? Or simply, your majesty?”
“King Randolph when speaking about me,” replied Randolph. “Your majesty is the proper mode of address when speaking to me, as you should know perfectly well, considering how fond you are of etiquette.” He was in no mood to be diplomatic with his father’s conniving second wife, and did not even attempt to sound friendly.
“Your majesty, then,” said the dowager queen, with a low and mocking curtsy. “I was wondering if we might have our little talk now. You know, the one I asked for when you first arrived…days ago?”
“I’m very busy at the moment, stepmother,” Randolph said, bending over to double check the contents of a trunk.
“Yes, I heard about your intended trip north,” Eugenia said, moving further into the room and looking casually at all the activity around her. “But surely you can spare a few minutes for your own stepmother, can’t you? Your majesty?”
“Not easily,” replied Randolph without looking at her, still rooting around in the trunk instead.
“Indeed?” he heard her reply. “What a shame that so young a man as yourself is incapable of the least exertion.”
Randolph straightened up from the trunk he had been bending over, and took a deep breath. He squared his shoulders and turned to face his stepmother. “As a matter of fact, I have been wanting to speak to you about something,” he said, meeting her gaze directly.
“Really?” asked Eugenia in a tone of gentle surprise as she leaned against his desk. “One would never have supposed it.”
Randolph’s eyes narrowed a bit, but then he smiled. “Yes, I have. I was wondering when it would be convenient for you to vacate the queen’s chambers and move out.”
Anger glowed briefly in Eugenia’s face, but it was quickly hidden. “Where do you expect me to go?” she asked.
“Don’t you have property somewhere?” asked Randolph, turning over a book in his hand and purposefully trying to look uninterested. “I seem to remember Father settling some on you as a wedding gift.”
“A small hunting lodge, nothing more,” protested Eugenia. “Hardly fit for a queen, I should think.”
“Ah,” said Randolph, flashing another smile at her. “But very fit for a dowager queen, perhaps. Especially a dowager queen who is not particularly welcome at court.”
Eugenia gasped audibly at such a direct comment, and she dropped her gaze from his face, directing it instead to the papers on his desk. “I see,” she said after a moment. “It will take some time to arrange, you understand.”
“Yes,” replied Randolph. “I understand perfectly.”
“Do you?” the dowager queen asked, her voice indifferent as she picked up a piece of paper from his desk. She dropped it again carelessly before Randolph could ask her not to poke around his things, and pushed away from the desk. She gave him another curtsy and began leaving the room.
Unable to resist asking, Randolph called out after her. “What is it that you wanted to talk to me about?”
“No matter,” Eugenia replied airily as she left. “No matter at all.”
Randolph frowned at her retreating figure, but did not have time to waste puzzling over his stepmother’s behavior. The two of them had never gotten along, although there had been a kind of truce between them for the past several years. Now, however, that truce was at an end, and Randolph needed to be rid of her before he brought his family home to the palace.
It had not just been fear of his father’s reaction that had kept Randolph silent about his wife and children for so long - it was also distrust of his stepmother, who was in fact a distant relative of Rosamund‘s. Randolph knew that if the two were introduced, Rosamund would have greeted Eugenia with open arms, but he also knew that Eugenia would not have been nearly so welcom
ing.
Some years ago, he had been forced to attend one of the elaborate dinner parties that his father and stepmother so frequently hosted, and the conversation had somehow turned towards the legend of the enchanted castle. After demanding to hear the story in full, one of the foreign dignitaries had teased Eugenia with the idea that if the legends were true and the sleeping princess were awakened, then the princess could claim King Felix’s kingdom for herself and her future children. Randolph had almost choked on his food, but had recovered himself in time. Eugenia, on the other hand, was so upset that she very nearly caused a diplomatic break between the two kingdoms.
Eugenia was the half sister of their kingdom’s neighbor and ally, King Felix. Though she could not claim any royal blood for herself, she was fiercely proud of her half-brother, whose maternal grandfather had been the second cousin of one of Rosamund’s parent’s great-nephews. Despite her pride, Eugenia was clearly keenly aware of how relatively precarious Felix’s claim to the throne was - when compared, for example, with a direct heir like Rosamund and Randolph’s son.
For himself, Randolph had no intention of ever making a claim on Felix’s kingdom, nor did he believe that Rosamund would do so. Convincing Eugenia of this however would be the work of years, and he was familiar enough with Eugenia’s malicious, scheming ways to know better than to bring his wife and his stepmother together under one roof, no matter how big that roof might be.
With a suppressed sigh, Randolph returned to sorting through the books and papers that the steward had seemed to think necessary to pack for his upcoming journey. If nothing else, the northern tour would give his stepmother the necessary time to move out. With a little luck, he would be able to bring Rosamund and the children back immediately after his return. He just wished he had the time to return to the hidden castle and explain the situation to Rosamund in person. As it was he had barely had enough time to write her letter.
As if summoned by the king’s thoughts, the military adjunct entered the room to discuss the details of their journey, and Randolph forgot about his personal problems for awhile.
* * *
The dowager queen stood at the window, playing with a folded piece of paper and watching the departure of the young king, while a small smile toyed at the corners of her mouth. The royal entourage was modest, very compact and business-like, not at all like the impressive processions that her late husband had always been accompanied by. Randolph had never had any sense of style.
Just at the moment however, Eugenia was not concerned about Randolph’s style or lack thereof - she was much more interested in making sure that he was gone, so that she could begin the rest of her day’s work. The letter that she had picked up from the young king’s desk had looked like it would make for intriguing reading, and the servant who had been dispatched to deliver that letter had already been intercepted by her own people.
He was even now being held for her to question, and his delivery had been handed over to her. She had been right. It did make for very interesting reading.
She would wait until the royal carriages were out of sight, Eugenia told herself, and until the dust kicked up by their passage had settled back down onto the road. Then, and not before, she would oversee the interrogation of the captured servant. Before nightfall she would get to the bottom of this Rosamund business, whom Randolph referred to as his “darling wife” in the letter, and whom he implored to remain where she was until he could fetch her, asking for her patience and understanding.
Eugenia snorted softly to herself, despising Randolph for the gentleness of spirit displayed in the letter. Her stepson had always been weak in her eyes. She had loathed him congenially ever since she married his father. Now that he had dared to tell her that she was unwelcome in her own home, that loathing had turned to hatred.
She watched as the last carriage disappeared over the horizon, then fixed her eyes on the dust that hung in the air above the road. As she waited, she amused herself by guessing what kind of information might be wrung from the hapless servant. Depending on what he had to say, she just might write a letter of her own.
* * *
Rosamund stood on the wide stone steps outside of the front door, squinting slightly against the bright morning sunlight. Her children wriggled and squirmed next to her in anticipation, but she had her hands on their shoulders so that they couldn’t run off. Her own enjoyment found a more simple expression in the form of an eager smile. The three of them watched with enthusiasm and excitement as a big, old-fashioned carriage rumbled down the castle drive towards them.
Supply days were the high point of each week for the secluded little family, and were looked forward to for days. Rosamund enjoyed them because they often brought Randolph to her, and the children enjoyed them because even when their father couldn’t come in person, he always made sure that the supply cart had some kind of small surprise hidden away in it especially for them. Even the servants looked forward to the cart’s arrival, just for the novelty of having something new to talk about, such as the quality of this week’s cabbage.
“That’s not the usual cart, is it ma’am?” the castle steward asked at Rosamund’s elbow.
“It doesn’t appear to be,” Rosamund replied, squinting a little harder against the light. “It looks more like a carriage than a cart.” Her spirits lifted even higher, as she could think of no reason for a carriage to be coming this way unless it contained her husband.
“Not the right day for it either, is it ma’am?” the man prompted, hoping for some news or gossip to carry to the servant‘s hall.
“No, it’s not,” Rosamund said absently, continuing to watch the carriage‘s progress.
A few minutes later the carriage swept across the gravel drive in a grand half-circle, coming to a stop just in front of the steps. A servant in vaguely familiar livery jumped off the back of the carriage and came running up, dropping to one knee in front of the family gathered there. Bowing his head, he lifted his hands forward and up. On them rested a folded piece of smooth, cream-colored paper, with a big red seal in the center.
“A letter for mi’lady Rosamund,” the servant said, without lifting his eyes.
Rosamund had been watching the carriage, waiting for someone to climb out. She had been confused when the groom had not gone to the carriage door, and now she looked at him curiously. His livery was familiar, very close to what Randolph’s servants wore - close enough for her to assume that in Randolph’s home the servants’ ranks were denoted by minor changes to the livery. The man still had not lifted his eyes, and his arms and hands were kept perfectly motionless as he waited for her to take his burden.
Rosamund gave one last glance towards the carriage, biting her lip and trying to mask her disappointment that Randolph had not yet returned. Pushing her children gently behind her, she stepped forward and took the letter from the waiting servant.
“Thank you,” she managed to say as she turned the letter over in her hands once or twice, and the servant rose and bowed. He took two steps backwards without looking, then raised his head and fixed his gaze on a point in the distance. Rosamund, whose servants had all known her since she was a child and thus were much less formal, found him unnerving.
Swallowing the last of her disappointment, she broke the seal on the letter. Spreading out the single sheet of paper, she began to read. Before she was halfway through, the smile had returned to her face, wider than before, and excitement was once again surging through her.
“No wonder the carriage was empty,” Rosamund said aloud, to no one in particular. “It’s been sent for us!” She laughed happily, then bent over and scooped her children into her arms and hugged them. “We’re going to go see Daddy,” she said to them, smoothing back their hair and beaming at them. The children cheered, not understanding what was happening, but happy because their mother was happy.
Turning to the steward, ]Rosamund wiped away a joyful tear from the corner of her eye. “The prince has sent for us,” she explained
to the steward, gesturing with the letter.
“So I gathered, ma’am,” the steward replied indulgently. “How soon will you be leaving? Will you be gone for long?”
“I don’t know,” Rosamund answered distractedly, looking over the writing once more. She had never received a letter from Randolph before, and this token was already well on its way to becoming one of her sentimental treasures. “He says that we are to come at once, and that the carriage he sent will take us where we need to go.” She continued to read, more carefully than she had done the first time. “We are to pack lightly, since everything else can be sent for later, and we are to make as much haste as possible. He says that he is much more eager to see us than our belongings,” Rosamund concluded happily, smiling up at the steward.
He returned the smile, pleased to see his mistress so content. “On behalf of myself and the rest of the staff, I will venture to hope that the prince does not keep you away from us for long, ma’am,” he said.
“Thank you,” Rosamund said with sincerity, realizing for the first time that by leaving this place she would be leaving all of the people here as well. A quiver of doubt and uneasiness passed over her, but it was swiftly gone, replaced once again by anticipation. Taking her children’s hands, she began walking inside, telling them in an excited tone what kind of adventure they had in store for them that day.
* * *
Many hours later, as the afternoon sun was just beginning to fade into twilight, the carriage containing Rosamund and her children ground to a halt. Rosamund, who had been half-dozing, awoke abruptly and sat up, blinking. The carriage was too dark and close for her to get a good look at their surroundings, but she devoutly hoped that they had reached their destination for the night.
The journey had been long and tedious. At the start of the trip the carriage had seemed nice and large, with comfortable seats and adequate leg room. After hours spent enclosed in it with two small, energetic children however, that sense of space had shrunk into nothing. To make matters worse, the first half of the journey had been through untamed forestland, with the carriage jostling and shaking over roots and fallen tree branches.
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